K B Forrest [Fire Chronicles 04] Banner of Fire [eXtasy MM] (pdf)

* * * * *

Zohak, the evil brother of the Firestarter Atar, has
made the ultimate pact with the demons. He learns
that the power the dragon-snakes have given him
does not come without a cost. He is horrified to find
that they require human brains for food.

Atar is faced with the final test. The winner gains the
throne of the Persian Empire. Meanwhile, the kingdom
is wracked with disturbances. The drought has
caused famine. Zohak institutes a monstrous tithe,
and Kava the blacksmith loses his family.

The Army of the People rises under Atar and Kava, but
they are faced with an Imperial army now composed
of full and part blooded demons, sorcerers, and
wizards. Their only hope is the power contained in the
body of Atar the Firestarter, but he must first find a
way to activate it.

************

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright
infringement,

including

infringement

without

monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a
fine of $250,000.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions,
and do not participate in or encourage the electronic
piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the
author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Banner of Fire

ISBN: 978-1-77111-193-5

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or
other means, now known or hereafter invented, is
forbidden without the written permission of the
publisher.

Published by Devine Destinies

An imprint of eXtasy Books

Look for us online at:

www.devinedestinies.com

Chapter One

A hissing sound made him startle awake. The things
were hungry. Desperately hungry. His shoulders burned.
Nausea bloomed in him. It affected not just his stomach,
but also every part of his body. The things wanted food.
The vile, snaky odor of the creatures assailed his nostrils,
but he refused to move. One of the creatures slithered
through his hair as if it knew how the feeling terrorized
him. Zohak opened his eyes to see one of them looming
over his face. Suddenly, it attacked him, and when he
screamed, it slithered down his throat questing. Questing
for food. It did not find what it wanted, so it emerged as he
gagged violently.

Food. They needed food. He felt himself rising. He knew
what they needed, and he’d have no rest until he gave it to
them. He used his large bell to summon a servant woman.
She came and lowered her head as she entered, bowing
as was customary. He grabbed her by the hair and kicked
the door shut. The snake-like dragons on his shoulders
attacked. In their feeding frenzy, they sent up a fine
pinkish spray, almost like a fog.

The woman screamed and flailed against the demons.
Zohak vomited when the hair he was holding came away
with the top half of her skull even before her desperate
screams died away.

When they had finished eating, the woman lay on the
stone floor in a large puddle of blood. Her head had been
split open like a cantaloupe that had been cut in half and
scooped of the innards. Zohak could not take his eyes off
the emptied remains of her head. The skull was pink
inside, but it had been licked clean. He fell to his knees in
horror. He would never be free.

* * * *

Atar sat alone in his dark cell, fighting his fear. Hunger
gnawed at his belly. He felt more miserable than ever
before. The awful drip continued to mark the seconds. He
refused to eat the mush and sat still, hoping for a rat. He
thought about Bulliwuf with a worried frown. He hoped he
was safe. He’d really put on a show at the trial. Zohak
would try to find a way to kill him, but a werewolf is not
easy to kill, or so Bulliwuf had said. Still, it bothered him.

An odd fragrance filled the chamber. It was like a mixture
of fresh bread and sharp cheese. He smelled meat and
spices, and cinnamon mixed with wine. His mouth
watered, and he felt alarm. He did

n’t realize he was

hungry enough to hallucinate. He needed to get out of
here. Resolutely, he sat still trying to ignore the aroma.

But it persisted.

Atar finally crawled toward the scent, cursing his
weakness. Something hit his hand, and he ran his fingers
over it. It was cool, smooth, like metal of some kind. It was
a goblet. He raised it to his nose, certain he had lost his
mind. But, no, the wine was real. It slid down his throat in
a cool, sensual wave. The grapy flavor exploded on his
tongue. He felt around, and discovered that the aromatic
bread was there too. Its yeasty fragrance made him moan
with delight. Savagely, he sank his teeth in. The meat was
tender and spiced with sharp herbs he had never tasted.
The cut was tender, utterly eclipsing the stringy game
meat to which he was accustomed. It had a milder,
pleasant taste, as if this beast had eaten only fresh grass
its whole life.

He knew he was going mad. He was probably eating his
own excrement. The thing he could not explain was that
he d

idn’t feel insane. Did Ezad know he was mad? Was

that what he was like now? He pressed the cup to his
cheek. It was cool and smooth. It felt so real.

He finished the pastry on his plate. It was flavored with
berries of some sort. The last thing on his plate was a bar
of something perhaps like the sweets he’d eaten at the
feast long ago. He felt the smooth surface of it. It scraped
off with an almost buttery consistency when he tested it
with his nail. He tasted it. He had never tasted this rich,
earthy flavor before. It melted in his mouth. He was
enjoying himself so thoroughly that he even forgot to be
scared. If this is insanity, I can see why Ezad likes it.

It had the scent of Bulliwuf on it. Somehow, Bulliwuf had
managed to have food delivered to him. Surely, the wolf
had been able to read his mind and to see the hunger and
fatigue. He felt better now and the wine warmed his body.
He felt around in the dark. He was full, but he wondered if
there was more. His hand encountered a thick skin, or
maybe it was felt of the kind the Paralatae used. No, it was
a cloth. He’d touched such a thing after the One Hundred
Year Ceremony. He wrapped himself in it and fell into a
sound sleep.

His dreams were broken by the tramp of feet
approaching his cell. He heard the familiar rattle of keys,
but he lay still. He had no desire to leave his cell, even
though every moment was torture of the worst kind for
him. It was a relief, though, to see light. He had an odd
foreboding about the next test.

“Ey! Ridro? What in the name of Gayomard’s withered

nuts is this?”

