Blood of Kings

by Andrew James

  Gobryas sprang from the couch, hand flying to his dagger. Heavy brows arching in amusement, Ardu straightened up and stepped jauntily towards him, his own dagger appearing in his fist. Darius crossed the chamber to get between them, noticing Vivana moving into position to restrain his friend. Megabyzus sat up lazily and pointed a meaty finger at his nephew. ‘Sit down,’ he said gruffly.

  Gobryas rolled his eyes to the ceiling but sheathed his dagger. Darius caught Ardu’s eye and shook his head. Ardu shrugged, spread his fingers wide and stepped back.

  Otaneh rubbed his temples with his fingers. The grey streaks in his beard suddenly seemed very pronounced, as though he had aged in just a few days. ‘Darius and Ardu are right, Gobryas. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. Either we kill the pretender and put the magi to flight, or one by one they will kill us all.’

  A short silence was broken by Vinda. ‘And afterwards?’ he piped up, the old calculation back in his eyes. ‘Who rules?’

  Darius felt the tension of the last few years pulling inside him. The throne was close. Very close. But he could still lose it. Represented in this room were four of the great Aryan houses of the Empire. Five, including himself. Whatever these men decided was unlikely to be challenged.

  Ardu slowly set his wine down on the floor. His father’s standing and the new authority of his adulthood ensuring that everyone watched, and would take note of whatever he said. ‘Darius, of course.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Vivana firmly, his hard soldier’s eyes commanding respect, his tone just daring Vinda to argue.

  Vinda’s eyes narrowed at the unspoken insult from the man he had once despised. But he kept his temper, aware that to lose it now would reduce him in the eyes of these powerful men. In the Oasis of the Two Lakes he had said he would support Darius as king and at the time Darius was sure he had meant it. But ambition is a drug. Darius sensed that after years of scheming at court, like a man hooked on poppy, Vinda couldn’t quite bring himself to give it up.

  ‘Well, Darius?’ Gobryas asked, implicitly making clear he was not a contender himself.

  Knowing he mustn’t sound triumphant, Darius fought to keep his voice level. ‘Show me a better man and I’ll willingly stand aside.’

  Megabyzus shook his head. ‘Not me. Don’t need the fuss. A good fat steak, nice fat woman, a flagon of wine and I’m a happy man.’

  ‘Otaneh?’ Vinda asked, perhaps hoping that if someone else stood against Darius, he might slip through the middle.

  Otaneh hugged his arms across his chest, one finger idly playing with the diamond swinging from his ear. Fine red hairs on the back of his hand showed up in a beam of sunlight streaming into the room. For the last few years he and Darius had talked about the need to remove Cambyses, but they had never discussed who would replace him. Darius realized he had no idea what Otaneh wanted. Until the false Bardiya relieved him from the post of spadapati, he had been the highest man in the land, short of the Imperial family. Did he have ambitions to climb even higher? If so, Darius was in trouble. He felt a surge of resentment against Otaneh at the thought. Guiltily, he controlled it. After all, Otaneh owed him nothing. Why should he defer to Darius?

  Uncrossing his arms, Otaneh gave his analysis in his soft, measured tone. ‘If Darius marries Parmys he will unite the ancient kings with Cyrus’s blood, and bring peace to the Empire. I’d not contest a claim that strong. Besides, I haven’t forgotten Cyrus’s dream.’

  ‘Cyrus’s dream?’ Darius asked, curious.

  ‘The night he had you arrested he dreamt that he saw you sitting on his throne, astride Asia, Africa and Europe. He was deeply disturbed by the vision. He told me he knew that one day you would take the crown.’

  Darius was astounded. He had heard nothing of this dream. ‘Yet he still signed the warrant for my release?’

  ‘There were depths to that man the rest of us can barely guess at,’ Otaneh said. ‘And if he thought you were destined to be king, that is good enough for me.’

