Seven Princes

25

At Iardu’s touch the gnarled tree became a four-wheeled wagon with a canopy of woven grass. He called two white goats from the pen and changed them into strong horses to pull the carriage. In the misty gold of morning Khama loaded his three sons, his daughter, and his wife into the wagon. He set the rest of his sheep and goats free to find their own grazing grounds, then joined his family on the conveyance. Food and clothing were bundled into burlap sacks, and five clay jars of fresh water completed the family’s provisions. Iardu and Sharadza sat on the driver’s bench as the horses trotted westward across the steppe. Khama wore a cloak of feathers, its colors fading from red along the shoulders to green at its middle, then blue around his ankles. Squatting at the back of the wagon, he watched his tiny farm diminish until the tall, windblown grass swallowed it.

They came to an unpaved road leading west toward the capital, and here the white horses picked up speed. Sharadza watched the villages of Mumbaza pass by, all of them similar to Khama’s own. The ripe crops of farms were being harvested, and herds of livestock were tended by brawny black youths. The road crossed a bridge of arching stone above a lazy river. Mumbazans lined the riverbanks, filling ewers and jars for nearby villages. Groups of shouting children jumped into the brown water, and riverboats glided gracefully into the west. Commerce in this land ran always toward the city and its ancient wealth. The river wound like a great glistening ribbon, and from the middle of the bridge Sharadza saw a dozen villages hugging its course. Soldiers in white-plumed helmets manned a garrison at the bridge’s far end, but a wave from Khama’s hand brought easy passage. She did not think he worked a spell; the soldiers knew his face. Probably he passed this way several times a year going to the Great Market.

After a time the pearly spires of the capital came into view above a forest of yellow grass. Traffic on the road grew thicker now. A cadre of noblemen rode jewelled stallions, returning from a hunt with the carcasses of long-necked birds tied to their saddlehorns. Merchant carts drawn by sluggish camels blocked the road at times, but Iardu’s ensorcelled goat-horses pulled the carriage effortlessly around them, veering through the high grass and back onto the thoroughfare. Ebony women carried baskets and bundles upon their heads, and a troop of white-cloaked soldiers marched eastward, helmets gleaming like the heads of golden birds.

The city walls and domes rose high above the road now. Sea winds caressed Sharadza’s skin and danced in her black curls. Beyond the spires hung a great blue gulf of sky; flocks of seabirds flew between the bright towers. The road brought them through the Western Gate, iron portals graven with the coils of the Feathered Serpent. The gate stood wide open in the hour of late afternoon, and Khama hailed the guards as the wagon rolled near. Directly ahead lay the shimmering heights of the Boy-King’s palace, an intricate structure that seemed carved of a single great opal, so great was its glow in the joyful heat of the sun.

In many ways the city was like Uurz. The people and their dress were different, but the atmosphere of close-knit livelihood, the winding streets brimming with secrets, the verdant balconies and terraced gardens thick with fruiting blossoms… all these reminded her of Dairon’s city. Yet here the sun ruled the sky, and the storms of Uurz were only rumors. The city was not so hot as the steppe had been; the ocean winds sighed through its avenues and glided over its walls like benevolent spirits.

At the palace gate Khama, who carried his herdsman’s staff as if it were a soldier’s spear, exchanged words with the guards. They granted him entry with a series of bows. He led his family along a marble path between terraced orchards while Iardu and Sharadza followed at their heels. The children of Khama walked in quiet awe. The city streets were familiar to them, but the palace grounds were another world entirely. Khama must have been here often, but his family had never crossed the royal threshold before today. Emi held her husband’s hand as they walked an avenue of bronze statues, warriors recreated from the pages of history.

Khama brought them into a vaulted hall of twisting pillars, and at last they stood before the thrones of the Boy-King and his royal mother. Stern-faced spearmen in livery of pearl and gold lined the walls, but it was the six figures standing politely near toli joyfulhe royal dais that drew Sharadza’s attention.

Vireon… Andoses… and those must be the Twin Princes Tyro and Lyrilan of Uurz. The handsome fair-haired lad of her own age could only be D’zan, Scion of Yaskatha. A gorgeous blonde woman in milky robes stood at Vireon’s elbow, the mysterious Alua. Sharadza’s gaze fell upon her brother. It had been months since his blue eyes smiled back at her.