Atar looked up and his jaw dropped. A plate and a goblet
of gold were on the floor in the middle of his cell.

How could Bulliwuf have gotten that enormous plate
through the bars without opening the door?

“Hey gimme that!”

“No! It’s mine. I saw it first,” the second guard retorted.

“You liver of a bloated he-goat! I’ve got seniority over

you!”

“The only thing senior about you is your dragging, flaccid

man-

part,” the first said.

He listened to the guards hurl curses at each other as
they dragged him up and out of the dungeons.

As before, they took him to the Great Hall. They argued
the whole way there. Atar was grateful to see the sunlight,
but unable to truly appreciate it. The guards hurled him to
the floor, and he sprang up, ready to bolt.

He saw Sophene take one look at him and turn away, as
if unable to bear his haggard, filthy appearance. The
assembled nobles craned their necks and chattered
amiably. Sugreeva backed away from Atar, making a
face.

“Eek! How he stinks! Uh!” Sugreeva said.

Bulliwuf was there again. He smiled and winked at Atar.

There was a stillness and expectancy in the air suddenly.
It seemed that the sunlight dimmed. Zohak entered the
Great Hall through the big open doors. His form was
outlined in sunlight. He wore his brightest armor. The
sheer power emanating from him hit Atar like a fist. Then,
as he walked toward the dais, two black snakes uncoiled
from behind his neck. They peeked cautiously out of
Zohak’s hair, and then shot upright. A great shout rang

out, and someone screamed high above the noise. Atar
scuttled backward, surprised and disgusted. He didn’t
blame Sugreeva for screaming. Everyone on the dais rose
to his or her feet. Somehow, Zohak seemed even more
formidable than before. His shoulders seemed wider and
his arms massive.

Zohak smiled slowly then he laughed in his rich baritone,
seemingly delighted with the proceedings. “My people!
Can you ask for a clearer sign from the gods? I have come
into my power as king, as you see. I am almost a god.
Indeed, I am part-

god, as is clearly obvious.” Zohak

stepped forward and the snakes waved in the air above
his head, tasting the air and relishing the fear of the
watchers.

“What have you done?” Queen Cunaxa demanded. Her

face had gone pale.

Waves of repulsive power throbbed in the air around
him.

“What have I done? Well, Mother, that is a question you

should ask yourself. Now, do tell me of the little game you
have planned for me today. Shall I jump through a flaming
hoop naked, or maybe juggle crystal statues of invaluable
cost without breaking them?”

“Silence!” Cunaxa ordered, narrowing her eyes. “If you

choose to disrespect the proceedings then we shall award
the kingship to Sugreeva by default.”

That put an end to his speech, but he continued to smile
insolently. The snakes hissed disapproval and the
assembled nobles drew back.

Bulliwuf addressed the court. “I am only a guest, but I will

state for the record that rather than being a sign from the
gods, the snakes Zohak sports are a gift of the demons. In
particular…”

“Silence!” Zohak roared, but Bulliwuf smiled graciously.

“Sir, make no mistake. You have sealed a pact with the

devil Iblis. Nobody does that without paying a huge price.”
Bulliwuf seemed to shimmer for a moment.

Cunaxa’s face remained impassive. “Let us proceed.”

Atar’s eyes remained locked on Zohak’s snakes.

“The people have been suffering from the most terrible

drought in history.” Cunaxa appeared to calm herself, but
she remained quite pale

. “It is the duty of the ruler of this

land to see to the needs of the people.”

Zohak snorted, but Cunaxa continued. “I have had

numerous petitions presented before me. I have spoken to
eyewitnesses who have seen the Dragon. Yes, the people
living near the mountain have seen a dragon inhabiting a
cave. They claim that it is the fabled Dragon of Drought.”

“This is ridiculous,” Zohak said, laughing. “You know how

those provincials talk! Dragons!”

“Well, then, there shall be no danger of a dragon

dismembering you,” Cunaxa said smoothly. Atar heard
Sugreeva squeak.

“You three shall go to the Dragon Caves to either

subdue the dragon, or to comfort the people as a ruler
should.”

Atar, Sophene said mentally, the Queen says that you
are to go to the Dragon Caves.

What? Where…why? Atar could feel her pity and it filled

him with dread.

Zohak’s smile widened. “As you wish, Mother. If the

dragon exists, he will naturally bow before me, the Dragon
King!” He mock-bowed to the people on the dais and
strode out of the great hall with a swirl of his cape. Atar,
Sugreeva, and everyone else watched his confident, easy
stride. He left a lingering stench in his wake. It was the
strong odor of snake.

Do not delay. Zohak has saddled his horse already. He is
leaving with two guards. You must leave for the Dragon
Caves. Head east at once. You are to subdue the Drought
Dragon. Hurry! Ishria is in one of the palace pastures.
After sending this mental message, Bulliwuf smiled as Atar
stared after Zohak.

Atar stood for a moment longer. Dragon caves? Are they
all mad? Then he turned and strode out of the chamber.
Nobody stopped him. A company of about twenty guards

was waiting outside for him. He scowled at them, but quit
once he saw the way they looked at him. These were
soldiers, not palace guards. These were the men he had
led to victory. He had thought for a moment that they
would just let him walk away from this whole mess, but he
should have known better. General Monases stepped
forward and greeted Atar warmly.

Atar was most displeased to see Heslin the Speaker
Mage among the party of soldiers.

I thought you were with the Massagetae. I can’t seem to

get rid of you, Atar informed the mind reader irritably.

Queen Cunaxa sent for me. I came as soon as I could,
Heslin said in mind-speak.

They all walked outside. The wind was on his face. He
took a deep breath. They walked to the pastures. Atar
would have been delighted to walk in the open air again if
he hadn’t had so much on his mind. They approached a
stout wooden fence.

