| |
Araine braced herself against the onslaught, a reflexive hunching of her shoulders as she clutched the glowing branch. “Infinite!”
Look!
She opened her eyes, and within that flash of an instant, she glimpsed terrifying figures of light almost as dazzling as the branch. Warriors. There...and then gone. What had she just seen? It was as if one of her dreams had come to life. She straightened, watching the soldiers drop their swords and then fall, lifeless.
Their weapons and protective gear sounded oddly muted as their bodies hit the wet ground. Lije warned, “It must be a trick! They’re feigning death.”
Nikaros stepped nearer, and Josias leaned heavily against the wall. Bel-Tygeon abruptly handed his bow to Nik then stalked past him. “What happened? Prophet, what did you do?”
“The Infinite sent His warriors to vanquish those who hate Him,” Araine mumbled, dazed. “For your sake, Sire. And Belaal’s.”
The king pushed a hand through his hair, looking baffled. “Your Infinite threatens me and then saves me. Why?”
Because, the Infinite whispered, I am not yet done with him, or with Belaal.
“Because,” Araine said gently, “He is not yet done with you or Belaal, Sire.”
By his grimace, the truth evidently roiled within Bel-Tygeon’s soul like a rotten meal in his stomach. And the exasperated look he gave Nikaros...
Oh, Infinite, please restrain the king. She was unequal to his rage. Not now. Not surrounded by the dead. Araine approached the bold one’s corpse and knelt, swallowing hard. Why was she reminded of Grumps? This soldier’s big, smooth, unblinking face was nothing like Grumps. And truly she’d warned him. Even so...
She rested one hand on the dead man’s scale-metal armor and wondered about his family. What could she possibly tell them? Infinite? If only I could restore this man and speak to him once more.
In answer, her Creator sent her whispers of the man’s past. A thought-thread. Hatred of Bel-Tygeon. Loathing for her. Longing to avenge the death of the priest who’d tried to kill Nikaros this past summer. The persistent wish to serve General Siyrsun, thus furthering his own cause—
Araine lifted her hand as if scorched, interrupting her thought-stream. “Siyrsun!”
Bel-Tygeon commanded her attention with his approach. His voice low, disbelieving, he asked, “Siyrsun? Did he plan this attack? Have you seen this?”***
“Yes, Sire. He planned this. As men sometimes do when they believe their gods have failed them.”
Bel-Tygeon’s handsome face hardened, marred by growing fury. “Of course. Then he must be brought to justice immediately, before he knows his men are dead. Siyrsun will die! His family has served mine loyally for generations, yet he turns traitor at the slightest disagreement? I should kill him myself!”
Flicking a glance at the dead man between them, remembering the images of darkness, Araine pleaded softly, “Sire, I beg you, let others deal with him. Remain separate from this for your own sake; Siyrsun’s a terrible danger to you.” As was she.
Some of the king’s wrath faded, and he touched her cheek. “My own prophet. Your words are more to me than the purest gold. I’ll consider what you’ve said.”
Consider? Just as he’d considered Ela of Parne’s warning against taking Araine as a wife? She would fail. His touch lingered, enticing her much against her will. Infinite, discourage him, please! I don’t want to be a cause of his downfall. As Bel-Tygeon grazed her cheek, he murmured, “Let’s see how far Siyrsun will go with this rebellion.”
Nikaros half-knelt before the king, his brown-green eyes somber. “Sire, let me arrange a trap.”
“Yes, at once. Before we lose time. Siyrsun must be caught unawares and arrive unguarded—mentally at least. I want no bloodshed or fear in Sulaanc. Instead let’s appear to give the general everything he wished. Send a message to Siyrsun. Tell him...tell him I am dead, as is the son of Levos, his comrades, and the prophet. We’ll pretend to offer Siyrsun the kingdom. Send word to my sister to hide herself, but give one of my own rings to Siyrsun.”
Araine shivered as Bel-Tygeon continued. “Bring my traitor-general into this garden. Bring him to my parents’ tomb. Tell him his men carried my body here for burial with my parents.”