Khama bowed low before the seated Boy-King, and his family followed suit. Iardu and Sharadza sank to one knee in the manner of visiting officials. In such situations, the King or his representative must speak first.

“Wise Khama,” said the Boy-King, sitting up straighter in his regal chair, “our hearts soar at your presence.” Queen Umbrala stared approvingly at Khama. An old passion simmered in her dark eyes.

Khama’s face rose to regard the King. “Your Majesty grows tall and mighty,” he said. “Soon he will tower above the spires of his own palace.”

The Boy-King laughed and turned to share his mirth with Umbrala.

Khama addressed the Queen now, his eyes still on her son. “Queen Umbrala, it has been too long since I stood in the light of your smile. Please forgive my long absence. This is my family.” He introduced them by name, as well as Iardu and Sharadza.

Vireon strode forward, his white teeth gleaming, huge arms spread wide. Sharadza beamed and rushed to embrace him. “Little sister,” he whispered.

“Brother…” she breathed at his ear.

They pulled apart, speaking in low voices.

“Where have you been, Little One?” he asked.

She took his face in her hands. “I have much to tell you. Later…”

Vireon explained to Undutu that his long-lost sister had arrived in the company of the esteemed Khama. Boy-King and Queen Mother were pleased.

“Family is the First Gift of the Gods,” said Undutu. “Last night we mourned the death of a great King. Tonight we will celebrate the reuniting of family and friends.”

Khama spoke loudly: “Great Majesty, before we sit at the feasting table, we must sit at the Council table. A dire threat grows in the south. I ask sanctuary for my family here within your impervious walls.”

“You shall have it,” said the Boy-King. He glanced at his mother, who nodded. “These five Princes have come to speak of this same threat. Let us enter Council together.”

Servants came to conduct Khama’s family to their quarters. The herdsman hugged each of them desperately and kissed his wife. He promised her she would see him again before he went south. Then the King, Queen Mother, and the nine visitors walked a carpeted hallway leading to the airy dome of the Council Chamber. There a great oval table of polished obsidian was headed by two lesser thrones for Undutu and Umbrala.

As the guests filed into the room and seated themselves about the table, Sharadza approached Andoses, whose face was pale. She embraced her cousin, and he returned her affection with his own strong arms. Normally he would have shouted a greeting and been smiling at her by now. Something was wrong.

“Are you ill, Cousin?” she asked.

He told her of Ammon’s death, and the others. She could not prevent the tears from escaping her eyes.

First Tadarus, now Ammon, my seven aunts… sweet Dara, silver-voiced Thoria… even kind Dutho. How many more would die at the hands of Fangodrel? Things were moving too fast. The storm of death had already begun. Perhaps Iardu was right… perhaps there was no stopping this slaughter. She hugged stiff Andoses again and consoled him as best she could, but then it was time to sit and engage the Boy-King. Servants loaded the table with cups and carafes of wine, and bowls piled high with grapes, olives, and mangos.

“The five Princes came to us only yesterday,” said Queen Umbrala, her almond eyes focused on Khama. “They speak of Yaskatha and Khyrei, whose rulers are both sorcerers. They ask us to join their Alliance of Nations and oppose our fellow southern realms. Yet as the King and I have explained to them this very morning, we have a long-standing treaty of peace with Yaskatha. When Trimesqua fell, Prince D’zan came to us seeking sanctuary, and this we could not grant by virtue of that same treaty.

“This Elhathym is called a tyrant, but he has yet honored this treaty. The Yaskathan ships of trade still flourish at our docks. We hear from traders and refugees the stories of his cruelty, but our borders are secure. If we take up arms against Yaskatha, we end the treaty and forfeit our national honor… and if we ally with those who strike against Yaskatha, the same will be true.”

“Majesty,” spoke Andoses, blinking bloodshot eyes, “we all know the King is an honorable and righteous leader, as were his fathers before him. We value treaties and diplomacy as highly as any kingdom. Yet when Elhathym murdered the father of Prince D’zan and claimed the throne through blood and terror, he invalidated any treaties made by the rightful king of Yaskatha. In order to restore that treaty which has kept your nation free and powerful for so long, you must act against this usurper and restore Trimesqua’s rightful heir to his throne.”