Before him in the distance, he could make out Ishria’s

graceful form. Raising his fingers to his lips, he let out his
whistle. Ishria’s head rose up abruptly. He regarded Atar
for a moment then cantered forward. Atar took an instant
to soothe Ishria before he saddled him. The soldier who
handed him the saddle also handed him his mace and his
tiger skin.

He says it is from Queen Cunaxa. You should be
honored! Heslin said.

They are mine. He was beginning to be irritated by
everything the man said, although he felt tender warmth
for the Queen.

As they rode out of the palace gates and into the city,
Atar’s head was whirling. The vision of the snakes
shooting out of Zohak’s hair did not lose its intensity. He
gazed at Ishria’s mane, but he was very conscious of the
stares. They rode quickly through the city, without any of
the pomp and ceremony of the last time he had taken this
path. Still, the people watched.

Bulliwuf pulled up his horse beside Atar, who started.
“Bulliwuf! I can’t believe it. How are you pulling it off? I
thought you couldn’t hold your human form for very long.”

“It’s not easy, my dearest, but for you, in this terrible

time…”

“But there have been other terrible times,” Atar broke in.

“You were always safe. This time is different. There is

some very evil black magic brewing. Beware!” Bulliwuf
was a sight wearing clothes. He’d never done that before.
His shining silver hair streamed out after him in flowing,
long ringlets. He wore a blue tunic of the finest silk. It was
richly embroidered with wolves. Some of the silver wolves
ran after game. Some of them were howling at the moon.

The embroidery was so realistic and so fine that Atar could
almost hear their lonely howls.

“Bulliwuf, what happened to Zohak? Did you feel the

power? It actually carried into the chamber” Atar shook his
head. “What are we supposed to do? Is there really a
dragon?”

“There is one, but I can tell you very little about it. The

people say that it is a drought dragon. We don’t have such
monsters where I came from. But listen to me, Atar. I
dreamed that Zohak is destined to win this contest.”

“But it’s a dream. Dreams…”

Bulliwuf drew his beautiful white mare closer. Ishria
snorted in response. “Atar, I have not dreamed since I was
a man. This does mean something, although I do not know
what it means.”

Atar nodded.

“I must go for now, Atar. I will return as my wolf self. I can

no longer bear this.” Bulliwuf turned his horse and cut into
the forest.

They were just leaving the remnants of the city behind.
Atar urged Ishria a little faster. The horizon opened up
before them. A few hours passed.

Um… Heslin began. Uh… General Monases wants to tell

you that it seems that Prince Sugreeva is following us.

Atar turned in his saddle. Sure enough, curls bouncing,
Sugreeva was tramping along behind him on his docile
gray horse. He had about twenty men behind him as well.
Atar stared at them for a moment, amused by Sugreeva’s
plodding gray gelding. The poor lad bounced like a cork in
boiling water. As he watched, Sugreeva urged his mount a
little faster and leaned forward as if he were in a race.

Distantly, Atar heard him shout in a little voice. “Onward,

my men!”

Atar shot the General a glance and smiled. Two hours
later, Sugreeva had abandoned any attempt to disguise
the fact that he was following them. Atar clearly heard
Sugreeva composing a ballad for himself. He understood
the words by listening to Heslin’s mind. He smiled.

“Sugreeva the mighty, he is very tidy, Tidy, what rhymes

with that? Mighty, no I just used that.”

Bulliwuf appeared ahead. He trotted over, wagging his
tail happily in a most un-wolf-like manner.

“Thank the gods you are back, Bulliwuf.”

Yes, a good day for dragon catching. You know, they say
that dragon meat tastes like chicken, but it is fatal. It is so
dangerous because the toxins in it are inactive for at least
twelve hours. At that point, it is impossible to vomit up the
meat, so the person dies a horrible, lingering death.
Vomiting is followed by bloody diarrhea. Finally, the throat
closes slowly so that one chokes to death. A slow death

indeed, however, if one is bitten by a venomous
dragon…

A horrible wheezing came from Heslin, who was
listening, his eyes round and popping out like a mouse
being stepped on by a hobnailed boot. Will we be forced
to…will we die? Oh the gods! Is there really such a thing?
I have a wife at home and two daughters as well.

Atar laughed. Heslin could hear Bulliwuf’s mind speech.

The wolf was gr

inning. “Oh well, we can capture one and

we will bring it back to the court. I’m sure Sugreeva would
love one as a pet.

Oh no! Heslin said. That wouldn’t be permissible.

Atar laughed aloud. Stop teasing, Bulliwuf. I can smell his
piss. You made him wet his pants.

Atar sighed. He could hear Sugreeva’s thin voice

composing.

“Um, Bravely he doth go forth smooshing oh dear,

smooshing doesn’t go does it? How about, crushing? That
sounds more fierce, don’t you think?”

The hours passed and the sun reached its zenith.
Sugreeva had finished his ballad by this time and was
roaring out the words.

Sugreeva the mighty, he is very tidy

With spirits high, and danger near

Sugreeva rides without a fear

Bravely, bravely, charging forth today

Bravely, bravely he shows his men the way

Across the fields, across the lands, to peril still unknown

He rides his mighty stallion to

He stopped. “What rhymes with unknown? Hmm, bone,

clone, sloan.”

Atar laughed aloud. A figure in the distance rose up over
a hill. It stopped and heads turned to look. Atar shaded his
eyes. The figure started moving again toward them. It
stopped again and directed his horse in an aimless, wide
circle.

“What the hell?” General Tiridates said.

Speaker Mage, tell them we shall stop for lunch, Atar
said.

“Thank God!” Atar heard Sugreeva say. “I was beginning

to think we’d ride forever.”

