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Sweat beaded at Nik’s hairline and slid down his temples. Was the general watching their every step? Yet why waste time with needless fear? Siyrsun had nothing more than Bel-Tygeon’s dagger—perhaps several, if he’d hidden any in his boots or wrist guards, as Nik preferred to do. He muttered to Josias and Lije, “We seek the king and protect him; he’s Siyrsun’s prey.”
Lije muttered, “I’m hearing nothing.”
Josias slid an arrow into the nearest tangle of shrubbery and vines. “If I were Siyrsun I’d hide and escape. Then I’d gather reinforcements for another attack against the palace.”
Nik gritted his teeth at the thought. “Until the general’s captured and the king is safe, nothing is certain.”
Lije shook his head. “Captured? No. I say we kill him and plead self-defense. That’s true enough.”
Nik readied a fistful of arrows and set his bow. Lord-Creator! I’ve wanted only to return to my people. Even so, I pray now—bless me with your insight. Help me to protect the king.
A sense akin to a calming touch to his shoulder halted Nikaros. His earlier waking dream reopened, now coming to life. The cloud-darkened garden. A beast nearby. A killer stalking them all. Nik shuddered inwardly, fearing the truth. Yet he must know.
Infinite, let me find the beast that was Bel-Tygeon.
Are you My servant?
Nik framed the soundless reply, “With all my might and soul! I wait upon You. Show me what I must see.”
One breath later a fey shadow-movement hovered at the fringes of Nik’s sight. An animal. And yet... Even before fully looking at the beast, Nik’s spirit recoiled within him, unwilling to believe his senses. Not turning his head he cut a glance toward the movement, which ceased, frozen as any hare or deer trying to escape notice. Yes, Bel-Tygeon’s form was crouched beneath a hedge. But his dark hair webbed over his face, muting his features, his gaze wary, creature-flat, lacking even a glimmer of mortal understanding.
Bel-Tygeon, god-king of Belaal...insane. Animal in human form.
Half-choked Nik whispered to Lije and Josias, “Halt! Hush. Don’t alarm him.”
Josias breathed, “Mighty One...”
Stay. Nik pleaded with the creature-king in silence. Stay near us!
Infinite, this is Your will for him...?
Yes.
For how long?
Until I decree his sentence is finished.
Bel-Tygeon’s previously snarled command returned to Nik’s thoughts now, all its god-king implications crystallizing. Sacrifice yourself to me!
Nik exhaled quietly, listening to the Infinite and still staring sidelong at Bel-Tygeon, who sat unblinking, watching him without recognition.
What are you now? Nikaros asked Belaal’s king. Predator or prey?
Just beyond the nearby hedges of thorns, leaves rustled violently and a twig snapped. Bel-Tygeon fled in the opposite direction, stunningly swift and silent as if already attuned to every path and tendril in this wilderness. Was Bel-Tygeon acting on instinct alone, or did he yet retain some knowledge of this place?
And who waited beyond that hedge of snarled leaves and spiked vines?
To forestall Siyrsun, if he was indeed the invader, Nik crouched and bellowed, “General! Hear me! You must answer to Belaal and your Creator! The Infinite warns you! Belaal’s people will ask, ‘Where is that arrogant man who tried to steal Belaal?’ The time is coming when you’ll be seen no more!”
A single arrow sliced through the air, its dark feathered fletching whispering over Nik’s head like an enemy’s death-pledge. Siyrsun! No other soldier in this wilderness would send only one arrow and then pause. Thanks to Nik’s own foolishness, from now on all these archers would use only the Eosyth tactic of multiple arrows in the fist.
Nik sent three answering arrows hissing through the hedge. A fading rustling of branches proclaimed the hidden archer’s departure. Lije pantomimed a whoop, as if to cry, “The hunt is on!” But as they scurried toward the fading sounds, another arrow skimmed past Nikaros, and Lije fell toward the hedge’s base, writhing silently. Equally silent, though his expression mirrored horror, Josias hunkered down beside him to check Lije’s wound.
Nik flung himself onto the leaf-strewn ground and yelled amid the brush to the other men, “Shoot nothing without seeing your targets!” Killing each other by mistake would ensure Siyrsun’s victory.
Nikaros glanced at Josias, who motioned for calm before once more giving his attention to Lije Lije lifted his head, ashen but alive. He scowled at Nik and then grimaced down at the bleeding wound gaping over his outer left shoulder as if to say, “My rotten luck here continues!”
Obviously his wound wasn’t life-threatening unless it festered or somehow crippled his arm. Nikaros exhaled and surveyed their surroundings again. The king could be anywhere now—as could Siyrsun.
From beyond the tumbled hedge, another soldier hissed, “Son of Levos! Siyrsun’s just killed another!”
Who had Siyrsun killed? Nikaros lifted his bow and arrows and then crept around the hedge, ready to attack at an instant. There, amid the ferns and fronds, lay one of Vioc’s men, half-curled on his side in the leaves, his throat fatally slashed, his bow and arrows gone. Another of Vioc’s soldiers crouched beside him. Looking ill the man whispered Nik’s own thought: “Siyrsun’s now well-armed and on the hunt.”