Sharadza listened. Andoses, the eternal diplomat, had spoken well.

“But the treaty remains in effect,” said Queen Umbrala, “as long as the usurper has not violated our borders or otherwise disrupted our peace.”

“How long will that be, Majesty?” asked Tyro. Sunlight streamed through a high casement and flashed upon his green-and-gold mail shirt. “Even now he plots against you with the Bitch of Khyrei at his elbow. Their sorcery is foul, and it grows in silence like a plague. I implore you not to wait for the strike that is destined to come, for it may be a fatal blow.”

The Boy-King’s white eyes shifted from speaker to speaker. He was clever this boy, clever enough to hear what everyone had to say before he would speak. Including his wise mother.

Khama spoke now. “I hke peaave looked southward, into the shadow of what grows there – it is something terrible. Something from the Outer Worlds… Evil spirits are afoot in the night. Regardless of your decision regarding the alliance, Majesties, I ask permission to go south and confront this Elhathym. Iardu the Shaper and his protegee will accompany me. We will face the usurper before his own throne. It is our dearest hope to avoid the coming of war, whatever the cost. I give my family over to your shelter so that I may do this thing. War is the Great Destroyer that has been banished from our land for generations. It cannot be allowed to return.”

The Queen Mother spoke in whispers with her son, while those about the table sat mute. Iardu helped himself to the wine; Lyrilan dropped a fat grape into his mouth.

“The King gives you his blessing, Khama,” said Umbrala. “You are not an official servant of the court, therefore you may confront the usurper without any stain upon our honor. If you can do good in Yaskatha, then go.”

Khama turned to Iardu. The pair nodded.

“Yet linger a little while,” said Umbrala. “At the least you must dine with us tonight.”

Khama bowed his head. “We are most honored.”

Andoses spoke again. “Majesties, I beg you to hear the words of brave Prince D’zan. He has faced death and more to sit at this table.”

All eyes fell to D’zan, who sat uncomfortably in his chair. Sharadza liked him instantly. His eyes were blue, like Vireon’s, and his face was fair. His broad shoulders were impressive for a youth. His broad mouth was expressive, the lips of a well-spoken Prince. She found herself curious to hear what he had to say.

“I am… overwhelmed,” said D’zan, “by the support of my friends and allies in the north. We have crossed seas and mountains together… endured ice and fire… faced the horrors of sorcery and the fangs of awful beasts. We have walked with death at our very backs, and many have perished on our journey. That I live at all is a miracle I owe to these four Princes.” His eyes turned to the Boy-King. “My father cherished the long peace he held with Mumbaza, as did his father before him. He once spoke of it as the brightest jewel in his crown. There were other wars, campaigns against the southern island nations, the war with Khyrei that happened well before I was born. But never did he speak of Mumbaza with anything other than love and great respect.

“I understand why you could not offer me sanctuary months ago. I bear no ill will toward you for that decision. When the throne of my father is once again mine, I will keep Mumbaza in my heart, along with the Northern Nations. A great philosopher once said, ‘War is failure.’ I believe that, Majesties. War is a failure of diplomacy and compassion to conquer fear and hate. It is the failure of peace-loving peoples to act in prevention of threats that grow in the world’s dark places.

“I pledge to you now that as long as I sit on the Throne of Yaskatha, there will be only peace between the five nations gathered here. Should Mumbaza refuse to join me against the usurper, that pledge of peace will still stand, both from myself and my descendants. But until Elhathym is deposed… until his blasphemous power is hidden from the Sun God’s eyeshe Sun Goeyer what until that day… the specter of War hangs over this kingdom like a shroud. I speak from my heart, and for the free people of Yaskatha.”

A silence fell upon the chamber. Sharadza turned to Iardu, whose smooth face was inscrutable. Vireon nodded his head in blatant approval of D’zan’s words. She could tell he favored the young Prince. Andoses sat with a half-smile, his eyes on the Boy-King. Tyro’s face was stone. Lyrilan ate another grape, mentally noting all the proceedings in the scholar’s detached way that was his nature. Alua sat with an expression of purest innocence next to Vireon. She looked entirely out of place here, yet completely comfortable in the presence of her lover.

