His twin brother Meshurek, heir to Ordek’s throne, was the only being that marred Ashurek’s childhood and adolescence. Some twist in Meshurek’s personality made him a jealous and insecure child. He lacked the confident, extrovert nature of Ashurek and Orkesh, and he suffered dark moods in which no one could reach him. He lacked Ashurek’s skill at sport, riding and weaponry, and he knew, although they tried not to show it, that his parents preferred Ashurek. Slowly his envy became obsessive. Frantic to prove to the Emperor and Empress that he was as good as Ashurek, he would challenge him to races or fights which he then tried to win by trickery. Ashurek took it all in good humour, often saw through the deception, and usually won anyway. Meshurek would be left feeling foolish and angry as his brother walked away with what appeared to be a mocking smile.
Ashurek did not mean to mock his brother. In fact, he loved him, and found his envy incomprehensible. There was no point in letting Meshurek think he could win; better to make a joke of it, and perhaps one day Meshurek would laugh too.
But to Meshurek it was no joke. He had no sense of humour; only paranoia, and a painful awareness of his own failings. He was a tongue-tied, physically awkward boy, and although the courtiers only said it in whispers behind the unfortunate Prince Meshurek’s back, it was no surprise to him when he eventually overheard that they, and the general populace, thought he was an unfit heir to the throne and a shame that Prince Ashurek had not been born first.
Meshurek sank deeper into his fears. He became obsessed with the idea that his parents would oust him, even murder him, and make Ashurek heir. He convinced himself that Ashurek hated him. Paranoia ate at him like insatiable hunger.
But he was wrong. None of his family hated him, although they hesitated to show him love because he often reacted with hostile resentment. The laws of succession were strict, and Ordek in fact believed Meshurek would make an adequate Emperor, being of above average intelligence and a well-read boy. He had plans for Ashurek other than having him take a throne to which he was not entitled.
Even if the Emperor had explained this to Meshurek, he would not have believed it. His obsession had gone too far; his imagined fears had become real to him. By the time he was thirteen he was convinced there was a plot to remove him.
But he was Gorethrian. Though lacking in some ways, he had all the royal Gorethrian traits of cleverness, determination and desire for power. As he matured he realised that fighting Ashurek openly was pointless. He had to seek his own way to victory, and this he did by immersing himself in the things at which he excelled: reading and learning. He spent all his spare hours in the palace library. His awkwardness was replaced by a kind of malicious charm, which, once perfected, he knew would make him far more acceptable in court and in public. And he sought for himself some sort of weapon, against the day when he would have to fight for the throne.
Ashurek was relieved when Meshurek apparently found his feet at last. He was a changed youth; he had found his own interests, and showed all the brotherly affection Ashurek could hope for. Ashurek did not bother to look any deeper, because he had other, more exciting things to concern him. He was simply glad not to worry about his brother’s problems any longer.
The Emperor Ordek had had Ashurek well trained in all the arts of soldiery, and the young Prince showed more skill, enthusiasm and inspiration than his father could have hoped for. His plan was for Ashurek to become, eventually, High Commander of the Gorethrian army. That way, true power would be in Ashurek’s obviously capable hands and his insight, coupled with Meshurek’s knowledge, would make them an excellent team. The Empire would be safe for years to come; and that was Ordek XIV’s true purpose; to safeguard the future.
At sixteen, Ashurek went away with the army for the first time, under the wing of an experienced, loyal General from Ordek’s personal guard. Army life was everything he had dreamed of; and most importantly, he discovered that the subjects of the Empire were far from meek or abject. There was still a challenge, and work for the army to do.
Ordek and Melkish were delighted with the way he had taken to army life. He went on many forays and missions and was made an officer at the age of eighteen. Long tours of the Empire meant he did not see Meshurek or Orkesh for many months at a time, but they still heard of his exploits as the praises of the young, brilliant Prince Ashurek were sung in Shalekahh.
