His roar mingled with Sugreeva’s squeak of terror.
“Tell her I am already married,” Sugreeva said hysterically, trying to hide behind the seated soldiers. Heslin scurried after him.
“Honored Princess, the Prince wishes to inform you that he is engaged to another woman,” Sophene said. Bulliwuf laid his enormous head on her lap and watched the proceedings.
There was a clatter of tin dishes and a howl of pain as Sugreeva stepped in someone’s hot soup.
Beerta stopped. “Woman? Who does he belong to?”
“Uh, well, to me,” Sophene said awkwardly. “But you can have him. It’s fine by me.”
Beerta looked at her for a moment, her face stony. Then a slow smile spread across her features. “Thank you, Sophene. Beerta thanks you. You are good woman. I shall give you something in return. You want a horse?”
“What are you talking about?” Sugreeva demanded. “Wife, I order you to tell me what you are saying!”
“No thank you, Beerta, but it was a gracious offer,” Sophene said, ever the diplomat. “Perhaps some animal skins? I’ll be traveling through the cold mountains.”
“She’s bartering you off, sir,” Heslin said, shocked.
“Ga-Wa- Bartering me? I am the Prince!”
“I don’t know what she means by it, sir. It is most improper. Most unseemly for…”
“Oh!” Sugreeva wailed.
“I have a warm cloak. You take in trade? Very, very warm.”
“Let me see the cloak first, then I will say,” Sophene said.
“I get cloak and priest,” Beerta said.
Atar roared.
In the Realm of Fire, the Goddess watched. She chuckled as the figure in the luminescent square of color struggled and screamed his frustration. He really was adorable in a rage.
Chapter Eleven
Zohak preened under the compliments. Who would have thought that there would be so few complaints, he thought complacently. The Great Hall was filled with noise as the family of farmers left. Then the next person stepped up to the dais.
The miller was shaking as he looked up at Zohak, who was seated on the dais alone. He knew the effect his small, chilling smile was having on people.
“Uh…” the miller began. “I…came to uh…. pay compliments and um… homage to the uh…Munificent Emperor Zohak,” the miller paused.
When he looked up, Zohak stared at the miller, his snakes curving and hissing softly around him. He was lounging in his throne. He’d seen so many people. They had mostly all said the same things. They seemed to be satisfied with their lives. “Do go on,” Zohak said.
“Uh…and – but I did have one grievance. But it’s not against you, my Lord. It’s my uh…cow sir. She’s got cowpox real bad, sir. We need her, my family and me.”
Zohak smiled. Not once had there been a complaint against himself. Raising his hand regally he said, “You shall be given a new cow, dear subject, at once.”
The miller gaped. The crowd applauded at the show of Zohak’s charity. Meruzanes bowed his head as if offering up a fervent prayer of thanks. There was a shout beyond the doors, but the sound of applause covered most of the noise.
A huge man slammed the guard into the wall and opened the great doors. He wore a blacksmith’s leather apron, as if he hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion of meeting the Emperor. That annoyed Zohak somewhat, and he did not immediately acknowledge him. He was content and feeling benevolent. It had been nice to give someone a cow. It had been kind of him to change the miller’s life with a nod of his head.
“Zohak!” a bellow cut across the applause. Silence fell abruptly as the shocking disrespect of the newcomer registered. Zohak noticed the way Meruzanes’ head snapped up. He looked quickly at the other viziers, but they looked just as confused.
Zohak kept his own expression neutral as the blacksmith approached, shaking and red-faced. He was travel stained, wild-eyed and dangerous looking. He seemed choked with emotion.
“Good sir,” Zohak said evenly. “Do you have a grievance?”
Kava bit back a scream. He lowered at the lounging Emperor, the indolent king who had stolen the jewel that had made his life happy.
“Yes, I have a grievance,” Kava said softly.
“Against whom?” Zohak asked.