“Your words are moving,” said Queen Umbrala, “and the King values your friendship. Our goals are the same – eternal peace and prosperity for Mumbaza and all other nations – yet for now we can only send Wise Khama to Yaskatha… to do any more would violate that very peace of which you speak.”

Iardu sighed. D’zan looked at the table.

“Have you any word of good will from this usurper?” asked Andoses. “Any renewal of the treaty’s precepts, or even the smallest tribute to show his fidelity?”

“We have received no word from Elhathym,” said the Queen Mother.

“Have you sent emissaries to him?” asked Tyro.

“One,” she admitted. “He has yet to return.”

“So you have nothing but silence from this bloody-handed sorcerer,” said Andoses. “And you take that for peaceful intentions? Majesties, this is a gross error. The scorpion is most silent before it kills.”

“Silence can also heal,” said the Boy-King. All eyes turned now to his small round head with its glittering crown. “The Queen has spoken for me, and now I echo her words. We will not join this Alliance against Yaskatha unless Elhathym moves against us. Neither will we condemn or reject your offer. We will be wise and patient instead. We will wait… and we will see.”

“As you wish, Majesty,” said Andoses with an air of exhaustion. “I must be gone with all speed in the morning. The throne of Shar Dni sits empty until I am crowned. I regret that I cannot stay longer and attempt to sway your royal wisdom. The war against Khyrei will proceed. I hope that you will change your mind and join us before the coming of spring, when we march upon the city of Ianthe the Claw.”

“I go with you, Andoses,” said Vireon. “I have fulfilled my mother’s wish in coming to Mumbaza. Now vengeance calls me eastward, and I would bring you safely home, Cousin.”

Andoses stood and bowed. “I could never be safer than in your company, Vireon.”

“In the morning you three go east while we three go south,” said Khama. “What of the rest of you?”

Tyro and Lyrilan looked to D’zan.

“The time has also come for me to return to my homeland,” said D’zan. “I go south.”

Tyro slammed his fist against the table. “My brother and I go with you, Prince! We have a cohort of a hundred and fifty northmen to ride with us.”

“Take my hundred Sharrians as well,” said Andoses. “Vireon, Alua, and I require no escort. A group of three will travel much faster atop the Earth-Wall than a host of men.”

“So be it,” said Tyro.

“So be it,” said the Boy-King. “Now let us forget the perils of war and travel. We will feast tonight in honor of these assembled families before the sun shines on their parting.” His mother looked pleased at his fine words.

Sharadza would have preferred to leave immediately for Yaskatha. But Khama relished one more night with his family. No harm in some rest now, she decided. We will need all our strength when we face the tyrant sorcerer.

Already she smelled the roasting meats and sweet baked confections that would line the Boy-King’s table.

A night in Mumbaza. She looked out an arched window at the crimson glow of sunset on the purple ocean. It’s like some tale of heroes and maidens… some exotic legend from pages in father’s library . Yet it was all too real. Tonight will be splendor, tomorrow will be danger.

She resolved to enjoy the splendors of Mumbaza while she could.

The feast ran late into the night, and Sharadza drank more than her share of wine. She drank with Andoses and Vireon, the first time she had done so. The Boy-King’s table was covered with delicacies from the sea, great swordfish roasted whole, carmine lobsters, and tentacled things in pools of creamy butter. Dancing girls performed for Undutu and his guests, followed by a match between two hulking Mumbazan wrestlers, and a fire-eater. The young monarch was much amused by all these diversions, while his mother sat reserved and attentive. A band of royal musicians played on silver-stringed instruments, oxhide drums, and a brace of woodwinds.

Vireon told Sharadza of his adventures in the Ice King’s realm, how he met Alua, and his battle against the Sea Serpent. Andoses augmented the latter tale, praising the heroic skill of his cousin and his matchless courage. Alua did not speak much, but when she did she talked of the northern forests and her travels in the land below the White Mountains. Sharadza found her sweet in the manner of a child, yet possessed of a subtle intelligence. When Vireon described her white flame, her learning of his language through sleep, and other strange things she had done, Sharadza knew Alua was far more than she appeared.