  From the outside, the castle at Sikayauvatish looked just like Frada’s. Darius wasn’t surprised; most of the old Medean castles were built along the same lines. Four squat round towers and a gatehouse, smooth, mud-plastered walls, rounded crenulations atop the battlements, with square gaps beneath for shooting arrows through, and a large central courtyard. But while Frada’s castle was built on a plain, Sikayauvatish stood on top of a small, bare mountain. It would be difficult for the seven conspirators to approach the gatehouse unseen. Not that they would stand out unduly. The foot and lower slopes of the mountain were swarming with so many people it looked to Darius as though the castle was already under siege. The last time he had seen it, on his way to visit Frada, there had been just a few itinerant traders setting up pitches on their carts. Now a permanent bazaar had sprung up, serving both the castle and the luxurious tents of the unofficial court gathering outside it. No longer content with bare benches, traders were putting up increasingly substantial structures, often with cloth awnings to shield the produce from the sun.

  The bazaar brought all the noise and bustle bazaars always bring: the heaving crowds, the shouting traders, the lines of camels unloading fruit, vegetables, spices, wine and luxuries from across the Empire. Keeping well away from the smell and clamour of the common traders, a constant stream of richly dressed dignitaries were arriving on expensive horses brilliant with jewelled saddlecloths, knotted manes and gold rosettes on their harnesses. Foreign ambassadors bringing urns of earth and water to place at the feet of the new King of Kings, expectant nobles hoping for preferment at court, petitioners hoping for justice or favours. Darius assumed that Sikayauvatish had been chosen deliberately as a hideaway for the secretive magus to avoid public scrutiny. If so, the plan had failed. Whether he liked it or not, the King of Kings was the source of too much power and patronage to live in seclusion.

  No one paid any attention when seven more well-dressed men arrived and pitched their tents amidst the colourful throng. They were just another drop in a swelling ocean of people. Squatting in the shade of his horsehide tent, Darius looked up at the castle. Late summer was shading into autumn, a low sun throwing shadows from the battlements. So far, the large crowds at the foot of the mountain were peaceful. But the magus was plainly taking no chances. Archers manned the towers, armed men lounged in the cool shade of the gatehouse. A mixture of eunuchs with scimitars and magi with akinakes swords, their biggest excitement was escorting deputations in and out of the castle. They looked utterly bored.

  Without any particular signal, the seven men left their respective tents, formed a group and walked casually to the main gate, ignoring the hawkers and traders who clutched at their gowns. Otaneh had removed the lion-headed insignia which denoted his old rank of spadapati. Ardu and Vinda had removed all signs of royal favour. Megabyzus, Gobryas and Darius wore nothing to show they had ever been Spearbearers to Cambyses. In an ironic twist, Vinda had lent Vivana an expensive embroidered gown of saffron yellow to wear above his armour, as well as gold earrings and a neck torc of silver. Darius thought the gown looked a bit tight on the shoulders but otherwise Vivana was indistinguishable from the nobles around him. They all looked convincingly like wealthy but unimportant nobles seeking positions at the King of Kings’ court, just like all the other noblemen who had passed this way in recent days. Even so, walking to the gateway, Darius felt sour anxiety in the pit of his belly. This was complete madness; they were just seven men attacking a whole castle.

  The gatehouse was large and solidly built and it took Darius eight tense paces to pass under its arch; each one haunted by the fear that those thick walls were going to become his prison. From the shadow of the gatehouse a frame of light revealed the inside of the castle. To the left a wall divided the courtyard; set into it was a low door. To the right stood a small barracks block, the only way past it a twisting passage designed to baffle an attack. Ahead, Darius was surprised to see a second gateway. This castle had not been designed as a noble family’s c
omfortable hideaway, but with serious defence in mind.

  Their feet clattered against the hard-packed dirt in the outer courtyard. Approaching the second gatehouse six magi were lounging against the walls, swords in their belts, menacing in black robes. They looked up at the approaching men, taking in the noble dress and expensive weapons with vague distaste. The senior magus waved his hand airily. ‘Names?’

  Vinda was at his most imperious. His voice cracked like a whip. ‘We are here to see the King of Kings, my man. If you do not recognize us, shame on you.’

  The magus yawned. In a low voice he gave orders to a runner who disappeared into the interior. ‘Names?’ he repeated insolently. Darius was sure that if they knew it was the former spadapati, and the man betrothed to the daughter of Bardiya, they would kill everyone on the spot. As agreed, Vinda gave false names. They waited anxiously until the runner returned, whispering that the king was receiving. With an unwelcoming smile, the magus waved them on. Despite their subterfuge, Darius had the distinct feeling they were being enticed into a trap.

