Djed clambered into the escape tunnel with nimble athleticism. Now he reached for Sandy, but she handed him the bag instead. The archer grunted and disappeared from view, passing the leather satchel to someone farther up in the tunnel.
Sandy shook one finger at Mark. “Promise you won’t be long?”
“I swear on my honor as a bogatyr.”
“There’s a rope ladder, my lady, to pull yourself along the steep incline,” Djed said from his perch half in and half out of the tunnel. “You must climb to freedom, but we’ll help.”
Squeaking in dismay from time to time, she picked her way to the top of the stack of furniture. She reached for the first shifting rung of the rope ladder as the archer dropped it in front of her questing hand. Rothan climbed halfway up the precarious tower of tables and chairs and gave her a boost into the tunnel. The captain offered Mark a hand, but he’d moved away.
“My brother, what are you about?” Rothan jumped from the pile of furniture.
“We can’t leave the Crown of Khunarum in here.” Mark held the torch and rummaged among the boxes and bales and other household goods. “Hutenen may have no further need of it—trust me—but we do.”
“We journeyed to the Lost City and brought the crown back for him.” Rothan crossed the floor. “We must leave it here. There’s no other to wear it.”
“I don’t accept your conclusion.” Mark continued his search.
“You dishonor the prince by stealing from his tomb.” Rothan grabbed Mark by the elbow. “Much as I owe you, I can’t permit thievery.”
Mark moved the torch in his free hand to allow an unobscured view of Rothan’s face. The two men stared at each other for a long moment in the hot light, Rothan scrutinizing Mark’s face. No words were uttered. Drawing a long breath and exhaling, the Nakhtiaar soldier released his grip on Mark’s arm. “What have you seen? What happened to you, my friend?”
Mark found himself reluctant to give voice to the events he’d witnessed in his dream, a vision that had the clarity of reality. Even awake, he could see the room, the beings and the bowl in his mind’s eye. “I can’t even begin to tell you. Words fail me.” The firmly sealed, giant sarcophagus drew his attention, and then his gaze traveled to the far wall, where the intricately detailed false door had been painted. Even in the flat painting, the door was closed.
Rothan followed the direction of his gaze. He swallowed hard, struggling for words. “Just tell me, is my shield brother Hutenen…safe? Did he…did his soul—”
“The scribe or court clerk said his heart was pure. He’d done no evil. I don’t know what it all meant, or how real it was. Your prince is gone, and he doesn’t need the Crown of Khunarum or anything else in this place anymore, but I think—I know—we do. Nakhtiaar does.”
“My lords, what delays you? Time grows short, and once you reach the outer world, we still have to make our escape from this cursed valley.” Djed’s voice was hoarse and stressed, hard to make out.
Mark pressed his fist to his chest, seeking to ease the constriction low oxygen was causing. “Air’s going bad in here, even with an open shaft. You go ahead. I’ll be along as soon as I find the damn chest.”
“I’ll help.”
Mark wasn’t going to spend precious time in protest. The two men searched with increasing desperation among the jumble of things Farahna had ordered thrown into the tomb. “The crown has to be here.” Mark ran his hand through his hair. “She said she didn’t want it.”
“We’ve missed nothing, my brother.” Rothan kicked aside a stack of baskets. “Perhaps she changed her mind, or the priests left the crown in the outer chamber.”
“Or maybe she stashed it in there with the prince.” Mark indicated the stone sarcophagus. He took two steps. “I can’t lift this damn lid off without your help.”
Lips compressed, not uttering a word, Rothan came to assist. He plucked a gold and ivory knife from the mess on the floor and slashed through the queen’s seal, red flakes of wax flying. Dropping the dagger, he said with satisfaction, “Even if I’ve become the lowliest of coffin thieves, there’s a certain pleasure in breaking her name, which never should have been imposed on my prince.”
“Look, I’m sorry to ask you to go against your beliefs, and I wouldn’t suggest it if the needs of the living didn’t outweigh the customary reverence for grave goods. I’m sure Hutenen wouldn’t be upset by this act.” Mark got a grip on the end of the heavy lid, while Rothan stood at the left side, and the two men struggled to move it. Rothan muttered prayers under his breath, and they made a second attempt. Mark felt the slab shift somewhat and redoubled his efforts.