She is of the Old Breed. She has forgotten her origin, but still carries its power within her. She uses it naturally, as a child learns naturally to walk or swim. Perhaps Vireon is bringing out her true self, in the way that Iardu brought out my own… yet not that way at all. It could be that Alua will bring out Vireon’s heritage as well. The strength of Vod already flows in his veins; what other sorceries lie inside him, waiting for expression? The same as those that lie within me. Alua was a good match for her brother. She was glad he had found someone to replace his endless trysts with nameless girls from Udurum and Uurz. She had never seen him reer s respond to anyone this way. He held Alua’s hand like his palm would ache without it. He looked into her ice-blue eyes like a man looking at the clouds and imagining his future. Their mother was correct. Vireon was in love.

Over brimming wine cups they shared memories of Tadarus and toasted his memory. And they drank to King Ammon, their lost uncle, and the rest of Andoses’ family one by one. Andoses shed a few quiet tears, but he wiped them away like flies buzzing around his goblet. He was a sturdy soul… as indestructible as Vireon in his own way.

After Khama’s family retired for the night, Khama returned alone to speak with Iardu in guarded whispers. The Shaper enjoyed the King’s wine, and none there drank more than he. Not even Andoses, who drowned his grief in a purple flood.

Vireon demanded to know where Sharadza had gone and why she had left their mother in such worry. As she explained her tutelage under Iardu, Tyro and Lyrilan peppered her with questions, most of which she could not answer. Prince D’zan listened as well, though he held his tongue. When he looked her way, his eyes sparkled like gold in the candlelight.

Vireon demanded evidence of her sorcery, as if he disbelieved her tale. Tyro joined him in calling for a show of her skill. This went on until she silenced them by transforming herself into a white wolf. She crouched on her hind legs in the feasting chair, staring at them with blood-red eyes, red tongue lolling between her fangs. Vireon laughed, half-drunk on Mumbazan wine, but the rest only stared in quiet awe. The Boy-King smiled and clapped to show his appreciation of her “trick.”

Iardu only frowned in her direction, and once again she became Sharadza.

“My dear sister, the sorceress!” bellowed Vireon, slapping the table. Then he grew suddenly serious and raised his cup. “You are the Daughter of Vod, and you bear his power. To Vod’s Daughter!” They drank yet another toast, this time in her honor, while she blushed.

Several times she caught D’zan eyeing her, though he looked away every time. How brave he must be to endure all that he has. He was quiet and a bit mysterious. I must speak with him. Yet the feast ran on, and she never did get around to speaking with him. The torches guttered low on their tall mounts, and the Boy-King fell asleep in his tall chair. Servants carried him off to bed and Queen Umbrala followed, bidding good night to her guests. Soon after, Sharadza stumbled to her own quarters, realizing too late that she was not a skilled wine drinker at all. She had no time to admire the opulence of the guest chamber before she fell into slumber.

Nightmares swam up from the depths of the dreamworld to torment her. Clawed things rushed and fell, slithered past her on the waves of a dark sea. Serpentine beings slid beneath her as she walked across the glassy waves without sinking. A white hawk flew down to sit on her shoulder and whisper something in her ear. She could not understand the ancient words. The sea beneath her was not water at all, but blood

… and people drowned in it… the black-skinned people of Mumbaza screamed and wept and sank. Dark beasts rose up from the blood-sea to rend them with claw and fang, to gnaw their bones. She screamed and tried to work sorcery, but the slaughter continued and the sea of blood refused to swallow her. At last a single massive claw rose to wrap around her waist, squeezing ut, withntil her bones cracked. The talons sank into her flesh like swords. She awoke to the gentle prodding of a bald servant-girl with golden hoops in her ears.

The chamber’s windows were still dark; the moon had set, but the sun had not yet risen.

“The Queen Mother summons you to Council,” said the girl, her accent thick and melodic. “Right away…”

The servant waited for Sharadza to dress, then led her along a corridor she did not remember. Too much wine. Never again. As they walked, Tyro and Lyrilan joined them, also bleary-eyed. Then D’zan and Vireon, Khama and Iardu, and finally Andoses in his gleaming turban. All had been awakened. She guessed that less than an hour of night remained. It must be something urgent to summon them from their beds before even the dawn broke. Shards of nightmare swam in the back of her head like evil fish in muddy water.