Both sets of soldiers watched the approaching figure as
they set up lunch. Sugreeva’s soldiers still kept to
themselves, trying to preserve some dignity. The effect

was spoiled when Sugreeva shamelessly sauntered over
to Atar’s cook fire.

“Tell him that we shall camp here for the night,” Sugreeva

said to Heslin.

Heslin gaped.

Atar shook his head. Sugreeva walked back to his
soldiers and ordered one of them to set up his tent. The
soldier played deaf. Atar could hear him screaming at the
poor man.

Meals were cooking, and Atar bathed in the stream. As
he finished, he looked up to see Sugreeva on the bank,
staring. When he saw that he’d been observed, he began
to wash his hands and wiped them on a silk handkerchief.
Atar dressed quickly, and Sugreeva began to chatter to
him.

As the soldiers in both camps quaffed their meal, Ezad
the Insane roamed into camp. He stared blankly at Atar. A
streamer of saliva hung from his lower lip. Atar smiled and
came over to him. Ezad tossed his head and dismounted.
He accepted the meal Atar offered him. Atar was
genuinely glad to see him. He had proved enormously
useful before, despite his apparent insanity. Atar had a
feeling as he looked at Ezad, that Zohak had nothing to do
with his coming. After a time, the soldiers gathered their
things.

As Atar mounted Ishria, the tilting, wobbly structure
Su

greeva’s men had erected fell on top of him. He pulled

the canvas off his head as he heard them riding away.

“Hey!” Sugreeva wailed. “I said we are going to stay

here.”

Before long, they heard Sugreeva singing behind them
again. Atar passed the hours by learning some of the
Persian language from Heslin. By the time they camped
that night, the soldiers had abandoned the pretense of
separate camps. General Tiridates, who was in command
of Sugreeva’s men, was seated next to his comrade,
General Monases. Ezad the Insane burbled manically into
this cup of stew, murmuring to himself. The fire burned
brightly on the faces of the men.

“I am so glad you have decided to join me.” Sugreeva

said, clueless. “Do not fear. You will all flourish under my
benevolent command. Of course, I can be as hard as iron
when I need to be, so do not cross me.”

Atar stared at him blankly, and looked at Heslin.

Um…he is under the impression that you have…uh that

is to say he says he is leading…commanding all of us,
Heslin said.

Atar stared at him and then threw his head back and
roared with laughter. His men chuckled too. Sugreeva
tittered as well, and that made everyone laugh even
harder.

Chapter Two

When the sun set a few days later, Sugreeva, Atar, and
the forty men were within sight of the settlement near the
Dragon Caves. The buildings were clustered together as if
they huddled in fear of the mountains that rose up to meet
the sky. Atar watched the small figures in the distance see
them and scurry off. Sugreeva was chattering happily next
to him. Heslin had fallen back, and Captains Monases and
Tiridates had taken his place by Atar’s side. A crowd had
gathered by the time they reached the settlement. They
squealed and clutched at each other when they saw
Bulliwuf. Atar saw them staring at him as well. He was still
not used to this kind of reception.

Atar looked down at the excited, chattering faces. The
people stood well back from their path. He could hear a
blacksmith somewhere clanging on his anvil. The sharp
sound of iron on iron carried over the noise of the people.
Atar caught glimpses of little gardens in front of the
modest houses, but for the most part, all he could see was
the crowd. The dusty main street was lined with shops. It
did not take them long to find the inn. It was a solid two-
story structure with a steeply peaked roof.

A man rushed out of the building clutching a damp towel.
“I’m so sorry. I am afraid my establishment is too small to
accommodate such a large group.”

Atar peered at the man, slowly translating his meaning.
Another man bustled to the front and cleared his throat.
“Welcome to our humble town! I am the mayor here. Are
you here to fight the dragon?” the mayor asked, nervously
tweaking his mustaches.

Sugreeva cleared his throat, but General Monases said
hurriedly, “Yes, my good man. Do you know of a place we
can stay for the night? We can camp in the town square, if
nothing else is available.”

Sugre

eva squealed in protest, but the mayor said, “No!

No! I wouldn’t hear of it. We shall give you quarter. Come,
come!” It was then that Atar noticed him regarding
Bulliwuf. The man then glanced up to take in Atar. A look
of stark terror cut across his face. He turned and hurried
toward his house.

The soldiers dispersed among the people and the
command group followed the mayor. Atar had to lead
Ishria into the stable himself. When he walked out of the
barn, he hesitated before entering the house, reluctant as
ever to throw himself into a confined area. He
contemplated taking a position out on the wooden steps,
but the mayor appeared in the doorway wearing a strained
smile. Atar slowly walked into the house with Bulliwuf at
his heels, but he winced when he saw the door slammed
shut in Bulliwuf’s face.

Atar passed a small table with a vase filled with flowers.
He found himself seated at the dining table with the
others. A soft knock sounded and the door opened to

reveal Bulliwuf in his human form. He was so beautiful that
both men and women gasped.

“Where did you come from? I thought you went back to

town. Are you here to escort me? Did my mother send
you?”

Bulliwuf smiled at Sugreeva’s torrent of questions, but

said nothing. With an imperious nod of his head, he
indicated that he would sit near Atar. The Speaker Mage
scrambled away to another chair.

The mayor shivered at the sight of Bulliwuf, but his wife
sashayed over to fuss over him. The table was laden with
food. Monases, Tiridates, Heslin, and Ezad were seated to
Atar’s right. The wife whispered into Bulliwuf’s ear and he
answered softly. Atar was jealous when he saw Bulliwuf’s
fingers gently and subtly graze the woman’s arm. She
went back into the kitchen part of the house and returned
with a large roast that was barely cooked. This she placed
in front of Bulliwuf. He ate with the dignity of a king, but
with the voracious appetite of a werewolf.

