Atar’s keen ears picked up the sound before he saw it. The deer was just over the hill. He wasn’t winded, so he was able to approach silently. Crouching, he crawled up the hill with the stealthy movements of a hunter. He was on the top of the hill now. Ever so slowly, he raised his head. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.
There in the late sunlight was the lone buck, standing broadside to him. It was a perfect shot. Its rack hadn’t fully grown in, this being early summer, but it was huge, magnificent, and powerfully graceful. Atar forced himself to breathe. The creature was so beautiful that he hesitated to take its life. But they were relying on him for food. She was relying on him. This deer was Api’s gift to the hungry and he would be an ungrateful fool not to accept.
Slowly, Atar raised his bow, careful not to make any sudden moves. With his powerful archer’s forearms, he drew the bowstring back. He aimed carefully at the vital organs in the forward part of the creature’s ribcage. There was an eternal moment just before Atar let the arrow fly. The buck never saw it coming. He died instantly, collapsing to the ground without a sound.
Atar raced down the hill, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. This would feed them all for days.
“How am I going to get this thing back?” Atar asked. Experimentally, he grasped the legs of the carcass and pulled. Atar scratched his head. This was going to be tougher than he thought.
“Should I drag it, or well, no that wouldn’t work either,” Atar said. He looked around him. With a phenomenal heave, he raised the deer off the ground, his muscles bunching and quivering under the strain.
Then he heard the noise from behind him. Ezad came bumbling out with his arms waving as if to keep from falling.
“Ezad run. Ezad help Atar,” he wheezed.
Atar and Ezad had to stop and rest at least a dozen times. Atar’s back and shoulder muscles were aching with the strain. His legs quivered with the effort of hauling so much weight. He was covered with sweat, the late evening breezes doing little to cool him. Behind him, the sun sank below the mountains. Ezad was able to help ease the weight, but he wasn’t a big man.
They stumbled into camp just after the moon rose. All heads turned, except for Sugreeva’s and Sophene’s. They were seated at a cook fire in the middle of camp and they were arguing. Soldiers leapt to their feet to assist him, but he shook his head.
With his last remaining strength, he staggered over to her. She turned as he approached, her jaw dropping at the sight of him. He heaved the deer onto the ground at her feet. He fell to his knees without meaning to and smiled.
“Eek! Get it away! Eew! It’s all bloody!” Sugreeva squeaked.
She smiled at him and Atar felt his heart skip. He forgot his weariness for a moment.
Atar turned and blushed as he looked over at Bulliwuf.
Look at you, with your head on her lap. Disgusting, Atar said, trying to cover his embarrassment with a show of annoyance.
“Good God!” General Tiridates said, leaping to his feet. “How far did you two carry that beast?”
Before Atar could answer, General Monases said, “Thank Mithra you brought him down. I sent some of the men out to hunt. One came back with a couple of skinny rabbits, but that’s all. I don’t know what we would have done for food.”
Atar’s eyes strayed to Sophene, but he looked away hastily. The other soldiers came over to view Atar’s catch, but much of their admiration was lost on Atar.
Far out in the dark night, the great boar watched the young man and his crazy follower stagger into camp. His gaze never faltered.
Chapter Eight
Kava was seated at the dinner table with his family. There was none of the cheerful chatter that usually took place. The only sounds were the scrape of eating utensils and the muffled sobs from Kava’s second wife.
Kava looked at the three empty seats, wondering if his boys were happy, if they had enough to eat, and if they cried at night. He prayed to God to look out for them. At least, he thought, gazing fondly at his little Lesa, at least I have her still. Her silken hair was tied back from her now serious face. He would make her something wonderful this afternoon and see her smile again.
A knock at the door made everyone jump. One of Kava’s wives rose, but he gently pushed her back into her seat.
He opened the door.
He looked down at the soldiers standing on his front steps. He felt his face flush with fury.
“We’ve come for the tithe, sir. We’d like it if you had any girls. We’re short on girls today,” the soldier in front said.