Servants guided them into the Council Chamber with the long black table. Queen Umbrala sat at its head in a robe of sapphire silk. Her headdress and jewelry were absent. She, too, had awakened not long ago. The Boy-King was not present. A grimy soldier sat in the chair to the Queen’s left, his hands trembling about a goblet of wine. Soot and dirt smeared his bare face and arms, and a white bandage wrapped his left shoulder. His face bore the pall of exhaustion and terror. Perhaps he had been weeping. His white cloak hung in tatters.

The five Princes, Sharadza, Iardu, and Khama took their seats. Vireon had not roused Alua.

“Majesty,” said Khama. “Is the King all right?”

Umbrala nodded. “He sleeps. I am his voice until he wakes.”

“What has happened?” asked Andoses.

“This is Wayudi, a captain of the garrison at Zaashari,” said the Queen Mother. The haunted soldier gave a modest bow, his unsteady hands gripping the goblet like a holy talisman. “Explain to them what you have told me…”

Wayudi was an educated officer, schooled in the northern languages. His words were flavored with fear. “They came out of the night… seeking our blood.” His eyes grew round, the black pupils tiny in pools of white. “ Shadows… things made of shadow… some like tall wolves with eyes of fire… others slid like Serpents across the ground… or flew like bats… Some walked like twisted men. They came at dusk, when the last of the sunlight faded. There was no moon anymore… only the brightness of their scarlet eyes… the color of the blood they crave.”

Wayudi paused to drink deeply from his wine cup. Iardu and Khama shared a silent glance.

“These things… they flowed through the streets like a flood of dark water… or black smoke… finding men, women… even children. They tore at them, lapping at their blood like hounds. It was their screams that roused the watch… Commander Ulih ordered us into the streets with spear and sword… I headed the cavalry. They ripped our horses to shreds beneath us… then tore into men like jackals. One leaped on my back, biting me here.” He pointed to the bandage on his shoulder, spotted with seeping red. “Our metal was useless… Spears, swords, knives… we conivs. One uld not touch them… They were… they were ghosts… muraki… evil spirits.” He set the goblet down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Gods, how it aches.”

“You will rest soon, Wayudi,” said Umbrala, her tone motherly yet firm. “Only tell the rest of it first.”

Wayudi’s eyes scanned the table, as if he might find some belief there, or some comfort that did not exist. He breathed deeply. “We could not count their numbers – there were far too many. The town died and the men of the fortress died… We died trying to protect the people. Ulih… they pulled off his limbs, drank his blood like all the rest. I know I am a coward, but I fled… I was not the only one. Five or six of us fled through the shattered gate of the garrison. We rode hard along the North Road. One by one they picked us off our horses until there was only me riding north to the capital. I don’t know why the one that bit me flew away. I have a coward’s luck.” Wayudi bowed his head, ashamed. He gulped more wine. “Zaashari is fallen,” he said, looking at Khama. “They are all dead. It belongs to the shadows…”

His head nodded slowly forward until it touched the table, and he grew still. Beyond the tall windows, stars glimmered against the black.

“Khama,” said the Queen, “what can you tell me?”

Khama’s grave face met the Queen’s. “The Dwellers in Shadow, ancient things that I have seen in my visions, they gather in the south and serve the Usurper.”

The Queen looked upon each face at the table, a wordless apology that her pride would not allow her to voice. She quietly ordered two servants to carry Wayudi to a bed. They lifted the soldier to his feet, his arms about their shoulders, and he stumbled away to rest.

“He knows we are here, Khama,” said Iardu. “We have lost the element of surprise… if we ever truly had it.”

“And so the treaty is broken,” said Umbrala.

“Yes,” said Khama. “Knowing we would come, Elhathym struck first. Next his shadows will come north, to the gates of Mumbaza and into its streets.”

“Only the sun will stop them,” said Iardu. “His living legions will ride into Zaashari at sunrise and take control of the fortress, now that all in it are dead.”

