The Shasht War (43 page)

To take the name of Norgeeben? That was impious indeed. Norgeeben, the founder of the dynasty had been a sober, thoughtful man. It could not have been Aurook's idea. Aurook's thinking scarcely went beyond girls and gambling.

And what were Aeswiren's prospects? He was said to have died suddenly from pestilence, a curse sent directly from the Great God himself. After a few hiccups, the populace had taken it in stride. Aeswiren was popular, but in prosperous times the city was content to let his son step up. Aeswiren had ruled for a long time, and people had forgotten the chaos of Kisirim and Shmeg. Perhaps a change could be beneficial. Thus went the smug sort of thinking that ruled in the city's merchant class. Once things had settled down and enough hearts had been tossed into the maw of He Who Eats, then business would pick up again.

And now Aeswiren faced further betrayal in Gzia Gi. Lords Bizg and Faroon had withdrawn their support. The city merchants, seeing which way the wind was blowing, had quietly shut up their houses and gone inland. They would wait out the coming struggle and return only when Bodo had finished his work in the city.

Now he was confronted with these weaklings like the duke and the Count of Koluso. They were terrified. Though they were honor bound to heed his summons, they could not be trusted to muster their forces for him. Now came their whining apologies.

"There just isn't the time to make proper preparations," said the count, trying to keep the stammer out of his voice.

Koluso owed Aeswiren for his own rise to a title, but he saw that the Emperor's cause was failing quickly, right across the Empire. Koluso already feared the coming of the priests. They might have reasons for taking his heart anyway, since he was long associated with the Emperor. But they had no cause yet to confiscate his family's holdings. Yet if he took the wrong side then all would be lost and his sons and daughters would follow him onto the altar of the Great God.

"The priests were working on this long before we suspected anything..."

"My men are afraid of the Red Tops."

Aeswiren tried to rouse himself.

"Damn it, all I'm hearing from you is defeat. We can beat them. Give me twenty thousand men, and I'll take Shasht back in less than two years."

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"Lord, I do not think we can scrape up twenty thousand men. Perhaps fifteen thousand."

"Not even that. I have but two thousand retainers now. At the most we could put nine thousand in the field," said the duke gloomily.

"My lord, face it, we cannot forge an army before the Red Tops get here with their priestly battalions." Koluso sounded almost frantic with fear.

" 'Tis said they have forty thousand on the march to Gzia Gi."

"They will burn the city, sell everyone into slavery."

"Not if we refuse to give them good cause," said the duke.

Everyone knew what that meant.

"Damned cowardice," said the baron. "What of our honor?"

"Baron, your title was a creation of Norgeeben no more than a century ago. My family has held Palia since the days of Kashank. We have learned a few things in that time, and one of them is that you don't survive by backing the wrong side against the priests."

"The priests! The fornicating, sodomistic priests! God, I hate them!" snarled the baron slamming his fist onto the table. "And all you want to do is kiss their goddamn arses!"

"We all hate them, Baron, but if our families are to survive and to keep their lands, we must bow to their will."

Aeswiren heard these words and knew that he was doomed. The noble families of Gzia Gi had been deeply penetrated by the spies and emissaries of the Old One. What Aeswiren had regarded as his bastion, from which to mount a counterattack, had been turned into contested territory. By the time he could bring all of Gzia Gi under his control and put together an army of sufficient size, he would be overwhelmed by the host that was marching from Shasht.

The meeting ended with no firm conclusions reached. Palia and Count Koluso could not contemplate raising their standards for the Emperor's cause. The baron had but a few hundred banner men with him, but he placed these at Aeswiren's disposal. Aeswiren could barely speak. He turned and headed for his private cabin.

Inside, gazing out the narrow port at the distant city, he allowed his bitter thoughts to flow. He had been outwitted, just like so many men before him in the exact same position. The Old One had penetrated the Hand, the Old One had probably known all his plans from the beginning. The Old One had even given him his chance to save himself. Just hand over the female captive, and all would have been forgiven. But that would have meant condemning Nuza to die on the altar. Aeswiren would not do that!