Meshurek’s jealousy grew darker. Even when Ashurek was not there, Meshurek must suffer to hear how wonderful and how much better than him his brother was. Perceiving that he would spend a lifetime being eclipsed by Ashurek’s achievements, even when he became Emperor, he spent many weeks pondering upon the knowledge he had found, how to gain his weapon and how he would use it. At last he made his decision, and set to work.
And from that moment, the Empire was doomed.
Ashurek was only twenty-one when Ordek deemed him ready to be made High Commander. He was very young, true; but it was not unusual for an Emperor’s son to be given such a high position of responsibility so early. He was well prepared and more than able to do the job; and most important, he was very popular. The people and the army loved him. Even Ordek sometimes mused that Ashurek would have made an excellent Emperor.
So Ashurek rode back into the shining, porcelain-delicate city of Shalekahh beside the retiring Commander, a white-haired man who had given many years of stolid service. They headed a column of cavalry mounted on the copper-and-fire horses he had so longed for as a child. Crowds lining the streets gave them such a rapturous welcome that, by the time Ashurek reached the white gates of the palace, he was moved to tears. Involuntarily, he thought of Meshurek and began to comprehend his jealousy. He never received more than a token cheer in public; and this adulation was good, worth having. Suddenly aggravated, almost embarrassed by the adoring shouts which he surely no more deserved than Meshurek did, Ashurek left his lathered horse with a groom and went brusquely into the palace alone.
He was exhausted from the long ride. He knew his family was awaiting him in the throne room, but he could not face them yet. He sent a servant to apologise for him, and went alone to his room to strip off the dusty war-gear and bathe; and then he sought out his sister, Orkesh and took her out into the palace gardens. They walked in silence along the avenues between pale fountains and lush sanguine flowers for a long time.
Eventually Orkesh said, ‘Aren’t you happy?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’re quiet – depressed. Most unlike you – and why didn’t you want to see mother and father?’
‘I’m tired. There’s time enough for that later. I need to be on my own for a while.’
‘I’m with you!’ said Orkesh with mock indignation.
‘You’re different. You soothe me.’ She shone a white smile at him and he grinned back, grateful for her gentle presence, her slim, dark, graceful form and the shared secrets in her brilliant green eyes.
‘So – how have things been while I was away?’ Ashurek asked.
He noticed a brief hesitation before she replied light-heartedly, ‘Oh, as always. They are building a new castle on the coast of Terthria – mother has been supervising that. I’ve been sent to preside at several dreary banquets for visiting nobles. I think they’re trying to marry me off, but I’m happy as I am, except when you’re away.’
‘And how is Meshurek?’
Again a hesitation. ‘Mother and father think he is making excellent progress. They’re too busy to look underneath. He seems to have changed for the better – you know, he is confident and full of ideas – the new castle was one of his – but something is not right with him.’
‘He’s always been… difficult,’ said Ashurek. ‘Do you mean he is worse, ill perhaps?’
‘Not ill,’ Orkesh replied thoughtfully. ‘On the contrary, he’s never seemed better; quite articulate and charming. It’s the way others react to him. Servants, courtiers, messengers, even the various cousins and uncles who know him well – they don’t like him. No one likes him, an
d believe me, it is no secret that everyone wishes he was not going to be their Emperor one day.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Ashurek said sharply. ‘Anyway, they have no choice – and no right to speak against him.’
‘Oh, you’re as bad as father.’ Orkesh began to tease her brother. ‘Can you honestly say you would not like to be Emperor? Ah – but what an Empress I’d make. It’s time Gorethria had an Empress again. We could easily dispose of Meshurek – ah, but then I’d have to murder you, too, to achieve my ambition.’
‘Be quiet,’ Ashurek laughed. ‘I think you’re only half-joking. Meshurek has grown up at last, and people find it hard to accept, that’s all.’
Orkesh turned to face him, her green eyes shining bright with that strange combination of humour and sincerity that was unique to her.
‘No, you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘People are frightened of him. And so am I. There’s something in him that terrifies me. But if you can look at him and tell me it’s my imagination, I’ll not say another word about it – agreed?’