The Queen turned to Andoses. “We will join your Alliance of Nations,” she said, “but we cannot now send legions to Khyrei, for we must go to war against Yaskatha.”

“I am sorry for this slaughter,” said Andoses. “But I am glad for your allegiance. You can serve the Alliance by restoring Prince D’zan to his throne. While Mumbaza battles Elhathym, we in the east can march on Ianthe’s kingdom. When the tyrant is vanquished, send your legions to join us in Khyrei.”

The Queen nodded, her fine mouth set into a grim frown.

Iardu looked at Andoses. “You do not know the power of Elhathym,” he said. “Or Ianthe. This will not be a war of sword and shield, but a clash of forces you can scarcely comprehend.” p› ‹p height="0em" width="27"›‹font size="3"›“We three go now to drive back the sorcerer and his demons,” said Khama. He faced the Queen. “Assemble your legions to retake Zaashari and march on Yaskatha.”‹font›

D’zan broke his silence. “Great Queen, I will fight with Mumbaza this day. Tyro and his warriors ride with me. The people of Zaashari will be avenged, and the usurper will pay for this peace-breaking.”

The Queen’s look changed from troubled to impressed as she eyed D’zan. “You will ride with my generals, Prince D’zan. And you will sit upon your father’s throne.”

Tyro gave Lyrilan a devious smile. Lyrilan licked his dry lips, coughed, pinched his nose.

“I would stand with you as well,” said Andoses, “if circumstances were otherwise. I must still depart this morning.”

“The King understands your need, Prince Andoses,” said Umbrala. “You have his blessing and eternal friendship. Once we have smashed this usurper and his army of shadows, we will support you in Khyrei.”

“Your Majesty is both wise and gracious,” said Andoses with a bow.

“I must meet with the King’s advisors now,” said Umbrala. “My servants will see to all your needs.”

The assemblage rose from their chairs, all but the Queen. A line of worried officials came through the doors to replace them. The sun was about to rise.

“Let us go at once,” said Khama.

“Wait,” said Iardu. “We must look in on poor Wayudi first.”

“Yes,” said Khama. “We must…”

Sharadza followed them to the room where Wayudi slept. He lay on a bed below a window overlooking the dark sea. A cool wind blew through the casement, but Wayudi sweated and groaned as if in a fever.

“Is it poison?” asked Sharadza.

“Of the worst kind,” said Iardu. “Not a physical poison, but a spiritual one.”

Wayudi’s spasms grew worse as the far sea warmed with pink light. The sun was coming.

Khama bent over the suffering man, mumbling a chant.

“What were those things?” Sharadza asked. “The Dwellers in Shadow you spoke of?”

“There are many kinds of shadow spirits,” said Iardu, “but the Spirits of Vakai are the most deadly. When living men die, most move on to the World of the Dead, manifesting there the illusion of their own afterlife. Yet those whose souls were consumed by hatred, avarice, or cruelty often cannot find their way into the Deathlands, so they linger in the dark and forsaken corners of the world, or haunt the places where they died. When such entities spill the blood of the living, they consume its essence and gain power… but this power eventually forces them into the void, an Outer World called Vakai, wheledhen re there is nothing more to feed on. A formless place of eternal hunger and torment.”

Wayudi tossed and turned, his chest heaving, yet still unconscious. His teeth gnashed as if he were chewing a piece of leather. Khama sang and waved a hand over his shivering body. The first sparkles of sunlight danced on the ocean, and the tip of the sun-orb rose above the waves. Wayudi cried out like a dog in pain, then growled.

“These Spirits of Vakai can slip back into our world at times, or someone like Elhathym may summon them. They cannot abide the sunlight, so they roam at night. When dawn comes they sink into the depths of the earth and its very stones, where no light can penetrate. Yet at night they emerge into physical forms like wolves, reptiles, or flying beasts, to seek the blood that gives them power and substance. The essence of blood, torn from the living, is their only concern. Those they drain but do not kill – like Wayudi – bear their curse.”

The first sunray fell through the window and Wayudi fell still. “It is too late,” said Khama. “I cannot save him.”

Brightness grew on the pristine walls and ceiling, and Wayudi grew dim before Sharadza’s eyes. His flesh and clothing became transparent, and he flowed like water into the sheets, then into the stones of the floor. A black shadow bearing his shape lay on the floor, then that too faded.