Nik nodded and glanced up, avoiding Araine’s gaze. "Sire, you’ll be pleased to hear that right now three loyal companies of troops stand in your public courtyard awaiting your review. Let me place them about the palace to protect you as we build your trap for the general.”
“Three companies? How can you pledge this? Half are probably loyal to Siyrsun.”
A grim smile edged Nik’s mouth, and all the warmth and kindness Araine loved vanished. “The companies, Sire, are led by Commanders Utthreates, Vioc, and Seir, all sworn to honor you. They don’t trust Siyrsun. Furthermore they’re familiar with the palace and have just returned from special training, according to your own wishes. I beg you, for the sake of time, allow me to take your orders to them.”
Bel-Tygeon waved his hand in agreement. “Yes. Bring them here. They can oversee Siyrsun’s arrest the instant he arrives to view my corpse. Warn my sister to close the Women’s Palace and hide herself.”
Nik bowed. “At once, Sire. With your permission and hers, I’ll send a note to Siyrsun in her name imploring his help. The lord-general will approach his death with joy, believing he is Belaal’s new king—until the last instant.”
“I agree. If Siyrsun resists or becomes suspicious, have him killed at once.”
“Sire, I obey.for your safety and the Infinite’s glory.” Nikaros offered obeisance; then, his bow still in hand, he hurried down the hillside without a farewell or a look, swiftly stepping past bodies, his garments rippling amid the current of his hurried stride.
Josias and Lije started after him, but the king called out, “You two stay! Until his return we’ll remove these bodies from view and plan our tactics.” Bel-Tygeon’s voice rose with his renewed rage. “Look at all these men, led astray by their commander. Lives wasted! When Siyrsun is found I’ll see him cut to pieces!”
A vision, wild and dark, struck Araine then, and she reeled, nauseated. Infinite, this must not come to pass! Couldn’t she prevent this disaster? She bowed before the king, stopping his tirade. “Sire, please, remember my warning. Whatever you do, you mustn’t speak to General Siyrsun. Indeed he’s a traitor, but say nothing to him, I beg you!”
For her, he muted his anger; she saw his squared jaw clench and his lips press tight. For her, he almost smiled. Worse, he reached down, gently clasped Araine’s hand, and helped her to stand. “You’ve ruined your clothes while kneeling in that muddy grass. I’d send for your servants to tend you, but we’ve no time, and the Women’s Palace will soon be locked. You’ll stay with me.”
“As the Infinite expects of me today.”
Unwillingly she stared into the scene again, her heartbeat accelerating with renewed panic. A black marble slab before an extraordinary blue marble tomb-house. Dear Creator, what is this place?
The image shifted, becoming the past, and a small pageant approached the tomb house. The Lady Dasarai, younger, her exquisite oval face ashen and swollen from weeping. Holding her hand was...the most handsome child Araine had ever seen. Bel-Tygeon, perhaps four or five years old, looking pitiably over his shoulder, then watching as wailing servants carried two bodies past him...an older man, his gold-crowned silvered dark hair, gashed dignified face, and magnificent robes all attesting to his fallen glory and power. After him, a beautiful young woman’s corpse, richly robed, delicately veiled. Seeing her the child stretched out a small hand in protest, crying, then turning wild, fighting his servants as they restrained him while his mother’s body was carried into the tomb above.
Araine fought fresh tears and failed. Bel-Tygeon commanded, “Look at me!”
Still reeling from his childhood anguish and the Infinite’s sorrow, she looked Bel-Tygeon in the eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. “I am so sorry! I saw your parents carried past you. I saw you trying to follow your mother into the tomb. Sire, how the Infinite grieves for that once-happy child! He longs to save you from a similar death.”
Bel-Tygeon recoiled. Then his dark eyes kindled, and Araine glimpsed the beautiful, furious, devastated child within the king’s gaze as he cried, “Why didn’t your Infinite save my parents?”