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Ashurek grinned. ‘Now we had better go in and ready ourselves for yet another dreary banquet.’
Innocence. Talking and laughing with his sister, thinking the palace garden the loveliest place in the world. Greeting the rest of his family with joy, knowing that in only a few hours he would receive the high office that he had worked so hard to achieve. It would be the beginning of a wonderful life – the beloved army at his command and the freedom to wander the Empire like a hawk. Ashurek looked forward with almost boyish eagerness to a life of glory and high adventure fighting for Gorethria. He was aware of his vast responsibility; but to him responsibility was a joy, a way of serving his father and country. And it was not power he longed for; he was simply in love with army life, the smell of horses and leather, sweat and dust; the long treks across changing landscapes; the fascination of planning strategy, arguing long into the night as he and his fellow officers pored over maps by the light of a single lamp. The skills of battle and weaponry were arts in themselves to him, and the deaths they caused just a by-product, stones on Gorethria’s path to ultimate supremacy.
Ashurek was indeed innocent as he walked into the dazzling opulence of the banquet being held in his honour. He did not dream he was only a few hours from doubt, and a few months from dreadful knowledge.
There were many people to speak to, and not much chance to talk to Meshurek, but in the few moments Ashurek found to observe his brother’s behaviour, he seemed cheerful and self-assured. Slightly shorter and more broadly built than Ashurek, he seemed in the best of health and looked a suitably regal figure in a robe of ornately quilted green, purple and gold satin. Eventually Ashurek saw him talking to the Emperor and Empress, and moved across to join them. He found Orkesh on his arm as he said, ‘I hear you’ve initiated the building of a new castle at Terthria, Meshurek. How is it progressing?’
Meshurek turned smiling to him and said, ‘I think you are wondering, why am I building it? Terthria is a region of rare beauty and an ideal northern outpost.’
‘It is all black ash and volcanoes,’ said the Empress Melkish. ‘Some might find it beautiful, but I cannot abide the starkness of it.’
‘An outpost?’ said Ashurek. ‘What for? There is nothing there.’
‘There is the ocean,’ Meshurek said cryptically.
‘What he means,’ said Orkesh, ‘is the ocean between Gorethria and Tearn. It is at its narrowest there.’
Ashurek heard his mother give a faint sigh as if anticipating a familiar argument. But the argument was new to him, and he listened, fascinated, as Meshurek said, ‘You look surprised, my brother. Father and I have had long discussions on what I believe to be Gorethria’s only future. We need to establish posts along our coasts with a view to the invasion of Tearn.’
‘Discussions!’ the Emperor Ordek snorted. ‘I have explained to Meshurek in exquisite detail why it is impossible to subjugate Tearn.’
‘Wait, father,’ Meshurek said politely. ‘Let us hear Ashurek’s opinion.’
‘Tearn is another continent, not just another country. The army is at full stretch keeping control of the Empire. The strength of arms we would need to consider taking even a small part of Tearn would leave the Empire weakened, maybe in chaos.’
‘Exactly,’ said Ordek. ‘I have shown Meshurek the logic of it, and he is unable to reply with an equally logical argument. Yet he will not let the matter drop.’
‘The Empire is stagnant,’ Meshurek went on, apparently unperturbed by his father’s adamance. ‘What is there left for us to do, but conquer the other half of the world?’
The last remark was typical of the arrogant, dry humour sometimes heard in the royal court, but no one smiled. Ashurek felt chilled by Meshurek’s words, for no reason he could pinpoint.
‘The Empire, my son, is stable,’ Ordek contradicted. ‘We have everything we have worked for. Tearn is no threat to us – so why risk all we have, for the sake of greed?’
‘Gorethria has always taken risks,’ Meshurek replied smoothly. ‘That is why we are great.’