He was ruined, there was no question about that. Gzia Gi had been his hidden card, his secret weapon. Alas, it had been no secret to his enemy. There was nothing left but to contemplate the end.

Quickly he wrote out his final orders. Captain Moorsh was to take the
Duster
around the world to the Land and see Nuza safely to the shore. After that he was freed of any further obligation. The men who had followed their Emperor thus far were to disperse, to hide themselves and their families, or to sail on the
Duster
if they preferred. He dried the ink, folded the paper, and sealed it with his heavy signet ring.

There was no choice, and time was slipping away. He could die by the hand of the Old One, or he could die by his own hand and deny that old bloodsucker the satisfaction.

Aeswiren pulled the sword from his belt and held it up before his eyes. It caught the tawny light of the day. A good Gzia blade, forged twenty-five years before in the aftermath of his victory at Koonch. He had wielded it in battle only once, at Kaggenbank, but he recalled that it had felt good in his hand that day. It still bore the marks of the fight, the scratches and a slight notch halfway down. Aeswiren had preferred to leave those marks on the blade, to remind himself that it was not the purely ceremonial sword of some prince who'd inherited his throne.

He turned it deftly and placed the point against his chest.

Now, how was one supposed to do this? The trick was to keep the blade straight against your ribs while you fell and drove it all the way through. That way your own weight did the work, and it was over in a moment.

It was not the end he had hoped for. He had tried to be a good Emperor, and to some extent he had succeeded. Restoring order and peace, he had overseen a growing prosperity. But he had lacked in religious fervor. He had not been able to truckle to the Old One. And so he had fallen and was left only with this final act.

"No!" A figure flew across the room. "My lord!" Nuza clutched his wrist, tugging the sword point away from his chest.

For a long moment he stared at her with the sword in his hand. Because of her and her outlandish, inhuman beauty, he had lost his throne.

"Leave me!" he grated. "It is time to die."

"No, my lord, you may not!"

Through a slight mist of tears he saw her, and then his anger broke to the surface like lava erupting through the ground.

"Begone! This is the work of men." He spun her away with a hard shove and then turned the sword, took it in both hands, and set it to his belly.

Far from being discouraged, Nuza sprang at him, her arms wrapped around his waist. He was borne back against the table, lost his balance, and fell to the floor with an oath.

She was sitting across his waist, leaning into his face, absorbing his fury.

"No, my lord, please, don't take your life."

"Who are you to forbid me! I am Aeswiren the Third."

"Exactly, and that is why you cannot waste your life."

"What?" He hurled her back. "By the purple ass of the Great God, get away from me. Don't you understand? I will not be taken to the altar alive. I will not look into the eyes of my enemy and see him gloat over my defeat. Do you hear me?"

He was roaring now, lost in miserable rage. He got back to his feet, seized her by the arm, and let the sword tip rest on her bosom.

She stared back into his eyes, unafraid.

"Sweet Aeswiren, Lord of Shasht, ruler of men, do not take your life. Kill me if you wish, but before you do listen to my words."

He hesitated for a moment and recalled the strange silence at the field of Kaggenbank after the battle was over. That moment had always haunted him. It was then that he had known for certain that he would be Emperor. He swallowed, then shrugged.

"Speak, then."

"You can still save many lives. In my land, where there is still war. You can stop that fighting. You can use the men there to rebuild your strength. Take this ship. Captain Moorsh is loyal, he and his crew love you. You can sail to the Land. Announce yourself to the men there. They will stop fighting if you so order it. Live there in peace with my people. Together we could defeat any further attack from Shasht."

He stared at her. It seemed like madness. Sail off to the far side of the world. Ally himself with her people. They weren't even human!

He laughed for a moment, saddened by his own unconscious prejudice. They weren't human, but they were intelligent, soulful by all accounts, worthy of the name "people." But that wasn't what his race were brought up to think.

"Stop the war, eh?"