“You,” murmurs of shock went round the Great Hall. “Look at you, surrounded by simpering viziers who beg you and gush of your magnanimity. You’re damn right I have a grievance! I had eight children. EIGHT! You have taken them each from my home. You have taken them. I do not know why, Dragon King. What grievance do you have against me? What have I done to be singled out like this—to have every one of my children taken? I have no ties to this world now. And my youngest son – I was certain he at least would be spared. But no. No, you took him too. Of all the people in this land, why does it have to be my children’s brains that are sacrificed to His Majesty’s worms? If I have done something to you, fight me! Why do you inflict your malice on my children?”
Silence.
Zohak felt an odd paralysis seize him. How did they know? How could they know? Did everyone know? He turned to Meruzanes. “How could something like this have happened?” Zohak asked, trying to infuse his words with the proper indignation. To his horror, his voice came out flat and uninflected. “What is the name of your son, good citizen?”
“Jamshir, the son of Kava,” the man said, with a touch of disbelief.
“Fetch him at once,” Zohak ordered. “I assure you, good citizen, that this was an error on the part of my service members. How can I make this right to you?”
“Give me my last son. That is all I want,” the blacksmith said.
“No, no, I insist, you shall be reimbursed. I shall not let an angry citizen leave here. What can I give you? Land? Women? Money?”
The blacksmith shook his head.
“A cart of incense? Perhaps I should pack it with rugs?” Zohak asked. The man still did not answer. Zohak felt a sweat break out on his brow. “Would you like that, Kava the blacksmith? Excellent, steward! Fix it up for the man,” Zohak ordered. “And look, there is your little son now.”
The burly man knelt as his son came running over. He sobbed openly with the boy and then picked him up, holding the child tight in his arms.
As he turned to go, Zohak said, “Wait! Please stay a while.”
The blacksmith shook his head.
“At least sign the Proclamation,” Zohak said. He waved his hand and one of the servants brought the document to the man, who put his child down and accepted the scroll. Zohak was surprised that the man could read. He began to read aloud.
“The Proclamation of Emperor’s Magnanimous Deeds:
Emperor Zohak the Munificent, the greatest King of Kings, the giver of prosperity, the giver of Justice, the giver of Truth, the Commander in Chief of the Armies, the Head of State, The Father of the Country, the Master of the Purse, hereby proclaims his God given right and duty to the throne of Persia.
When the blacksmith looked up, there was black rage in his eyes. He shook his head. “Fools!” he whispered, shaking. “Fools!” he shouted, ripping the proclamation, and cracking the wooden scrolls with his powerful hands. Zohak had the sudden vision of himself being broken just like the scroll.
He looked up to see Meruzanes covering his mouth with his hand, looking at him. The Great Hall was alive with excitement, people jostling one another to get a better view of the shocking spectacle.
Zohak was frozen. The paralysis was on him. A cold sweat beaded his brow. Sound was dimming. No, no! This cannot happen now! He gripped the jeweled throne with white knuckled hands, jaws clenched against the fear.
Clang, clang, clang.
“Weaklings!” Kava the blacksmith shouted. He threw the proclamation to the floor, sneering his disgust. The wood clattered three times against the stone floor. The guards surrounding the throne looked to Zohak for orders, but he just sat there.
“Have you cowards been so blinded w
ith awe and fear that you cannot see the evil of this man? Giver of Justice? Giver of Truth? What can this mean when freethinking people hide the injustice of another because of fear? I will not lend my testimony to the righteousness of this Dragon King. I will never stand in awe of him!”
The blacksmith spat onto the ground and thundered out of the Great Hall with his son in his arms.
There was a moment of shocked silence then pandemonium broke out.
“Your Majesty! Why did you not strike him dead?” Meruzanes hissed. “Why didn’t you stop him before he left the Hall?”
Zohak was shaking.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
It was all he could hear now.
“Wine,” Zohak croaked in a barely audible voice. “Fetch me some wine.”
Kava shoved the guards out of the way, bowling one over as he exited. He snatched the man’s spear and darted out onto the courtyard. Beyond lay the open gates. A string of guards blocked the straining crowd’s way. The angry people made a mammoth amount of noise. It fell upon his ear like a roar as he left the Great Hall.
