Empire of Blood
Page 35
Sargonnas stared fiercely at the two mortals. When neither moved or even barely breathed, he nodded his tremendous horned head and shrank once more to how he had initially appeared.
“Hear me now!” the Condor Lord declared, his voice nevertheless booming. “The imperium is in flux. There are those who would follow your lead, Faros, and those still loyal to the ways of Droka! Nethosak is yours, rebel leader, but for how long?” His terrible gaze returned to Maritia. “Is this what Hotak desired? How many more must die? Will the minotaur race fight itself into extinction? What of the ogres? Think of this, daughter of Hotak! Would you have Ambeon become a third ogre realm with the Grand Lord Golgren its so benevolent khan?”
Maritia shivered at mention of Golgren’s name, but she replied defiantly, “I’ll not be this one’s puppet!”
“No, nor he yours! Is there nothing you recall of my ancient teachings? Kalin and Droka must come together as equals! Only that may save your people! I make no promises! Be emperor and consort, but both with an equal voice! Has not such equality been what your race have always sought?”
His words stirred something in Faros. Gradic’s son tried to deny the truth of Sargonnas’s words, but he could not. At last, he exhaled. “All right!” His tone was angry. He felt as though he was being poisoned by this decision. Glaring at Maritia, Faros asked, “For the good of the race, I agree. And you?”
She took longer, her face twisting with hatred. Finally, ears flat, she spat, “Done! And may my father forgive me …”
“A most charming display of affection,” remarked Sargonnas sardonically, “but even from so salted a patch of dirt can things with time grow.” When neither responded, he snorted. “I am done here then! I leave it to you to raise up or ruin the empire! Consider that, when you both seek to bring daggers to the wedding bed!” His brow furrowing, he reached toward Faros. “However, there is one thing I must take back before I go, my champion. The ring is yours and its secrets too—a mark of my favor. The sword, however, must return to me. It has other tasks to perform.”
Faros glanced down at his hand, where, to his surprise, the jeweled blade had returned without his knowledge.
I could do so much for you … it whispered to the former slave. I could make you more than just emperor of minotaurs.
Something in the manner in which it made such promises disturbed Faros. Without hesitation, he released his grip on the weapon and the blade flew to the crimson figure’s hand.
Sargonnas gave a smile. He clutched the hilt tight, looking the weapon over. “A fair dealing with your wielder … this time,” the Horned One said cryptically to his creation. “A good thing for you, else I would have had to punish you again.”
Even from where he stood, Faros thought he saw the deadly sword quiver. Sargonnas opened one side of his cloak and thrust the blade within, where it vanished utterly. Hands empty once more, he bowed his horns to the last scion of Kalin.
“I bid you farewell, Faros Es-Kalin, and you, Maritia de-Droka. For what it is worth, my blessing upon you both.” He started to fade, but at the last moment said to Faros, “Oh, there is one more thing about the wedding, mortal.”
“What’s that?” Faros asked irritably, glancing at Maritia.
“It would be wise to have it as soon as possible.”
It was managed inside of a month, a period of time much too long and yet far too swift for the couple. Regrettably, more minotaurs perished before the word was spread and many then had to be convinced that what they heard was truth.
From Mito came a victorious Captain Tinza and Napol, along with a wounded legion general named Voluna who had been instrumental in negotiating the surrender of the island after the governor’s death by her own hand. From Ambeon came word of the abject surrender of Procurator General Pryas, whose mind, according to General Bakkor, appeared to have disintegrated at the moment of Nephera’s demise.
Such news came from many parts of the inner empire. Many Protectors of the highest ranks—those most closely touched by the high priestess’s power—had simultaneously lost their will and much of their sanity. Leaderless, the Protectors everywhere fell into disarray, of which their enemies took great advantage.
This was not to say that all looked forward to the clan of Kalin taking the throne again. When Maritia could not convince some of her support of the marriage, she had the recalcitrant figures arrested and brought to her personally. They soon left believers.
There were other great concerns for the empire, but as with so much else, they had to be left for the future. First, the marriage had to take place.
In that place that was the heart of the empire’s heart—the Great Circus of Nethosak—Kalin and Droka came together. Sheathes of fresh horsetail grass covered the two paths taken by the betrothed. From the northern gate into the main arena stepped Faros. His mane was bound behind him, his horns polished. His fur had been treated with palm and olive oil to make it shine. Upon his glistening breastplate was emblazoned the condor symbol of eras past. A long, flowing cape of midnight blue trailed behind him and in the crook of his arm, he carried the Crown of Toroth. The Axe of Makel Ogrebane was slung behind his back. Today would not only mark Faros’s wedding but also his ascension.
Behind him marched those representative of his victorious faction, Captain Botanos at their lead and acting as Faros’s patriarch. Many among them had been slaves like Faros.