“Because mortals rule this fallen world, and they’re determined to do evil. And while our Creator can never be controlled by mortals, He works to turn our evils into good. He strives to save others from future evils...if they heed his warnings. This is why He brought me here—with Nikaros and Josias and Lije—to warn you against your own evils. He longs to save you and Belaal, but you must listen.”***
Masking his emotions once more, Bel-Tygeon turned remote. And he changed the subject. “Will we be attacked if we go to my parents’ tomb?”
“No, Sire. It’s quiet there. For now.”
He eyed Josias and Lije. They bowed at once. Bel-Tygeon said, “I’ll require your help. Remove these men from Siyrsun’s sight, though we must cover one and place his body before my parents’ tomb.”
Josias nodded, his hair boyishly a-tangle, his brown eyes remarkably calm for a man who’d just faced death. “Gladly, Sire. Whatever’s needed to defeat the lord-general.”
Lije lifted both hands, as serious as Araine had ever seen him. “Give us more arrows and swords. Let us continue to fight for you. If the Infinite’s here we cannot be defeated.”
Bel-Tygeon’s eyes turned shadowed, wary as he glanced at Araine. “Will I win?”
“If you heed your Creator.”
“I’ll heed you, Prophet.”
But not his Creator? Araine flinched. “Sire, again, I’m not a talisman. My mere presence won’t assure your victory.”
“Won’t it? Deny the fact all you like, but you are my talisman—and more.” Bel-Tygeon smiled, so dazzling that she nearly forgot they were in danger, much as he seemed to forget that Josias and Lije existed. With all the assurance of a man used to managing women, he slid his long fingers into her hair, turned her head toward his, and then kissed her forehead. His whiskers grazed her skin as he murmured, “Tonight you will join me, and we’ll celebrate our victory!”
“Sire, you’re still in danger. I beg you to guard all your thoughts and words.”
Warning shadows circled within her thoughts, making her tremble. Infinite, may Your will be done.
Hear Him, O king...and live!
***
NIKAROS TURNED DOWN the Corridor of the Blessings, his heartbeat quickening. If only he could shake off the company of soldiers following his lead. A futile wish, of course. True these men had pledged undying gratitude to him for protecting them, yet he was still a slave.
Still Bel-Tygeon’s property and endangered by the king’s own pretend-god inclinations.
If only he could escape from Belaal forever! At least he’d escaped the garden and had time to master his poisonous envy of Bel-Tygeon. The very sight of Araine, lovely, barefoot, and disheveled from her frantic race to protect the king, was a near-overwhelming temptation. Add to that the sight of Bel-Tygeon caressing her cheek, an intimate touch that claimed Araine as his....
Excruciating!
Couldn’t he escape? But what would happen to the Eosyth clans? To Araine? Furthermore wouldn’t Josias and Lije be punished for his desertion?
Undoubtedly the promise of royal retribution for such an escape wouldn’t be worth freedom. Yet hateful enslavement held him too near to the palace—and to Araine, who was just as shamefully entrapped.
“Infinite, I pray You bless and protect Your prophet!”
Quieting himself he motioned to the left and right at intervals along the corridor. One-by-one the fifth squad of Commander Vioc’s soldiers following him silently halted at their designated watch-places. At the end of the long, grand corridor, Nikaros turned and bowed to the men in unspoken thanks, as well as acknowledging his own lowly slave-status. It wouldn’t do to have these men begin to think he’d become proud. “Sirs! Stand ready!”
To a man, their chins lifted and in unison, they rapped the floor with the blunt bases of their javelins, signaling their preparedness for duty.
Having placed the final group of soldiers as he’d agreed, Nik hurried into the plain, white-plastered slave-corridor and nearly collided with Ebatenai. The eunuch lifted his big be-ringed hands to halt his one laggard attendant, and then he whispered, “Son of Levos, all is arranged. Vioc has sent more weapons to the garden. The mournful messengers have been dispatched with the ring and a written plea from the Lady Dasarai for the hero Lord-General Siyrsun to save Belaal. Come and inspect his welcoming committee, and then retire to the garden to hide yourself.”