"And forge an alliance with Toshak and the Kings. You must meet great Toshak; you and he would understand each other, I am sure. You share the same kinds of power."

She had spoken often of this one, this Toshak, their general.

"It won't be quite so simple, my dear," he said.

"You are still Aeswiren. I believe you can defeat your enemy and regain your throne."

Aeswiren's mocking reply died in his throat. Her intelligence was penetrating. They had discussed many things now. He could not dismiss her idea so easily.

"Well, I must thank you, dear Nuza. Thank you for having such belief in me. Even if you are the last to believe in me."

His head was hanging slightly. It aroused a fury in her.

"No! You cannot surrender. You owe this to the world. Your army has done much harm, but you can heal the wound. You and you alone have the power to do this. Yours is the name those men fight under."

He stared at her for a long moment. Did she know what she asked of him? Or how risky it all was? Nebbeggebben would not be pleased at the arrival of his father on the scene. Gaining the automatic allegiance of the army wasn't guaranteed, either. But he was Aeswiren. She was absolutely right. Those men had sworn their allegiance to him. They knew him as a leader in battle. They would turn to him.

And then, well, he pursed his lips. If he had an army behind him it would be a different world, because he would turn that army around, come back to Shasht, and use it as the core of a force that would rid Shasht of the Old One and the priests in one swoop. Once he had even five thousand battle-hardened soldiers under his command, things would be different. Then the Gzia nobility would find their courage, and they would rise for him and put thirty thousand Gzia swordsmen into the field. Give Aeswiren those kind of numbers, and he'd soon have Bishop Bodo's head on a pike.

"I don't care what you say about your Spirit, the Old Gods must have sent you." He enveloped her in his big arms and hugged her hard to his chest.

For Simona the first few days were filled with constant apprehension. Thru was hiding in an empty stall in the far corner of the stables. These stalls had no horses but stored a few odd items. Thru made himself a tiny cave, lined with straw, behind an old broken chariot.

However, Simona knew that the stable slaves weren't stupid, and that sooner or later they would discover Thru. He had to come and go to find water and steal food. Each time he moved, he became more vulnerable.

Simona lived moment by moment, always expecting the cry of alarm.

Then, at last, Shalee reported that Hilltop had been provisioned and partially opened for winter use. The upper floors were still sealed. Simona was free to move up there whenever she thought best.

Of course, even with the crisis, the social round in the zobbi had continued. Keeping to her plan, Simona had attended two luncheons and a grand feast for the First Snow thrown by the Count of Ekshash. She had kept a bright smile on her face and ignored gossip about her father, as much as possible. Plenty of wounding jibes still came from the haughty, but ignorant, true-bloods. But she ignored the "sawbones" references and everything else, determined to be seen in society but only briefly, thus camouflaging her existence.

And back at the house she tried not to think about poor Thru, hiding out in the cold dark of the outer stables. He'd told her to trust him, he would not be seen, but still she felt pure terror at the thought that he would be taken by the stable slaves.

Shalee's report brought a blessed relief. That afternoon Simona was scheduled to ride, and after a brisk work out on the park she returned with Silvery to the stables. As usual she stayed to brush the horse and talk to her. They had been apart for far too long. Silvery was her favorite mount, and Simona had been so happy to find her horse in good condition. They shared a special bond. And now, once again, they would be sundered, for Simona would walk up to Hilltop, with a donkey to carry her things.

When the bell rang in the kitchen to announce the late afternoon meal, the stable slaves hurried off. Simona slipped into the darker, remote part of the stables. She searched the stalls, looking for the one holding a broken chariot.

One stall stored blocks of wood, another had some charred beams awaiting reuse, then a row of empty stalls. She was starting to lose hope, when at last, she found it, close to the end of the row.

She stepped inside. There was no sign of Thru, although she did see straw heaped along the back wall.

"Thru?"

No response. He was gone. Then she realized he would have timed his own movements for the moment when the stable slaves went to their supper. Disappointed, and wondering how she was going to get him a message without anyone knowing, she turned to leave the stall and almost ran into a slender figure waiting there.