“My lords, what are you doing?” Djed dropped into the chamber, landing like a cat.
Mark waited for Rothan to take charge. The latter gave crisp orders.
“Come and help us. We must take the Crown of Khunarum from this place or our beloved land of Nakhtiaar is lost to Farahna and her Maiskhan dogs forever.”
Eyes wide, Djed recoiled, the expression on his face one of terror. “But to open the sarcophagus of our prince—”
“There’s no choice.” Rothan’s answer was given in a harsh monotone. He didn’t look at Mark.
Each step dragging, Djed walked to the other side of the bier like a man going to his own painful death. “We’ll be cursed for this, my lords.”
“I don’t think so,” Mark said. “I believe we’re doing what Hutenen would want.”
The lid gave way under the renewed effort of the three men, moving with surprising ease once it began to shift, and they pushed it to the sandy floor. The granite slab shattered into three pieces along some invisible fault lines as it hit the ground. The torchlight glinted off the great, gold leaf-covered coffin inside the sepulcher, and Mark gazed again upon the mosaic of the departed prince, marveling at the uncanny resemblance to the man’s ghost. Eyes wide, tremors running through their bodies, Rothan and Djed retreated, transfixed by what they’d done, apparently against all their beliefs. Mark didn’t blame them for being frightened. Uttering a crude Outlier oath to prod himself into motion, he leaned over the open coffin, running his hand along the side of the container. Nothing. Moving to the right side, he repeated the gesture. Three-quarters of the way, his hand rammed into something with bruising force. He grabbed the impediment with both hands, bringing the familiar wooden box from the depths of the sepulcher.
“Got it! Now we can go.”
The three men delayed no longer. First Djed and then Rothan made the climb into the narrow mouth of the escape tunnel. Bringing up the rear, Mark was acutely conscious of the walls of the mountain pressing in on him as he climbed the rope ladder, pushing the crown’s case in front of him. Claustrophobia had never bothered him before, but this whole night’s events shredded his nerves in unusual ways.
Men reached into the tunnel to lift him the last yard, the box taken away from him and set aside by Rothan. Mark rolled onto his back on the stony slope, heedless of pebbles and roots digging into him, and took huge breaths of the clean night air, trying to clear the scent of unguents, smoke, and perfumes out of his lungs. He was vaguely aware of two or three men working hard to cover the entrance to the tunnel with flat slabs of rock and brush, concealing their access to the riches of the tomb below.
Grateful to be alive and free, Mark watched two of the moons and a skyful of unfamiliar stars high above him. After a few moments, Sandy sat beside him, her sandals scattering little rivulets of pebbles down the steep slope. “Are you all right?”
Leaning on his elbows, he nodded. “You?”
“Fine. I had a dream.” Massaging her temples, she swallowed hard.
“Yes. I imagine we had the same dream. I’m not so sure it was only a dream. Who knows on this world?”
“The woman was Haatrin,” she said. “I don’t know who the others were, but now I remember her from the coma dream.”
“We can talk about it later. Is that Sallea I see over by Djed?”
“Apparently, she t
alked Demari into putting her ashore in the morning, and Djed approached her, so she joined the rescue party.” Sandy lifted her hair and twisted it into a ponytail. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet.”
“Must have been some argument she had with Demari.” Raising his voice, Mark addressed Djed. “What’s next in this escape plan of yours?”
“We must get away from here before daylight. The queen has patrols of the entire area at regular intervals during the day.”
“But not at night?” The gap in coverage surprised him.
“No.” Djed’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “The spirits of the dead are abroad at night, you know.”
Quiet laughter greeted his joke, easing the tension.
“The Maiskhan are extremely superstitious about the night,” said a nearby soldier. “They won’t do anything after sunset, other than fuck. Indoors.” More laughter greeted his sally.
“I don’t think I know you?” Mark said to the man, who was standing next to Rothan.