Atar rolled his eyes. He still did not know how Bulliwuf did
it. Sugreeva was chattering in his highborn Persian
accent. Atar did not focus on his words. He stared hungrily
at the platters of food.

“A real quest!” the mayor’s youngest son breathed. His

father gave him a quelling look.

“Why yes, as the Prince of Persia, that is what I do,”

Sugreeva said, preening under the admiration. “My
lieutenant here, Atar, will be assisting me,” Sugreeva said.
General Monases choked on his wine.

“Well, yes, yes, we are so glad you came. It’s been a real

trouble governing the people with that menace in the
mountains. I tell you, it’s the last thing we needed, what
with the drought and all. It reawakens ancient
superstitions, if you know what I mean. Now, mind you, I’m
not sure what’s up there. You know how people will spin
yarns, but something is d

efinitely there.”

As the man droned on, Atar noticed the eyes of the
mayor’s eldest daughter rest for a moment on the
handsome prince Bulliwuf and then they returned to
watching him. He smiled. Plates were being passed
around. When Atar was served, he attacked the meal with
savage glee. He looked up to see the mayor’s wife smile
and blush as he heaped on seconds, then thirds.

Atar noticed that they all pretended not to hear Ezad’s

insistent whine.

“So…so…you’re the Firestarter?” the youngest son

asked Atar.

Atar looked up and after a moment, he nodded. When
the dessert was served, Atar slipped unobtrusively
outside. Or rather, he would have slipped out
unobtrusively if he hadn’t tripped on a tea table and sent it
clattering to the floor. He hastily righted it as he felt his

face turn red. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw that
everyone was listening raptly to Sugreeva.

“He was about seven feet tall, but you see, being the

prince, I was able to defeat him and his entire company of
men. I was only fifteen years old at the time, and the court
was truly impressed,” Sugreeva was saying.

Atar snatched the vase up from the floor and shoved the
flowers back into it. Atar studied it for a second, trying to
figure out what was wrong with the way it looked, and then
he slipped out into the night. Bulliwuf noticed and
followed.

Atar lowered himself onto the wooden steps and looked
out over the town. Lightning bugs zipped through the air,
pausing now and then.

“I see,” Bulliwuf sighed. “You plan to sleep outside.”

Atar was so full and so satisfied. He grunted.

“Although the bed of one of those fine women would be

most warm, I will sleep here with you.” Bulliwuf instantly
transformed and followed Atar to the barn. They snuggled
together, Atar with his arm around Bulliwuf, as they had
slept since he was a child. Had it not been for the great
heat that emanated from the wolf, Atar would have frozen
to death long ago. The Paralatae tribe people never
provided him with anything but the bare minimum, such as
discarded clothing, but he never had a tent.

As Atar drifted into sleep, his last thought was of Zohak.
Where was he now?

The two bodies lay cooling in the deepening dusk as the
hoof beats of a distant rider faded away. Their blood
trickled into the thirsty ground, black in the fading light.
One of the horses came over and nuzzled his master,
confused. The bodies wore the uniform of the Persian
guard. The gleaming swords they carried were half out of
their scabbards. Below the forehead, their blood-flecked
faces were set in the rictus of death.

Above their foreheads, the dying light gleamed on their
open, empty skulls. The brains had been scooped out
cleanly.

As they rode out of the town the following dawn, the
people came out into the streets to wish them good luck.
Sugreeva had taken the lead. He bounced at the head of
the band as if he were marching in a grand triumphal
procession. His nose was thrust high into the air. In a
practiced, almost mechanical gesture, he waved to the
watchers.

General Monases and Tiridates glanced at each other
and then at Atar, who saw the scorn in their eyes. Poor
Sugreeva. Nobody likes him. Atar was beginning to enjoy
Sugreeva’s antics, but there were things to consider. He
bent his head as he became engrossed in thought. He
was troubled. He scarcely noticed they had left the town
behind them.

* * * *

Kava the Blacksmith held his daughter high on his
shoulders to watch the Firestarter and the soldiers go. She
waved her small sword, slicing the air and howling. One of
Kava’s wives frowned at the girl’s indecorous behavior.

“Really, Kava, make her stop at once!” the girl’s mother

insisted. “She should act in a manner suitable for a girl of
marriageable age.”

Kava thought his little girl certain

ly didn’t feel like she was

ready for marriage, perched on his shoulders. She
weighed so little.

“Nonsense!” Kava said, turning to smile at his third wife.

He smoothed the girl’s dark curls with his hand. “She’s too
young. Besides, her Papa would never spoil her fun.
Would you like to go to town, Lesa?” Kava inquired,
setting the girl on her feet.

The girl’s eyes lit, “Oh yes, Papa that would be

wonderful!” Lesa squealed. She grabbed his beard and
kissed him.

“Now, now Lesa!” the girl’s mother scolded, “How many

times have I told you not to pull on your father’s beard?”

“It’s ok, love. She meant no harm,” Kava said, picking her

up again.

“You’re entirely too indulgent with the girl. Why, she will

marry next year. She is so spoiled that she will never
make a good wife.”

“Nonsense!” He roared.

Lesa cocked her head and stared up at her mother.
“Papa says I don’t have to marry unless I want to, and I
don’t. I won’t leave home. I hate that man, Shogan! Papa
says I’m too small to marry. I didn’t grow like the other
girls, so I don’t have to, right Papa?”

Kava’s wife gasped. “You see what you have done,

Husband!”

He ignored the comment. “Tell the three boys to have the

fires ready by noon, and make sure Mandras, Rupinder,
and Jamshi

r complete their lessons.”