Kava hurried over to the wall and mounted the stone steps that led to the top of the gate. His young son scurried after him. From Kava’s vantage, he could see almost to the end of the sea of people. The skyline of the great city in the distance drew his eye out beyond the crowd for a moment. He stood still, feeling the anger of the throng. Behind him, the glorious castle shimmered in the brightness of the day. The wind blew his hair, and carried to him the scent of danger.
“People of Persia!” he roared in the loudest voice he had ever used. Some were looking up at him. His voice boomed out over the crowd, “People of Persia! Do you want justice?”
A roar from them shivered the very air. It rumbled up from the ground, vibrating on the soles of his feet.
“Do you want freedom?”
The roar again. The guards looked about them, frantic.
“Get that maniac off there!” the captain shouted to his nearest man.
“Do you want honor?” Kava roared from the top of the wall.
They screamed again, inhuman with the fire of his words.
“Captain? Captain, what did you say?”
“Zohak is no King. He is a Dragon King. He is the Maker of Evil,” Kava shouted.
Thousands called up to him. The sound was the very essence of fury. The power of that inhuman, yet very human voice filled with rage and passion, crashed against the ear like a tidal wave.
They watched him remove his blacksmith’s leather apron and secure it to the spear he had stolen from one of the guards. The wind picked up the leather as Kava held it aloft like a flag. The Banner of Fire, the Kavayani banner, had been raised against injustice.
“Let us liberate ourselves from the yoke of this evil man’s reign! By means of this leather, worth nothing, costing nothing, let us distinguish the enemy from the friend! Let all stouthearted citizens rally against the Dragon King! Let us seek shelter under the protection of the Firestarter’s Royal Farr!”
The brisk wind snapped the leather, punctuating Kava’s speech. The crowd roared.
“Let us seek Atar!”
“Let us have a new King!”
“On to the Firestarter!”
The castle gates slammed shut on the rowdy crowd. Kava whirled as a scream from below alerted him to danger. There was a flash of silver hurtling toward him as the guard’s sword came down. Kava brought up the spear, neatly blocking the sword, and their weapons cracked together. Kava roared and threw the guard into the air, but found to his dismay, that he was surrounded.
Below, the crowd watched helpless. Snarling, Kava sliced the air with the long reaching spear, beating his attackers back with the savageness of his assault. Below, the crowd screamed their approval. In the second they hesitated, Kava scooped up his one remaining son and launched himself off the high wall, the Banner of Fire still clutched tight in his fist. Eager hands caught him. Kava was swirled away into the front of the enormous crowd, the Banner of Fire marking his progress.
The chant began, climbing in volume as more took up the cry, “FIRE-STAR-TER! FIRE-STAR-TER! FIRE-STAR-TER!”
The dust from the passage of the crowd began to hang thickly in the warm air. It came from the fire of their excitement as the procession headed out.
The noise from outside vibrated through the walls of the castle. Meruzanes opened the door to Zohak’s dungeon study and entered. Zohak did not turn from the pool. Outside, the crowd roared, causing delicate ripples in his goblet of dark wine.
“What happened up there?” Meruzanes asked. Zohak slowly turned and took the few steps to his ornate seat.
“Vizier,” Zohak said as he poured more wine. “I will have a new wife sent up to my rooms.”
“Of c-course, at once, Your Majesty,” Meruzanes said after a slight hesitation. “Sir, do you want us to draft the Proclamat-”
“No!” Zohak interrupted quickly.
“Very good, Your Majesty. Are there any orders you would have me relay to the soldiers?”
“Get out of here,” Zohak said flatly.
Meruzanes slipped out of the chamber, fumbling with the doorknob in his haste. When the door shut quietly, Zohak let out a shaky breath. He licked his dry lips and tried to gather his wits. The ringing clangs had filled the Great Hall. The massive shape of the man of his dreams…He broke out in cold sweat at the memory.