“We outnumber him, and we out-aim him. The most he can do is flee. Let’s regroup with the others.” Nikaros eyed the man, silently compelling his agreement. “We’ll tend our wounded and counteract Siyrsun’s escape. And we protect the king as befits his present condition. We find him, encircle him, and guard him day and night as we would any rare creature. Until the Infinite’s will for him is finished.”
***
SHIELDED BY VIOC’S archers, Araine kept a wary and frustratingly slow half-pace behind the Lady Dasarai along the wilderness path and into the garden beyond. Belaal’s princess had heeded their fears for her safety and for the need to retreat from the garden, but at such a reluctant, lingering pace that Araine wished for the strength and audacity to scoop up the proud noblewoman and carry her ingloriously from the garden.
Were any of the lady’s guards courageous enough to snatch her if Araine commanded them?
She eyed the men who marched at their left and right, all silent, bows and arrows ready to take down anything or anyone that impeded their regally slow progress. Alas, not one of these dutiful, observant, quiet men showed the least audacity. Indeed they avoided her gaze as if they feared she might command them to do something impudent like snatching up Belaal’s princess and making an unbridled charge for the palace.
Araine sighed. Infinite, I know Your plan will be fulfilled despite my impatience.
Waiting silence answered. She must have faith within that silence. She would cultivate serenity despite her sorrow. As they neared the palace, a whisper worked its way along the columns of soldiers to her left and right. “Close ranks about the ladies!”
Instantly Araine was so hemmed in by the guards that she feared to draw a breath. What had happened?***
“Lady and Prophet,” one of the guards warned quietly, his voice low and gruff as several men flung down their cloaks in the entry. “Look only to the left until we’re inside the palace. The rebels killed two gardeners inside this entryway.”
Dasarai obeyed and gazed steadfastly to the left, but she mourned brokenly, “Oh, those poor men! What did they have to do with our trouble?”
Following Belaal’s princess Araine winced as her bare feet met sticky warmth seeping through the mantles. A harsh metallic odor drifted upward, warning her of spilled blood. In Araine’s hands the branch remained as vinewood, and the bejeweled box suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand times more. Oh, Infinite, save other innocents from this conflict! And let it be swiftly resolved. Let us see the king restored, mortal and reachable....
“Prophet!” Dasarai tapped Araine’s shoulder as if still armed with her gilded palm fan. “Attend me! Where are your thoughts? If the king is truly away for an extended time in another form, then we’ve much to do. One hopes you won’t dawdle. While we bathe and change, the king’s desk must be searched. Where is Ebatenai? Fetch him!”
***
NIKAROS SHIFTED AND peered around an ancient cedar then crept forward—until he nearly stumbled over a soldier sprawled lifeless in the undergrowth, his dagger, arrows, and cloak gone. Infinite! Nikaros crouched and touched the man’s bloodied throat. Truly dead, evidently cut down from behind without warning and without a fight. Obviously Siyrsun was hunting his way through the garden, spilling blood, proving he deserved his title of Old Dreki.
Creator, You see all! I beg You—lead me to the king! Help us to save him.
A movement to his right made him shift his arrows toward the approaching mortal. Commander Axiyn Seir crept toward him at a crouch. His lean face grim he muttered, “Come with me, young lord. You shouldn’t be alone while the general’s unleashed. He’s taken down some fine men today, curse him! The king might be insane, but Siyrsun’s the true monster! I’m sending a troop of men forward to guard the entry into the palace.”
“Send a few men up into the trees to keep watch for Siyrsun,” Nik suggested. “If we must kill him to stop him, then I’ll answer to the king myself.”
Seir nodded approval. “You’d be forgiven. The king owes you at least one life. We’ll take the young lord Lije with us and bind him up.” He motioned to a number of men lurking nearby in the undergrowth, signaling them toward the edge of the wilderness.
“Thank you.” Nik retreated with them, wary of the slightest noise—until a faint breath of air stirred the undergrowth to his right. He turned in time to see Bel-Tygeon disappear amid the vine-draped trees, eluding him like the most cunning and sure-footed of prey. As if he’d retained instinctive memories of the garden—a creature fleeing through a landscape known since birth.
Despite himself Nik smiled as he noted the king’s direction and crept off in pursuit.
***
CLAD IN FRESH GARMENTS, her feet scrubbed clean of blood—in part with her own tears—her snarled hair combed, and attended by the equally subdued Jemma and Inae, Araine knelt before Dasarai in the king’s antechamber. Straightening she placed the tiny sparkling box and her prophet’s branch before her knees then sighed.
This whole day was a horrid dream, and it wasn’t yet finished.
Ebatenai entered the antechamber with several servants, their arms fully laden with numerous sealed scrolls and bundled flat folds of parchment. The portly steward knelt before Dasarai, bowed, and then placed his collection of scrolls and parchments near her small gold-slippered feet. The documents slid downward in a parchment avalanche. Ebatenai stilled them with his broad hands.