Ashurek was beginning to believe Orkesh. His brother did seem different. They had always been respectful, even a little nervous, with their father before; but now he got the impression that Meshurek was teasing Ordek, tantalising him with what seemed a foolish argument, while underneath there was some great and terrible meaning that Ordek did not suspect.
‘If you think, as I do, that invading Tearn is impossible, why has the building of the castle gone ahead?’ Ashurek said, looking into his father’s hawk-keen eyes. But Ordek did not reply.
Meshurek said, ‘Oh, it is just mother indulging my whims. As I said, I like it there.’
‘It is an Emperor-to-be’s privilege to have a personal retreat,’ Melkish added.
‘I can go there to dream,’ Meshurek smiled, ‘of my brother sailing across the sea to even greater glory.’
Ashurek felt disturbed for the rest of the evening. Even the company of his mother and sister could do nothing to dispel his mood, and when he noticed that Meshurek, having grown increasingly restless, had left the banquet early, he decided to follow him. They would have a long talk which would finally solve the differences between them.
There were no footmen on duty in the darkened corridor leading to Meshurek’s suite of rooms, although Ashurek could hear him talking to someone. The ornate gold door to his bedchamber was ajar, so Ashurek looked into the room and called, ‘Meshurek.’
Darkness lay in the large room like a crouching wolf. He could just make out the figure of his brother, with his back to him, outlined by a faint incandescence that seemed to glow from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Meshurek appeared not to have heard him, and went on talking. Ashurek realised he was talking to himself, or uttering a chant; the words were running together in an inhuman drone.
As he listened, Ashurek began to feel cold and sick. The language Meshurek was muttering was a form of ancient Gorethrian. The exact sense of it escaped Ashurek, but it seemed full of implications of horror, like a nightmare that cannot quite be remembered except for a sensation of terrible dread.
Meshurek was summoning something.
Ashurek was transfixed, fascinated and horrified, at the door; he could find no power to speak or move. His skull felt like lead. He did not understand what was happening, had no power to alter or stop it. For the first time in his life, he felt fear.
In front of his brother, silver light flared and a figure appeared as if from another dimension. It had a perfectly symmetrical human body that shone with a dazzling argent light; but the light was not beautiful. It burned Ashurek’s eyes like acid, and through the glare he saw his brother ducking and edging back like a cowed servant waiting to be struck.
The room – or his head – was filled with a thrumming like an iron bell vibrating in response to distant thunder. Ashurek felt his skull would surely crack open with the strain. My brother – he thought �
� what have you done?
Then the being spoke.
Its voice sounded like metal and cobwebs. A voice that could make a word into a real object, a poisoned needle that would slide into the listener’s skin and pin him to some dreadful fate. And it was also hypnotic, and persuasive.
‘You have called me again, Prince Meshurek. How can I help you?’
‘Meheg-Ba,’ the Prince gasped as if in physical distress, ‘I want – I want assurances. Did you hear them earlier?’
‘Hear what, O Meshurek? Calm yourself. Explain,’ said the being. Its broad silver face was stretched in a leer, and the mouth gleamed red as if full of blood.
‘The people – cheering Ashurek my brother. Tomorrow he is to be made High Commander. How much louder they will cheer then… I…’
‘Meshurek, now that you have called me to your service, I can see or hear anything you want me to. Once summoned, I can wander freely on Earth to do your bidding. What assurance can I give you?’
‘I want them to cheer me, not him!’ Meshurek almost shouted, his voice ravaged by fear and greed. ‘The people should love and worship me. I am to be their Emperor – not Ashurek!’
The silver being let out a hiss like an echo of laughter. ‘One thing I cannot do, my Prince, is make people like you. Only you can do that. But listen, I can give you all the power you desire – you know that, for that is the true reason you first summoned me.’
The creature stretched out magnesium-white hands and placed them on Meshurek’s shoulders. ‘You and I together shall be invincible. With such power, I promise you will not care that you are not loved!’
Meshurek’s shoulders shook as though he was laughing. ‘Yes, Meheg-Ba. I trust you. I can make them worship me on a whim!’
A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Page 5