Chapter Twelve
Atar’s eyes snapped open. The dark camp was utterly silent except for the wild calling of crickets. His face was cold from the chill of the night, but there wasn’t a trace of sleepiness in his eyes. Atar eased himself out of bed. He could see that Bulliwuf sensed he was awake and stretched indolently, falling back into slumber with enviable ease. Atar took a stealthy peek around him. In the darkness, he could see the red orange glow of the fires. Trying not to look sneaky, he stood up and boldly walked through the leather tents and sleeping forms, his bare feet not making a sound.
People tending their fires looked up at him as he passed, saluting him and smiling. Atar smiled back and forced himself to walk slower. He approached the outskirts of the camp and smiled cheerfully at the four guards clustered around a small fire, watching the horse herd.
They watched Atar approach with suspicion, one of them swiping up the dice they had been playing. The four hastily made room for him as he indicated his desire to sit with them.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Atar said in Mongolian.
The dice man grunted in response. Atar noted that he seemed to be the one in charge. He sized the four of them up trying to be as casual as he could. Besides the dice man, there was a young man and two others who sat close to one another. One of the two was wearing an odd furry helmet and the other was scowling. Atar felt the weight of the amulet around his neck with painful acuteness as the stares of the men drew out. The young guard looked away, awed and embarrassed to be in the presence of the Chief. Atar shifted slightly and three of the four men were almost on their feet. The young guard looked mortified that he hadn’t responded as quickly as the others had.
Atar laughed, dread sinking into his heart. “Take it easy! I couldn’t run away if I wanted to. You people took my boots.”
There was a beat of silence and the men settled back down chuckling. These men had all heard of how he had outfoxed the guards once, and were not eager to let it happen again.
“I heard you bit Beerta when she took them away,” the guard wearing the helmet said.
They laughed when he shrugged. “I would have done a lot more if she hadn’t sat on my head,” Atar said. Even the scowling guard burst into raucous laughter. Atar told himself sternly to relax. The men were still poised to pounce despite their apparent ease. Atar assumed an exaggeratedly relaxed position under their intense scrutiny. The uneasy silence threatened to stretch out.
“Who does that one belong to?” Atar asked pointing to a proud mare grazing at the edge of the herd.
“That one?” the scowling guar
d asked with a touch of pride as he uncorked a leather canteen. “She is mine, but you may have her if you like,” the man offered, seemingly flattered that the chief had complimented his mount. His expression smoothed out.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I could not possibly accept. Have you seen my horse?” Atar asked.
“The blue stallion?” the man with the helmet asked.
His companion snorted with disgust, “Of course he means the blue stallion.”
“That’s a magnificent horse,” the young guard offered in an awed tone.
“Can you believe this young fool tried to approach him?” the dice man said. The Helmet man and his companion chuckled as the young guard turned bright red.
“I-I meant no disrespect, I just…uh…wanted to see him…uh…” the young guard trailed off.
“Uh,” the scowling man mocked with disgust and his friend in the helmet laughed. The dice man gave the two friends a quelling look.
“You are in the presence of the chief,” the dice man said, a flush of embarrassment at his men’s poor behavior coming to stain his cheeks.
“It’s okay. Ishria the Stormy does that to everyone. You should have seen the first time I tried to approach him,” Atar said with a wry smile.
“Do tell us,” the dice man said eagerly.
Atar told the story without needing to embellish. As he spoke, he needed to pause a few times to come up with the right words, but his narrative was not adversely affected by his unfamiliarity with the language. The young guard in particular was enthralled, but the scowling man was still watchful. Firelight flickered off their faces.
“So I rode into camp to the great shock of Zohak.”
“Zohak the Emperor?” the young guard interrupted incredulously. The dice man gave him a fierce stare.
“Yes, he was one of the Paralatae for years. I thought he had been born there as I was, until all that mess broke out. Anyway, I rode out of camp, but the guards on duty thought I was their relief. I waited for a second and the storm clouds grew darker and darker in the sky. Suddenly, CRACK! A bolt of lightning hit the herd and they panicked.”
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