“Lieutenant Khefer, from my grandfather’s territory, assigned to my command,” Rothan said, clapping his subordinate on the shoulder with open affection. “I’m anxious to hear what news he can give us about the events we missed.”
“I can tell you some of what happened after you left the city, my lord, but may I suggest not here?” The other soldier appeared to share Djed’s anxiety to be away from the tomb.
“Yes, let’s go to my village, to my home,” said the grave-digger cousin. “You can make plans there. My wives are cooking a large feast in your honor. We’ll eat, and you can discuss whatever you want, but we must be away from here now.”
An hour or so later, having walked out of the valley of the temple and tombs in the moonlight and then into the small village where Djed’s cousin lived, the now-freed prisoners and their motley rescuers sat in the cozy safety of the grave robber’s large hut. The cousin’s wives served wine, olives, bread and cheese, and roast fowl. The simple fare tasted better to Mark than any meal he’d ever had, in Outlier or in the Sectors.
“What do we do next?” Tia inquired, politely refusing a second helping of the main dish. “Where can we go?”
“How many days’ walking does it take to get to your grandfather’s holdings in the south?” Mark took the platter from her and ladled a third helping onto his plate. Surviving to fight another day had had a positive effect on his appetite.
“Why?” Rothan wiped his lips with the back of his hand and studied Mark. “How is the length of the journey relevant? We can’t go there.”
“Word will get to Farahna if we travel home,” Tia protested before Mark could answer Rothan’s question. “We have to leave Nakhtiaar altogether and live out our lives in some foreign land.”
“You’d be welcome to find refuge with my people,” Sallea said.
“A kind offer, which I may well accept, although I loathe the inglorious end to our plans.” Rothan leaned against the wall of the dwelling, sipping at his beer.
“There was nothing wrong with your original plan,” Mark said. “The rightful King of Nakhtiaar needs to sit on the throne, not Farahna. Having seen her for myself, I pity the country that has to live under her rule.”
“There is no rightful king, as you put it, left.” Rothan sounded as if he were explaining something to a small child. He reached in front of Tia to snag a tidbit of cheese. “Hutenen was the last of his line. There’s no other.”
Mark sighed. The answer was obvious to him. “There’s you.”
The Nakhtiaar in the hut were silent. He got the impression his proposal stunned the audience, except for Sallea, who nodded as if the idea made sense to her.
Sandy also agreed with Mark’s point, turning in her seat to stare at Rothan. “You told us your mother was in the direct line, a sister of the last true king.”
“And besides those facts,” Mark continued with what he felt to be irrefutable logic, “your wife is Hutenen’s only sibling, right?”
“Yes,” said Rothan and Tia in unison.
“So who better to sit the throne than the two of you?” Mark challenged them.
“My father wasn’t of the royal blood,” Rothan said in protest. “I’m only half royal, and inheritance of the throne doesn’t pass through the female line.”
“Time to change a few rules.” Sandy dipped the crust of her bread into the broth on her plate.
“Alter the rules, restart the game.” Mark sat on the edge of his chair, pointing a finger at Sallea. “Your father swore allegiance to Rothan, right? Not Hutenen.”
Finishing her wine, the Mikkonite nodded. “By ancient treaty we owe loyalty to whoever rightfully holds the crown. The unseen forces guarding the lost city allowed Rothan to take the crown. Therefore, my father judged him to be king.” She grinned. “Of course, he has to seize his kingdom.”
Mark smiled at her excellent point. “I’m getting to that. Nakhtiaar has good allies in the Empty Lands.” He stabbed his spoon in the air, aimed at Rothan. “You and Hutenen had the same upbringing, you told me, the same training in warfare and statecraft, the same experiences on your two-year expedition. Who pursued the Crown of Khunarum? And who found it, against all odds? Hutenen may have been a great person, but he didn’t think on the grand scale of what would be best for the country. You did. If he was alive, I wouldn’t argue against your sworn allegiance to the man. But he’s dead. And we’re still here, left to deal with the realities of the situation. Who has more right to sit on the throne, to rule? You or Farahna? Who has the best interests of these people at heart? You? Or that murderous bitch who can’t wait to hand the country over to her Maiskhan allies?”