“What?” Kava bellowed. “You came last week! I’ve already given my children.”
“Hmm,” the soldier said, riffling through his parchment. “No, sir, I believe you must be lying. You are marked here as uncollected. You have a duty to the empire, you know. Let’s not prevaricate further, shall we? I come across this sort of thing too much.”
“Be gone! I have paid. I have no business with you,” Kava said, closing the door. A hard shove sent the door flying open. It crashed against the wall, causing Lesa’s glass trinket to fall off a nearby end table. The shatter of glass made Kava see red.
Kava could hear his own terrible, inhuman bellow of rage as if it were the sound of a distant bull bellowing. A soldier flew through the air, smacking hard against the stone walk. Kava charged through the door, crashing into their ranks. He picked up a fifty-pound flowerpot and hurled it at a group of them, killing two instantly. The pot shattered against the cobbled street with a tremendous crash, the dirt spraying out, soaking up blood, and sending the bright summer blossoms tumbling against the beaten down earth.
Soldiers darted into his house. Ten soldiers attacked and overwhelmed him. He couldn’t breathe. He felt gut-wrenching pain as the blows rained down all over his body. He felt his vision darkening and his limbs growing weaker when a terrible sound shot straight to his heart.
Lesa!
His daughter was screaming. Kava roared and struggled with phenomenal strength. He rose to his feet, incredibly, one soldier with a chokehold around his neck, two on each arm and leg.
“No! No!”
A soldier was carrying her out. For an eternal instant, their eyes met. Hers were teary and frightened and his were full of blood and killing rage. The profound, pure love they shared for one another was conveyed with perfect clarity in that moment. Then time started again and Kava was forced to the ground. Through the pain and approaching blackness, he heard her scream.
“Papa! Papa! Save me Papa!”
“Lesa!” he screamed. Desperately, he fought the men holding him, but they pressed down upon him, cutting off the air to his lungs. His mind flashed through memories. He remembered how her silky curls had bounced when she jumped with excitement at her father’s scandalous gift of the sword. How well he remembered her sparkling eyes, so full of trust. So full of the life that she anticipated living.
Sound dulled in Kava’s world. Light dimmed. He remembered his daughter’s laughing eyes as he started to slip away.
The soldiers tramped off.
In the cobbled street, Kava lay still. The street was sprayed with the bloodstained earth from the pot he had shattered. The bright flowers lay fallen in the street, glowing with the pools of red blood, like the lights of lost hope. Three feet away from Kava, a small bright sword lay gleaming in the street.
Zohak opened his eyes to utter blackness. Such blackness. Such an absence of anything. But no, that wasn’t true. It was filled with a searing guilt that cut him to his very soul. It clung to him and slid over his skin like grease.
Zohak screamed and the awfulness of the silence remained unbroken. Zohak struggled, trying to summon anger, but forgetting the taste of it. He struck out wildly.
Gasping with relief, he saw a chamber begin to form. Sweat trickled off his body. The feeling of filth and guilt had not left him. Suddenly the chamber felt as awful as the blackness. The light made his eyes ache and made him hunger. There was a red rose on the windowsill in fr
ont of him. Grabbing it, he crammed it into his mouth. With a start, he realized the thorns had pricked him. Blood fell from his hand. He looked out the window and saw that the sky was not there.
Blackness above a nonexistent world.
He turned away. The rose was tasteless in his mouth. Meruzanes was standing there, looking at him. He was scared. Zohak knew the vizier thought Zohak was unearthly. He wanted to say, “No, I am one of you. Don’t give me that look. I see the hollowness in your eyes!” But he couldn’t say anything. The vice-like grip of the paralysis overcame him once again.
The silence. The profound, utter lack of sound.
Clang, clang, clang.
The earsplitting noise suddenly overwhelmed him. The huge figure was there again, outlined in the door. He stepped forward.