Kava, with Lesa in his arms, turned to town. He never
made Lesa walk anywhere if she didn’t want to. She was
his baby, no matter what her age. Something had gone
wrong with her after she suffered from a fever when she
was three. She grew slowly and her legs were bowed. Her
mind was rather weak and childlike. Kava knew she would
never marry. Childbirth would kill a small woman like the
one she was turning out to be. But he thanked the gods for
every day she lived and that he was always there to
protect her. She was his only daughter out of eight
children and the apple of his eye. Although Kava was kind
to all his children, he indulged his Lesa lavishly, much to
her mother’s dismay.

“Let’s go to the sweet shop and then to the glass store!”

Lesa said, squeezing his neck.

“Of course! What are papas for?” Kava asked.

They moved down the main street together.

* * * *

The land became rockier as Atar and the soldiers
progressed.

“This is really boring,” Sugreeva said irritably from Atar’s

side.

In the distance, they saw a herd of sheep. “General Atar,”

Tiridates said, riding up to him. “I think we should leave
the horses here with the shepherd. I don’t recommend
risking their legs on such treacherous terrain.

”

“No, no. You expect us to walk or something? Oh my

God!” Sugreeva bristled and waved his delicate hands. His
curls were trembling and his face was pale.

Atar nodded at General Tiridates, reflecting briefly on
how odd it was that his captors treated him so
deferentially. They proceeded on foot, Sugreeva falling far

behind. Atar looked back to see him seated on a flat rock,
sipping wine from his flask.

Atar began to sweat. He felt Bulliwuf reach out mentally
to comfort him. It didn’t do much good. They headed west,
climbing ever steeper into the mountains. Atar felt his fear
double in intensity. They all seemed to share the feeling of
terror. Doom seemed to float oppressively on the air. They
knelt down and crawled forward as they neared the cave.
They heard the breathing from some distance. Atar wiped
the sweat from his brow and gripped his mace more
tightly. Inch by inch, Atar crept forward. He saw the dark
maw of the cave. A cold shudder gripped him. He was
relieved by the presence of Bulliwuf and the forty soldiers.
Atar turned his head to whisper to General Tiridates, but
found that he was gone. He turned all the way around, still
lying down, and saw the empty rocks behind him. They
had deserted him. The horrible breathing issued evenly
from the mouth of the cave.

“Bulliwuf, why didn’t you tell me they were running off?”

“Atar, it is something that they are not a part of,” Bulliwuf

said.

Atar lay there, paralyzed with fear. Should he go forward
and die by the dragon, or creep back and die in Persia?
He inched forward, dislodging a stone. It tumbled down
the rocky, steep incline. The clatter sounded hideously
loud in the still air. Atar heard the even breathing of the
dragon end in a snort. He felt the blood drain from his

face. He lay paralyzed, hoping to hear the dragon settle
back down.

He felt his heart stop for an instant then pound triple time
as an enormous snout emerged from the cave. Two
glittering eyes stared malevolently at him. Atar felt the low,
menacing rumble vibrate the ground beneath him.

They looked at each other, and then they heard the
unmistakable sound of someone approaching. Zohak was
down near the cave. He strode forth confidently. He fairly
thrummed with power and arrogance. His walk was the
haughty strut of a powerful king. His wide shoulders
accented his narrow hips. He did not crawl toward the
dragon’s cave. He strutted forth, to Atar’s amazement. The
snakes on his shoulders were curled out of sight.

The huge head continued to emerge out of the cave,
followed by a scaly body. The dragon had two curled
horns on its head, much like a ram. Its snake-like eyes
were set deep into sockets that seemed to be extensions
of its horns. The nose rose up out of its face and was
covered by hard plate-like scales, which shone a brilliant
iridescent green. When it turned its head slightly, they took
on a yellow cast. Its forked tongue jutted out from a hard,
beak-like mouth lined with sharp teeth in jagged rows. The
top set of teeth was doubled. Large leathery wings were
folded on its back. It extended them slightly as it walked,
but it looked as though they were vestigial, because they
didn’t seem large enough to fly such a heavy body. They
did, however, have a large claw at the end of each mid-
wing, just where they folded. It walked on its two back feet,

but the front feet waved menacingly. The ground shook
when it lifted its tail and slammed it against the earth.

Zoha

k’s erect form strode toward the dragon. The dragon

roared and lunged, his enormous body shooting at him
with reptilian speed. The dragon’s jaws were wide at the
arrogant little creature before it. Zohak watched the beast
coming at him.

The snakes on his shoulders rose, copper eyes glittering.
They opened their mouths and struck the oncoming
dragon. It happened too quickly for the eye to follow. The
dragon let out a high sound, darting backward. The harsh,
copper-skunk stench of dragon fear filled the air. It was a
smell that only two humans before had ever smelled. The
dragon approached again, sniffing the air around Zohak
curiously. Its head darted back whenever the two snake-
dragons attached to Zohak’s shoulders reared up. It
seemed that they had come to some sort of
understanding.

Zohak looked to where Atar was hiding and pointed. The
snakes on his shoulders looked toward Atar and he could
see the malevolent intelligence in their eyes. He was on
his feet before he knew what was happening. Atar turned
to flee and felt the enormous dragon pounce after him with
the terrible speed of a reptile. He screamed and then felt a
terrific blow send him flying. He flailed through the air, just
barely hanging on to his mace. Then the ground rushed up
to smack him painfully. Atar groaned, but managed to turn
over. The dragon was slithering right at him, wide jaws
open, beak widened to reveal wet, razor sharp teeth. Then

the dragon’s head turned. Atar’s head lolled back. He was
in a sea of pain. Through the slits of his eyes he saw only
red. Was it the dragon’s open mouth, or his own blood?
He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

Then he saw Bulliwuf in his human form. He grabbed the
mace from Atar’s hand and with a howling roar, he struck
the monster’s cheek so hard that the scales crumbled to
the ground like so much crystal. The beast bellowed and
waved its clawed hands in a paroxysm of pain and anger.
Bulliwuf swung the mace again and teeth fell like great
spears, barely missing Atar. The dragon’s roars cut
t

hrough Atar’s daze.