“The Warrior of the Star Wind speaks truth,” Djed agreed vehemently. “You must listen to him, sir.”
“Indeed,” Lieutenant Khefer chimed in. “These are words of deep wisdom. It shouldn’t require outsiders to make us see the situation so clearly.”
Sandy spoke again. “The responsibility for an entire nation can be a crushing burden. But I think Mark’s point is valid. Who else can be king? If you can name one other legitimate candidate, then we’ll take the Crown of Khunarum to him or her, and leave you to find what peace you can achieve in exile with Tia.”
Rothan stared from one to the next, the comments coming too thick and fast for him to get a word in edgewise until Sandy stopped speaking. He slammed his fist on the table. “Never did I seek to gain the throne. I swear to you, my loyalty, my concern was all for Hutenen.”
“We know the truth well, my lord,” Djed said. “But the situation is altered.”
“Is there anyone else to lead the fight against Farahna? Any other potential leader of a rebellion?” Mark asked the company at large. “Anywhere in Nakhtiaar?”
There was silence. Khefer and Djed shook their heads. The cousin and his chief wife stayed quiet. Mark gazed at Rothan. “There you have it. Either you step up to the challenge, or your country falls into the hands of Farahna’s Maiskhan allies while you learn to ride horses in the Empty Lands and your child is born in permanent exile. What’s it to be?”
“The crown itself will tell us.” Tia, usually so quiet, surprised them all with her fervent declaration. “Give me the case, if you please.”
Mark, who’d kept the box close-by during their escape from the valley, placed it into her outstretched hands.
Sandy moved aside the plates and serving dishes on the rough table where their dinner had been set. Tia put the chest down. Taking a deep breath, she slid the hawk-shaped catch open, raising the lid, wincing at the creak of protest from the ancient hinges.
The golden crown was lustrous, whole and restored to its former glory, its large gemstones blinking in the light from the oil lamps.
Somehow, Mark didn’t feel any surprise. Not much was going to amaze him after his encounter with Hutenen’s ghost and the otherworldly beings in the tomb. Lajollae had sent Sandy and him to a world where strange powers held sway and unimaginable things were possible. He could go
with the program.
Tia fell back a step. Even though unboxing the crown had been her idea, she appeared frightened to find the diadem intact. Sandy had no hesitation. She took the Crown of Khunarum from the box. Balancing it on her palms, she pivoted to face Rothan. “Do you take this crown and all the responsibilities it brings? Will you swear to protect and defend the people of this land?”
Rothan’s face was set and grim, lines of strain around his eyes. He swallowed. “I will.” He moved a step toward her, took the crown in both hands, and placed it on his own head, where the diadem sat as if made for him alone.
“Honor to the king!” Djed went to his knees on the dirt floor of the hut. “Long life and blessings to the new king.”
All the Nakhtiaar in the room except Tia knelt and echoed the archer’s salutations. Sallea saluted, fist over her heart. “Well done,” she said. “This is the time to abandon old traditions of succession and pursue the better alternative.”
Rothan laughed, breaking the tension. “Has any king ever had such an odd coronation?” His expression softened. “But with such good and loyal courtiers?” He took off the crown. “Rise, my friends. You do me honor, but it’s early days yet for courtly ceremony. We have to get away from here, or else the reign of Rothan the First will be short and inglorious.”
“How long to get to your grandfather’s holdings?” Mark asked again.
“Two to three weeks’ march on foot, as we are.” Rothan glanced at Tia. “You shouldn’t walk so far in your condition.”
“If Your Majesty permits,” said Lieutenant Khefer. “I took the liberty of stealing a team of four oxen and a cart. The conveyance and team are out in the stable. I wished for a chariot, of course—”
“Of course.” The exchange sounded like an old joke between the two men.
“But I couldn’t attract too much attention.” Khefer’s brown eyes gleamed with amusement, and the dimples in his cheeks deepened. “So oxen it was. At least Lady Tia won’t have to walk.”
“Excellent. We can take on the guise of spice merchants going to the mountain lands to trade.” Rothan rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Lady of the Star Wind Page 22