Zohak bolted upright in bed, a scream barely held back with his clenched teeth. He gasped, shaking with the alien terror of his dream. He held his arms against his stomach protectively and rocked back and forth. It was like this every night, but never this bad. What the hell was wrong with him? His life had never been so good before. He had finally realized his dream and he was living the life he deserved.
Then why these dreams? Why did they occupy his every waking moment and fill his night with terror? Why the clanging noise, like the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer? Why did it frighten him so? Zohak sobbed in the darkness, letting his tears of distress drip onto the sheets. He continued to rock slowly as the fear inside him built. After he had calmed to some extent, he reached for the wine he kept on his bedside table. Slickness on his hand made his stomach clench with fear. Hastily, he lit a lamp and looked at his hand again.
Blood. Blood as red as the rose he had eaten in the dream.
Zohak felt his cheeks flush and he was invigorated as he emerged from his dungeon study. His ears rang slightly from their screams, but that was a small price to pay. His snakes were sated and quiet, tucked away behind his hair. Humming softly, he opened the door to Hergor’s old sitting room.
“Servant,” he hollered, pouring himself a generous drink. There was a furtive rustle of cloth behind him. “Fetch my vizier,” he ordered without looking up.
He sauntered to the veranda and seated himself in one of the chairs. He had determined that willpower and action would solve his problems. He could will himself to stop thinking of the dreams.
The day was fair and warm, and the skyline of the city, his city, was clearly visible against the sky. He closed his eyes for a moment, just letting the sunshine warm his face. He frowned at the ringing in his ears. Why did the awful brats have to shriek like that? It was really quite annoying. At least no one could hear them so far down under the castle. No one could possibly know.
Zohak heard the latch snick open. “Out here, Meruzanes,” he called. The vizier came to him. “Sit,” he ordered.
Meruzanes sat down, his expression carefully blank. “So,” Zohak said, swilling his whiskey, “how is the mob taking the rise in the tithe?”
Meruzanes looked as though his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Uh…” the vizier cleared his throat, “they’re…well, they’re taking it in the usual way,” he said. Sweat broke out on his brow. Zohak looked away from his vizier. The sun seemed a little harsher than a moment ago. A breeze lifted Zohak’s hair and he felt one of the snakes twitch. Meruzanes was treading on the thin line between the truth and a lie, Zohak realized, and he was telling him what he wanted to hear.
“And what of me in particular? What do they say of me?” Zohak asked.
“Of you? Well, uh…” Meruzanes’ mouth worked. He swallowed nervously. “Well,” Meruzanes said, “as always, the, uh, populace is rather uncertain. That’s quite normal, you must understand. They are always wary of…uh…new rulers.”
“Hmm,” Zohak said. He took a drink of whiskey and thought about it for a moment. “Wary, you say. I wonder if I’ve done anything at all to make them dislike me.”
Meruzanes sat very still.
“The only reason why I’m asking is because I have been having some very disturbing dreams.”
“Really? What is the nature of these dreams?” Meruzanes asked, leaning forward, as if eager to change the subject.
“Well…they have a quality of fear to them. I dream I am looking out at the sky. I see a red rose in a vase on the windowsill. Then you come in and try to talk. A figure is standing at the doorway. What could this mean?”
Meruzanes was silent. “I uh…believe such dreams are common among the great. I hear even King Siyavush had such frightful dreams.”
“Really? Hmm,” Zohak said. “King Siyavush. How the people adored him in ages past!” Zohak sipped his drink. The wind blew softly against their faces. After a moment Zohak said, “I want them to adore me. I want them to tell stories about me. You know as well as any man of the world that King Siyavush was no better than the common ambitious politician, but he played it right. He made a lasting impression. How do you suppose I could win that kind of affection?”
Meruzanes sat back. “Well, Your Majesty, I can think of several things.” He paused. “The idea deserves much consideration. One mustn’t appear to solicit their approval.”
Zohak nodded slowly.
“I would like to consult my fellows on the matter,” Meruzanes said. “We will present you with a number of solutions and Your Majesty can select the one that best suits his purposes.”