“Hurry, get up if you wish to live,” Bulliwuf screamed.

Atar scrambled up and as they ran, he turned to see the
dragon waving its hands in front of its head and pounding
the ground with its huge tail. Zohak had turned and was
hurrying away as if frightened.

Wild eyed, bloody and frantic, Atar reached the men.
Rain began to fall. As Atar opened his mouth to speak, he
stopped when a hideous laughter floated to them. It was
deep with satisfaction. It rolled off the rocky hills like
thunder.

“Hurry,” Atar shouted in Persian. In his haste, he

stumbled on a loose stone and barked his shins painfully
against the unforgiving rocks. The soldiers wasted no time
in following him in his desperate flight. The laughter

followed them as they scrambled away through the rain
that now poured from the sky.

* * * *

That laughter was echoed in the Realm of Fire. The
goddess watched Atar’s miniature form hurry down the
rocks. He tripped and sprang back up, fleeing headlong
through the rain.

“Very well done,” the goddess said, her silken voice

sending the fires a

round her to dancing. “The werewolf

has defeated the dragon and released the rain, but the
snake-

shouldered king has taken the credit.”

Chapter Three

“Bravely, bravely, the Prince and his helper fled,

Bravely, Bravely, they scurried off to bed!

Across the way, across the land”

“Somebody silence him! I can’t take it anymore,” Atar

roared in heavily accented Persian as he cleaned his
painful wounds by the light of the meager fire. The pelting
rain kept trying to put it out. The wood was wet and the
ground was mushy. Atar was in a temper. Bulliwuf’s
tongue lolled out indolently.

Sugreeva stopped mid-wail and turned to Atar, who was
glaring at him. He smiled. “You want an encore? I shall be
happy to oblige you, faithful savage. Fetch me some wine
to clear my golden throat.”

Atar tried not to grind his teeth.

General Monases came over to him with a plate of food.
Atar accepted it with a nod of thanks.

“Six have left us,” General Monases said.

“How dare you ignore the royal command?” Sugreeva

squeaked at Atar, who continued to ignore him.

“Just as well,” Tiridates said, coming over to sit near

them. “Those fellows were never very stable. They were
never any good in a fight.”

Atar stared at the mush in front of him. His mind was
racing.

“Sugreeva the Mighty, with his little friend

Thundered down the mountain, fleeing in the end-

”

Atar cursed in Paralatae as Sugreeva’s singing cut into

his thoughts. Sugreeva nodded acknowledgement and
continued.

“They camped that night under the moon,

Hoping Sugreeva would plan for them soon.

Sugreeva lifted his face to the rain

The hero was suffering lots of pain

He dashed hair out of his eyes,

Um, eyes? Let’s see, pies, size, uh…”

Wordlessly, Atar began to gather his meager
possessions. Sugreeva did not notice, but the two
generals looked on in consternation. Atar had judged them
correctly in assuming they would not try to stop him if he
chose to leave.

Mage! Atar called out to Heslin. Atar was learning more
Persian every day, but just then, he was too furious to
bother with the tedious task of translation. Tell them all
that I wish them long life and lots of beer.

“You…you’re leaving?” General Tiridates asked.

Bulliwuf’s ears pricked. The enormous wolf stretched his

legs, groaning, but he made no move to get up. Atar
hoisted his pack in one hand and grabbed his mace in the
other.

Atar heaved his pack over Ishria’s rump and began to

secure it. The others looked on in dismay. Heslin gaped
like a flycatcher. Sugreeva stopped composing.

“What…hey? Hello? Where’s he going?” Sugreeva said

in a worried voice. Bulliwuf watched him through half-
closed eyes.

“He’s leaving to wherever he was headed before he led

the armies, I expect,” General Monases said.

“What do you mean?” Sugreeva said. “You’re leaving for

good?”

“Yes, it is good,” Atar said, glad that Sugreeva agreed

with him.

“No! I order you to stay here. You can’t just leave.

You…can’t

just…stop

him!”

Sugreeva

ordered

imperiously. His face reflected his alarm. Atar swung into

the saddle. “Wait!” Sugreeva said, on the verge of tears.
“Please …” Tears cascaded down his face. “I need you.
Don’t you see? Now Zohak will be the emperor. He’ll kill
me without you there to protect me. And what about
Princess Sophene? Do you want her to die? And Queen
Cunaxa too?” He began to sob in hopelessness, heedless
of the gawking soldiers.

Bulliwuf called to him mentally. Atar turned. You will do
as he says.

“I will not. Why the hell should I? Let’s go. The summer

isn’t getting any longer.”

Sit down, oh Atar.

Atar frowned and muttered an obscenity as he reluctantly
dismounted. Heslin was whispering to the others. Atar
looked at Sugreeva. Big wet tears rolled down his face.
Atar crossed his arms over his chest and glared at
Bulliwuf.

Bulliwuf rolled onto his elbow and smiled at Atar with his
great tongue lolling out.

“Well? Could you explain what you mean by this, my

friend?” Atar sat down heavily.

“Oh I’m so glad. Let’s be friends.” Sugreeva said

happily.

Atar did not understand the rest of Sugreeva’s rapid fire

Persian, but Tiridates and Monases looked at each other
askance.