  Their footsteps echoed through the gatehouse into a passage, which led to a second, smaller, more intimate courtyard at the heart of the castle. Each wall had three doorways, making twelve in all. Most stood open. Through the nearest, Darius could see a maze of small passages and interconnecting apartments. He approached cautiously, eyes probing the dim corridors for a sense of their layout. None of the seven knew the castle well, and their plan depended on finding and killing the impostor before anyone realized that they were hostile.

  Looking through the unshuttered windows Darius saw that this magus-king had rich tastes. In the eight months of his reign he had gathered the rarest, choicest items in the Empire. Jewels and precious metals abounded. Exquisite rugs, delicate ornaments. Blue Egyptian faience, sparkling Phoenician glass. It was like looking at the treasure house of a particularly greedy jinn.

  In the middle of the neatly paved courtyard, eight more magi were sitting at a polished walnut table eating beef carved from a massive joint. They wore sacred robes with sword belts and bronze scale armour, and had the relaxed air of off-duty guards. Darius sniffed and frowned. Normally tempting, the smell of roasted meat just intensified the sourness in his gut. Eight eunuchs in elegant robes stood stiffly on guard, jewelled scimitars pushed into their belts, beardless chins thrust forward over well-fed bellies. Perhaps they alternated shifts with the magi. They were eyeing the joint hungrily, waiting for their turn.

  As the seven nobles approached, the eunuch guards held out hands for their weapons. Following Darius’s lead, the nobles drew their swords to hand them over. ‘The King of Kings’ men eat well,’ Darius said, smiling pleasantly at the nearest eunuch.

  ‘No better than we should,’ the eunuch answered sullenly.

  Holding the sword with the hilt reversed, Darius laughed loudly and pointed at the joint. ‘It’s huge, but they’ve eaten all the best bits. Look!’ The eunuch opened his mouth in dismay and turned to look, never seeing the blade that Darius drove deep into the side of his neck or the feet that kicked his legs from under him. As his blood splashed onto the flagstones, blades swished through the air. A eunuch screeched, another squealed and tried to run but Ardu grabbed the neck of his gown, pulled him back and thrust into his spine. Straight-backed, Otaneh ran through a third, the slaughterhouse smell of blood and ripped bowels suddenly filling the courtyard. As Darius advanced, sword in hand, towards the still-seated magi he saw that all but two eunuchs were down. Most had fallen before their weapons were even drawn.

  Wooden stools cracked against stone as panicking magi saw the slaughter, abandoned their food and jumped to their feet. Some were too slow. Hooking his boot under the edge of the table, Vivana grunted as he kicked it over. The great joint of beef slid sideways and fell off the edge, bowls and cups smashed against the ground, the solid wooden table landed on its side with a crash which cracked the paving and sent dust swirling up. The magi sitting on the far side cried out as they were thrown backwards off their stools and crushed beneath it.

  Confusion reigned in the small courtyard. A fat-bellied eunuch squealed as Vivana grabbed him by the hair, jerked back his head and sawed his blade across the man’s throat. Two magi lay groaning beneath the table, three more drew swords and put up a spirited defence as Darius attacked. The rest ran for the nearest doorway, the echo of their boots hollow in the enclosed courtyard, their laboured breathing coming in frightened gasps. Surrounded by the spark and clash of iron Darius thrust his akinakes into the chest of one magus, pushed his jerking body aside, lunged at a second but missed as he turned and fled. Gobryas set off in pursuit. After a short flurry of blows the last of the three magi went down and Darius looked around, knowing he had to finish it quickly, before the rest of the castle reacted to the commotion.

  He tapped Otaneh, Vinda, Gobryas and Megabyzus on the shoulders and pointed at the furthest door. ‘Through that one. We’ll meet.’ He led the rest through the nearest door, running down the short corridor, left through a magnificently appointed room, into a second that adjoined it, out into another short corridor, always following the warning cries of the retreating magi. Ahead, the magi suddenly bunched together and drew up short. Beyond them Darius heard Otaneh shout, then Megabyzus. Someone screamed. Their path blocked, two surviving magi fled back towards Darius, their faces still reflecting the shock of the sudden assault. Vivana tripped the first and thrust into his neck. The second dodged round a green silk couch and ran onto Darius’s outstretched blade, gave a cry of surprise, then breathed in hard as Darius rammed the point deeper into his guts. Already more footsteps were crashing in the courtyard and shouts echoing through the castle, as fresh guards came running. Darius pushed the writhing magus off the blade and dashed out the apartment, trying in his mind to plot the likely layout of the corridors. He turned right, ran along another passage, turned right again and ran straight into a large, luxurious throne room lit by torches. Where, upright on a high-backed throne, the kitaris crown sparkling on his head, sat Bardiya.