Gently, his thin voice mournful, Ebatenai said, “Most revered lady, here are all the documents from our Beloved of the Heavens’ desk and writing box. If you believe others might be hidden elsewhere, tell me and I will bring them to you. Otherwise I don’t know where they might be—except concealed within palace walls or beneath the tiles.”
Dasarai lifted her small chin as if bracing herself. “We are looking for any instructions left to us in the event of...his absence. Let us begin with these. One hopes that we need not dismantle our dear lord’s rooms.”
As the men began to open and sort the documents, the Lady Dasarai pointed at Jemma and Inae. “Young women, wait over there. These events do not exist in your memories, do you understand? You will be silent forever concerning this day, or I will order you silenced.”
Jemma opened her mouth to protest, but Inae bowed at once, her words almost muffled against the tiles. “As you command, Lady.”
Araine widened her eyes at Jemma, warning her silently and praying that for once the stubborn girl would obey without fuss.
“Yes, Lady.” Jemma snapped her mouth shut and bowed.
When they’d scurried to wait in the chamber’s farthest gold-painted corner, Dasarai flicked her gilded palm fan at Araine and murmured, “Prophet, how long will our dear lord be removed from us?”
“Until the Infinite decrees the perfect time for his recovery.” As Dasarai’s elegant dark eyebrows lifted to fearsome heights, Araine added, “The day is a mystery, Lady. Weeks, perhaps. Months. Or—I pray not—years.”
The elegant eyebrows lowered. Dasarai pursed her lips. “Will gifts appease your Infinite and persuade Him to restore our lord-king?”
Oh, such a terrible question! Infinite? Araine shut her eyes, praying, listening.
Her Creator’s voice answered, questioning and not quite amused. What treasures can she or Belaal possibly give Me? By My own Word, I created the wealth of all the world and the heavens beyond.
Araine repeated His words to Dasarai, who sniffed, her delicate nostrils flaring. Before Belaal’s princess could fling her gilded palm fan at Belaal’s prophet, Araine continued at the Infinite’s prompting, adding verses from the golden, living Word. “‘Who can approach the Infinite? One whose heart is pure. One whose thoughts are true and who does not practice deceit or proclaim lies. One who seeks the Creator earnestly.’”
Dasarai’s imperious rage faded and those proud shoulders hunched down in dejection. Aching for her misery Araine continued with as much of the Infinite’s tenderness as her mortal voice could convey. “Seek Him, Lady. He loves you more than all the riches ever to exist.”
The great lady didn’t answer. Instead she looked down at Ebatenai and his attendants, who were sorting documents into heaps. Time dragged as they sorted. Petitions from citizens. Complaints from citizens. Praises from citizens. Personal correspondences to and from other kings. Maps. Architect’s sketches for numerous future buildings and monuments, most glorifying Bel-Tygeon. And Bel-Tygeon’s own sketches with his notes, all remarkably detailed.
Araine eyed each sketch as Ebatenai placed them in tidy stacks. Over and over, from multiple angles, Bel-Tygeon had sketched a massive building with golden columns crowning a series of steps above a vast open plaza, inhabited by tiny citizens, many of whom were pointing to the building or staring at it in evident awe of its future glory. Was this supposed to be the replacement for Bel-Tygeon’s vanished temple? If so then these myriad sketches would never exist beyond the king’s now-departed imagination.
One series of sketches prompted Ebatenai to murmur, “These depict the siege of Parne, Lady. That horrible place! Such a trial it was to us all. I believe our beloved king has yet to recover from the siege.” He grimaced then, as if wishing he could take back those words.
At long last as sunset neared, one of the attendants lifted a messily scrolled and sealed collection of parchments.
Ebatenai inspected the blue wax seals. Straightening he squeaked, “Those are not mere notes! He used his official seal and his signet ring!”
Dasarai extended one graceful, beautifully manicured hand. “Give them to me.”
The instant Ebatenai placed the scrolled parchments in her hand, Dasarai gave him and Araine a piteous look. “If these are indeed his instructions, then whatever these documents might reveal or grant—I implore you both—do not leave me!”
Did she fear Bel-Tygeon had granted them their freedom? Araine managed a smile. “Lady, I am Belaal’s prophet, placed here by the Infinite as His servant, so I’ve no wish to leave. Even so, unless my Creator commands matters, I can never return to my family or Siphra.”
The lines of Dasarai’s face relaxed, and she nodded toward Ebatenai. “Good Sir, what is your answer?”
Ebatenai sniffed. “Where else would I go, Lady? I have served Belaal since childhood. This is my home.”
“Let it continue to be so.” Dasarai clasped the documents in both hands. “One must presume these contain some of our Prized of the Heavens’ instructions to us.”
Her movements deft and sure, she slid her filigree-protected nails beneath the seal, lifted the wax, and unbound the cord. She scanned the documents and lowered them, shaking her head.
“This cannot be risked! Send some men to enquire after the king and to fetch Nikaros, the son of Levos, from the garden.”
Araine’s heart thudded at the very mention of Nik’s name. Lest the intuitive Dasarai see her agitation, Araine looked down at her prophet’s branch and the tiny bejeweled box.
What was wrong? Why was Dasarai sending for Nikaros, knowing he was guarding the king?