“At nightfall he will rise and haunt the palace,” said Iardu. “Unless we bind him to this room.”

Khama nodded and sighed.

“You mean… he is… one of them?” Sharadza asked.

“A Vakai, yes,” said Khama. “He will crave only blood.”

“Why do such terrible things exist?” she asked.

Iardu looked at her as if she already knew the answer.

“Patterns,” he said.

Khama instructed a servant to bring certain herbs, a strong lock for the door, and boards for the window.

“We will wait in the Lemon Garden,” said Iardu, his hand on Khama’s shoulder.

Sharadza had time enough to say goodbye to Vireon. She hugged him and Alua.

“Come with us to Shar Dni,” said Vireon. She knew he feared for her in Yaskatha.

“I cannot,” she said. “I asked Iardu to face Elhathym. I cannot abandon him.”

Vireon seemed to understand. “We will meet in Khyrei then… when you are done here.”

“We will,” she said.

She ate a few grapes, drank some fresh milk, and joined Iardu on the terrace of a secluded garden. A ring of tall thin trees bore vivid fruits the color of topaz stones, and birds sang among the branches. The sky was blue and cloudless overhead, a hot southern sky. She had no time e hnd jto visit the famous Forest of Jewels that lay somewhere in the heart of Undutu’s palace. Such wonders must wait for more peaceful times.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” Iardu told her, his prismatic eyes glistening. “Once we leave here, there will be no turning back.”

“What is our other choice?” she asked. “Wait for the hordes of Vakai to come raging into Mumbaza? Then Uurz? Then on to Udurum? No… we must do this.”

“Khama and I must,” he said. “But you do not have to. Go east with your brother and cousin. They need you in Shar Dni.”

She tilted her head at him. He would go to face Elhathym without her if she asked him to. There it was again, that strange endearing look in his inhuman eyes.

“We three must go,” she said, and he said no more about it.

Khama came forth in his cloak of gaudy feathers. He had finally let go of his herdsman’s staff, leaving it with his wife. Without a word he sprang to the ground, balanced on his fingers, legs stretched taut behind him. The sea wind picked up and blew strong over the city as Khama’s cloak lengthened and grew. Beneath its feathery folds, the man-shape blurred and was lost. The feathers multiplied in all their shades: crimson, emerald, azure. He lengthened impossibly, his head growing into a huge triangular shape, his body coiling and writhing among the trees of the lemon grove. Sharadza grabbed Iardu’s elbow as Khama grew and swirled about them like a tri-colored wind.

A moment later his great head turned amber eyes to stare at them. They stood now in the center space of his massive coils. Khama was the great Feathered Serpent, his neck the height of a tall horse, his body tapering in coil after coil toward the end of his pointed tail. A black stinger rose from its tip, sharp as the blade of a spear. His snout was frighteningly fanged, nostrils flaring with citrus-scented breath. She could not tell from the middle of his coiled immensity exactly how long he was.

“Climb upon my back,” said the Serpent in Khama’s voice, only deeper. A forked tongue long as a whip came darting from between his fangs, drawn as quickly back into the cavern of his throat. His eyes narrowed into slits as he watched them grab his plumage and lodge themselves behind his reptilian skull. Sharadza was amazed at the softness of the bright plumes.

All these wonderful feathers, and no wings…

Khama did not need wings. His head rose into the air and his shifting coils followed, straightening to his full length. He rose toward the clouds and flew wingless above Mumbaza, two riders on his back, the sun glistening in three colors along his feathered length.

“How can he fly without wings?” Sharadza shouted through the wind at Iardu, who rode behind her.

“He is a Creature of the Air,” said Iardu. “Do you know the story of Mumbaza’s founding? How the Feathered Serpent told its first king Ywatha the Spear where to build his great city?”

Sharadza nodded. The legend could be found in any proper history text. Ywatha and the Feaha dathered Serpent had always been one of her favorite epics.

“That was Khama,” said Iardu.

Sharadza had no words as the city dwindled below, a collection of luminescent domes and steeples gleaming like a single pearl beside the vast green sea.