“Good, good,” Zohak murmured. “Get to work my friend. But still, I can’t imagine that they could hold anything against me. It will simply be a matter of making a good impression.”
Meruzanes smiled nervously, “O-of course, Your Majesty,” he said, backing away.
Chapter Nine
“Really?” the youngest shepherd asked. The three were seated on a slight rise in the land. The sheep grazed below them like clouds in a vivid green sky.
“Yes, I heard the same thing. But it didn’t happen like that,” the blue eyed shepherd said.
“Oh please! You think you know everything,” the shepherd with the black beard said.
“Well, in this, I do,” the blue eyed man said, rising to his feet. The wind had picked up, and he pulled his cloak around himself. “My mother’s second cousin had a friend who married a servant who worked in the very castle itself. I know what I’m talking about. I heard that the eyewitness came rushing into the kitchen. She didn’t faint at all. If she did, do you think Meruzanes would have helped her out? I think not. That weasel is slimier than two eels fucking in a bucket of snot. That woman ran out of the room so fast your head would spin. My friend said she was all pale and shaky. She told everyone that the Emperor’s new bride was dead. But she had had her brains taken out.”
The youngest shepherd gaped and the others were silent.
“Blood was everywhere,” the black bearded one said.
“No, no! Wrong again.”
“What do you mean wrong? That’s what they said at the bar.”
“Bull! She was all beautiful and peaceful in her bridal bed.” The man broke off, as his blue eyes filled with tears. He was thinking about his own daughter. Worry filled his heart. He feared he had made the greatest mistake of his life. She had been taken for the tithe. The soldier had said she would work as a servant in the most sumptuous part of the castle. He had said that she would be trained to apply cosmetics for the ladies of the court and would do no manual labor. She would have fine clothes and learn fancy talk. She would only be working a few hours of the day and the rest of the time, she could visit with friends or do whatever she wanted.
He had felt no qualms about sending her off. It was a better life than being the wife of a tradesman. He imagined that she would meet nice stable boys or blacksmiths and live happily ever after. But his wife had cried. His wife had begged him not to let her go. He had dismissed her ideas as the product of female frivolity, but that was before the rumors. That was before the great Queen Cunaxa the Pure had been killed.
Now his tears fell. Suspicions g
rew.
“Do you think that’s why he wanted the tithe…the tithe of unmarried people?” the youngest shepherd began.
The blue-eyed shepherd rounded on him, his eyes still bright with unshed tears. “What words are these that have passed the barrier of your teeth?” he demanded, shaking with emotion. “Hold a civil tongue in your head unless you want me to rip it out!”
He turned and dashed the tears of worry out of his eyes as he headed down the hill ostensibly to look at his herd.
The others watched him go in silence. The young shepherd looked at the black bearded one.
“It’s his daughter, whelp. She was sent off.”
“Oh,” the young one said. “I feel stupid.”
“If you have kids one day, maybe you’ll understand. It’s tough on a man,” he said. He heaved a great sigh, thinking of his own sons, drafted to the castle. If that Emperor dared to lay a hand on his boys…
Crack!
The young one looked over in astonishment, but he was no more surprised than the black bearded man himself. His staff lay broken on his lap. He had been gripping it with his powerful hands. Even now, his knuckles were white with his fierce grip.
“Someone get that imbecile to shut up!” Atar said, gritting his teeth. He looked back at them all, feeling ridiculous and furious.
“The footprints marched ahead into the distance of the dawn,
Glory, glory, glory, a sign for Sugreeva-aa-”
“Beautiful, Your Highness, beautiful!” Heslin simpered.
“The king to be attacked that day, tore the uh, the, the, uh something - asunder
Marching, ever fearsomely, roaring like the thunder-”
“Like the thunder. How descriptive. It catches His Majesty’s virility wonderfully,” Heslin said.
Atar urged Ishria forward to where Sugreeva and Heslin were bobbing along at the very front of the party, crowing to the world.
“High the shouts were raised that day, high the cries of battle
K B Forrest - [Fire Chronicles 04] Page 5