“I must be disguised.”
A grin lit the Eunuch’s plump face. “Do you think I will allow the lord-general the least hint that he’s failed?” He signaled to his clearly unenlightened attendant, who extended a bundle of fabric to Nik.
Returning the eunuch’s grin Nikaros unfurled a drab gray cloak with a deep hood, its fabric exuding a heavy, long-packed staleness. Donning the obscure garment Nik breathed a prayer. “Infinite? Be with me! Though I am a slave, You are my true Master. For the love You have shown me, for the king’s sake, and for the power of Your Name, direct my path!”
A light metallic clatter made him open his eyes. Ebatenai gave him a secretive smile and then handed him a short sword, dangling from a heavy leather belt. “Oh wanderer, may the Infinite save you!”
Nik grinned. “As I bless Him and thank you!”
Resting in his Creator’s will, Nikaros buckled on the doubled leather belt and fastened the short sword at his side, concealing it within the cloak. He tugged the gray hood over his head and then followed Ebatenai out to the huge main courtyard that adjoined the palace gates. The instant he stepped outside, horrific, skin-crawling wails lifted around him, making him shudder. Numerous linen-clad, ash-smudged, and obviously bewildered slaves knelt in orderly rows along the walls, some glancing fearfully at the wailing bands of hired mourners.
Commanders Vioc, Seir, and Utthreates joined him, clad in deep mourning, all three of them muting their eagerness to capture Siyrsun and claim victory. Commander Vioc lifted his squared chin and muttered, “Son of Levos, I’ll follow you with a contingent of my men.”
“And,” Seir added, “I’ve replaced all men at the gates with those loyal to the king.”
Behind them, without warning, Ebatenai let out a piercing wail and tore his robes, crying, “Let the sun darken and the sky shed tears as rain! Let Belaal be flooded with grief, for we have lost all blessings! Wisdom itself is lost to us, and those who do not weep have no souls!” He wept and covered his broad face with his big hands then collapsed onto the stone pavings as if unable to withstand the weight of his grief.
Ebatenai’s slaves traded bewildered stares, each clearly wondering who had died. Drawing their own fearful conclusions, they knelt one-by-one behind their eunuch master and wailed as if the world had just ended.
Surely their keenings and wails would convince Siyrsun of the king’s death. Nik was half-convinced himself.
No, Infinite, I beg You! Bel-Tygeon must survive! If Siyrsun snatched the crown and ruled Belaal, the Eosyths would undoubtedly suffer, and Araine would die.
Nik turned and fled as if pursued by rabid creatures. He dashed through the final corridor, snatched up his bow in the entry, and ran into the garden, into shades of darkness warring with daylight.
A vision formed around him, unleashing terror within the garden and showing him a thing yet to appear in the coming evening.
Chilled foreboding rippled over Nikaros like an icy mountain current as he halted amid the garden’s yet-to-fall shadows. What had he seen? A waking dream. No...a waking nightmare.
They’d lost!
How? Infinite...spare us!
And the creature he’d glimpsed—what was it? Dare he ask? Did he wish to know? Nikaros swallowed. Infinite, I bow to Your will. Protect those who love You.
Nik struggled to wade free of the engulfing mental current, to escape the shadow-beast. He drew his sword and forged through the dreamscape, praying until it vanished. Freed from its depths he turned to Commander Vioc and his men. Vioc gave him a wary, gauging look. “Son of Levos, we spoke and you didn’t hear us. Are you with us now, or are you still in the Nightlands?”
“I’m here, Commander, and prepared to do my Creator’s will. I entered a waking vision.” Before the good commander could demand information, Nik said, “Let’s gather weapons and set the final snare to capture General Siyrsun before he reaches the king. We’ve little time.”
He hurried toward the small wilderness, reassured by the sounds of Vioc’s men clattering after him in a well-trained, metal-clad cadence.