  Darius stood and stared. Bardiya was alive! How could he have been so wrong? How could they all? The king’s eyes crinkled, his face alight with a smile so warm it outshone the gold of his crown. There was no mistaking that smile. Otaneh, who had followed with Vinda, stared as though at a ghost. Vinda’s jaw hung open. Darius had stopped so suddenly Ardu ran into his back, throwing him against one of the silver Fire Altars in the middle of the floor. Bardiya laughed softly at the collision, a gentle, knowing laugh that filled the room. As ever, his gown was immaculate, the pleats hanging crisply from his waist, his jewels tasteful, his face calm. Behind his throne stood two armed magi; four paces in front of it, facing the king, stood two more, exactly where the Spearbearers normally stood. At his side was a grey-haired man of imposing stature. Darius recognized the High Magus, complete with gold chain binding the bundle of myrtle rods in his hand and white robes with their silver amulets and charms.

  Ignoring the sounds of fighting that he must have heard just moments earlier, the king spoke calmly. ‘You look confused, noble friends … You were not expecting to see me?’

  Then Darius knew. Whatever dark magic it was, it hadn’t extended to the voice. It was too high, too thin. Darius raised his bloodied sword. The false king’s eyes hardened. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  The torchlight was flickering, but Darius saw now that the shape of the man’s mouth was slightly wrong, the cheeks too thin. Ardu was right. A son of Cyrus perhaps, but not the right one. He waved his hand at Vinda and Otaneh, then gestured at the High Magus. ‘He knows who we are. And if you were Bardiya, so would you.’

  The false king looked enquiringly at the High Magus, who whispered the intruders’ names. The king drew back his upper lip, taking on a feral look Darius had never seen on Bardiya. He stretched out his arm, pointed at Darius and screamed, ‘He is an enemy of the rule of God!’ The magi around him growled. The false king reached for a bow lying beside the throne, took it up
, strung it. The High Magus hefted a spear. The four magus guards drew their swords and ran at the intruders screaming some hysterical, unearthly cry.

  Darius, Vivana, Megabyzus and Otaneh stepped calmly forward to meet their charge. Darius raised his sword, felt it jar as another crashed against it. Everywhere the harsh ring of clashing blades. Driving his opponent back with a series of rattling blows that sparked off his sword, Darius found the magus guard brave but slow, lacking strength and speed. Their blades came together, Darius’s on top. Someone behind him screamed and hit the ground. Three men charged at the throne. Flicking his eyes Darius recognized Vinda, Megabyzus and the trim figure of Ardu. The thin high voice of the man who wasn’t Bardiya flung curses at their approach and a bowstring twanged. Darius’s opponent’s strength suddenly gave out, his arm forced down and back, his guard open, and Darius grunted as he lunged the stabbing sword. With the speed of desperation the magus somehow managed to parry. Darius backhanded, flicking the blade in from the left. The magus blocked again, but only just. Darius followed through, rolled his wrist and cut in again from the right. The magus was too slow. The razor point of the akinakes scored across his belly, a dark gash opened in his gown. He looked down in astonishment. Darius nearly slipped on his guts as they slithered to the ground.

  Two other magi were on the floor, but Vinda was moaning, lying in a patch of blood, his hands to his face, and Ardu lay nearby with a wound in his thigh, head tilted up to the High Magus holding a bloodied spear above him. The false king had dropped his bow and was sprinting for a door on the far side of the chamber, Megabyzus chasing. Jumping over the glistening pool of guts Darius tried to reach Ardu but slipped and was too late. The High Magus drove the spear down. As it came Ardu rolled aside, reached up, grabbed the shaft with both hands and wrenched it sideways. The point rang as it struck the ground. Leaning on it Ardu vaulted to his feet, stumbled as his wounded leg gave way, recovered, linked his hands together and smashed them into the High Magus’s kidney. The High Magus staggered. Ardu drew his dagger, thrust it into his neck and both men collapsed.