From the southern gate emerged Maritia. She was clad in the dress armor of Warhorse Legion and also wore her mane loose and flowing, as was custom among minotaur females during such ceremonies. Like Faros, her fur had also been treated with oil. In her arm, Hotak’s daughter carried her own helmet. The sword in her sheath had been loosely bound with a leather strap, a symbol that that she approached one from whom she had nothing to fear and who had nothing to fear from her. Faros’s axe was likewise bound.
In attendance behind her was the patriarch of House Droka, portly Zephros. Behind him came a host of legion commanders, including Bakkor and other high-ranking officials, many who had once backed Hotak. A number of faces still expressed disgruntlement with the situation.
The opposing paths ended under an oak arch thirty feet high whose top ended in long, curving horns pointed upward. Upon the sides had been carved the histories of the two to be wed, symbols marking significant points in their lives. Among Faros’s marks were a flame and two broken links, the death of his family and the shattering of his chains.
Two banners hung from the arch, Droka’s and the condor symbol favored by the new emperor. Faros had no love for his uncle and the flag that Chot had created was one that he could live without. The condor served as more than just a reminder that Sargonnas had returned. It also indicated Faros’s determination to return to the traditions his father had once prized.
When the gods had fled, the custom of using a priest or priestess to oversee the ceremony had given way to a chosen official. However, Faros and Maritia had determined that they would perform this ceremony themselves. Minotaur weddings contained no words, only gestures, for the binding of two.
Drums beat in sync with the movements of the two groups. Weapons raised, two rows of warriors flanked the arch—House Droka on the east, Faros’s rebels on the west. The audience, filled to overflowing, began to stomp their feet in unison with the drums.
As the prospective bride and groom approached, the drums gave way to trumpeters at each end of the Circus. The audience stilled. Five high notes signified the beginning of the actual ceremony, at which point the constant murmuring, and every other sound in and around the vast structure ceased.
Faros and Maritia stepped under the arch then dropped down on their left knees. They put the helmet and crown on the ground beside them. Each then bent and raised their left arms, placing their forearms together and clutching one another’s hands tight.
The huge drums beat slowly again. Captain Botanos, clad in the regalia of the fleet, joined the patriarch of Droka by the two. They bound the forearms
and hands of the kneeling pair tightly together, using leather straps.
Their task done, the mariner and the elder retreated.
Rising together, Maritia and Faros moved in a circle. The drums guided each step, which followed a complicated pattern. Faros and Maritia never once took their eyes from one another. The two completed five circles—five for the luck of the marriage—then paused, the drums ceasing.
The crowd stomped their feet loudly, timed with the drums. Then the trumpeters blew a single note and all sound again came to a halt.
Maritia reached for her sword. Hotak’s daughter brought up her blade before the rebel leader. Faros met the sword with his axe. The weapons clanged—then both figures spun so that they stood watching each other’s back, the sword and axe held out against any foes in the distance.
The crowd stomped its feet and roared lustily. Zephros and Botanos came up and cut the straps holding the pair’s arms together. Faros and his new mate sheathed their weapons, then clasped one another’s hand again. Their free arms raised, they saluted their well-wishers.
“All is done,” muttered Maritia, “in such a short period of time.”
“Yes, too short,” agreed Faros.
“I swore I’d do what was needed to keep the empire from collapsing, Kalin. I’ll continue to do that, come what may.”
“Then call me Faros … Maritia,” he pointedly replied.
She nodded her head slightly. “Faros …”
At first, what sounded like thunder shook the giant coliseum. The new emperor, though, knew exactly what the sound was. Once more, the volcanoes had erupted. No one could doubt that their timing was propitious.
Then suddenly thousands of dark birds fluttered over the Circus, cawing almost as though they called out a name—Faros.
“By the gods!” roared Botanos, pointing beyond them. “Look!”
Although it was day, Sargonnas’s constellation glowed bright, each star like miniature suns. The crowd accepted all these omens and the cheering and the stomping grew more intense.
“You have all the power,” Maritia whispered. “He gives it to you freely.”
“We have the power. He said so. We.”
Hotak’s daughter gave him an odd, appraising look. Pulling her forward, he signaled for silence. The acoustics of the legendary edifice enabled all within, and many more outside, to hear him as if he stood next to them.
“ ‘We have been enslaved, but have always thrown off our shackles’,” he began, using the traditional litany. “ ‘We have been driven back, but always returned to the fray stronger than before! We have risen to new heights when other races have fallen into decay! We are the future of Krynn, the fated masters of the entire world!’ ” Faros paused. “ ‘We are the children of destiny!’ ”
The people shouted and cheered and roared.
Faros glanced at Maritia, and what he saw in her eyes surprised and pleased him.
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