You have a responsibility, Bulliwuf said.

“Responsibility? What responsibility? To them? They

would like nothing better than to see…”

Look at the helpless prince. What will happen to the
kingdom now that Zohak is emperor? He is quite right.

“So what?” Atar asked sullenly. “Why should I care about

that?” He drew up his knees and sulked. He would stay.
Sugreeva certainly had to stay. If he went back, he would
be killed. The rain continued to pour down.

Chapter Four

Zohak could hear Meruzanes stop speaking as the
hissing of his snakes filled the Council Chamber. The
candelabras were all lit to make up for the lack of light
from outside. The gray skies were releasing torrents of
rain. People danced in the streets, delighted. They had
hailed Zohak as he rode past them with the six deserters.
Meruzanes put the parchment down and looked up. The
rows of leather seats in front of him were nearly all
occupied, although Zohak guessed that no one really
cared about the proposal the man was reading. They were
waiting to see him, the one who had killed the Drought
Dragon.

Zohak walked into the Council Chamber, his snakes
waving gently in the air. He forced an impassive
expression, but he couldn’t erase the slight smile that
played about the corners of his mouth. He was satisfied to
hear Queen Cunaxa suck in her breath as he descended
the stairs. His eyes met hers and his terrible smile
widened a fraction of an inch. The six soldiers were behind
him.

When Zohak reached the dais, he looked at Meruzanes
briefly then he turned to his mother. “Well, Mother, I guess
I am to be emperor despite your best efforts.”

No one said a word. Zohak grinned then he chuckled. His
chuckle deepened into a roaring laughter that echoed off

the high ceiling of the chamber. Cunaxa rose from her
chair and fled from the dais, pressing her hands to her
ears. Meruzanes did nothing. His eyes were lit with a kind
of fascinated horror that gave Zohak pleasure.

Zohak approached Hergor’s old throne. The candles

glowed golden on the scene. The jeweled crown and gold
scepter were still on his seat. Zohak was filled with a
thrilling sense of wonder and accomplishment. His eyes
glimmered with tears as some wonderful, strong emotion
washed over him. All his adult life he had waited for this
precious, timeless moment. How he had lived and relived
this victory in his thousands of fantasies.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the crown. The
jewels winked and glittered a welcome. Through the tears
in Zoh

ak’s eyes, their shimmering fire was intensified. The

crown was so beautiful. The weight of it sent a thrill
through him. It reminded him that this was no fantasy. He
felt a tear trace down his face and into his beard. He
slowly lifted the crown, reveling in the scores of eyes that
he felt burning into his back. He lifted the crown over his
head.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose with the aching,
thrilling anticipation he felt. Then he settled the crown on
his head. A thrill of pure, electric pleasure lifted his heart to
the heavens. He turned, cape swirling to face the court.

His court.

Clang, clang, clang.

The bejeweled, gold scepter hit the stone steps of the
dais, bouncing on each one. The sound was sharp and
unnatural. It was not the sound of gold on stone. It was the
sound of iron on iron.

Zohak hastily retrieved the scepter, averting his face until
he got his terror under control.

The next few hours shone in his memory, blazing with
the intensity of his satisfaction. Outside, the world grew
darker, yet the nobles continued to come to him, kneeling
and swearing their allegiance. His mind began to wander
as the last hour ticked by.

He grinned, thinking about it. Oh, Mother, he thought, as
he sat on the throne. Dear, dear, Mother. We need to chat.
Abruptly, he rose and left the Council Chamber, leaving
three very confused noblemen gaping and probably
wondering what they had done to offend him. He didn’t
care.

His footsteps rang on the stone as he ascended the
stair

s to Queen Cunaxa’s tower. The sound preceded him.

He took his time, relishing the experience. He felt a black
rage building inside of him. It was as cold and black as the
deepest winter night in Scythia, yet this rage made him
chuckle.

“Mother,” he said in a voice that to his ears sounded

liquid and smooth. As he reached the top of the stairs, he
felt laughter rumbling up from deep in his chest. The
feeling of power was thrilling.

In her chamber at the end of the hall, Queen Cunaxa’s

head shot up. She thought she heard something. She
stared sightlessly out her window, out at the pouring rain.
A cold, irrational fear began to unfurl in her heart.

“Mother,” the voice whispered again into the darkness.

Cunaxa shook her head, chiding herself for her fanciful
imagination. But then she cocked her head. Faintly, she
heard boots smacking against the stone corridor outside.
Her breath caught. She began to tremble. Why was she so
afraid? The footsteps drew closer. The pace was
measured and slow.

“Oh the gods. Please protect me!” the Queen whispered.

She turned, knocking over a chair in her haste. She cried
out as her shin collided with one of the chair legs. Ignoring
the pain, she stumbled over to the door and locked it. With
the key in her hand, she backed away, staring wide-eyed
at the door. The footsteps continued to approach.
Desperately, the Queen began to pray as her heart
pounded.

“Mother,” she heard him say. The doorknob turned slowly

and she heard the twisting metal as the strong hand of the
creature behind the door snapped the lock.

“No!” Queen Cunaxa said, tears rolling down her face.

The door opened and Zohak was there. His snakes
undulated with hypnotic, sinuous precision.

“Mother,” he breathed stepping into the room as she

backed away.

Chapter Five

The shivering town crier reached the settlement near the
Dragon Caves. The torrential downpour obscured the
outline of the town. This was the last of sixteen towns on
his particular route and he was glad his circuit was over.
Vainly, he squeezed water out of his dripping tunic. The
news of Zohak’s ascension to the throne had, of course,
spread like wildfire. The shocking murder of the beloved
Queen sent shockwaves through the land. To his relief,
people took note of him immediately, even as he
approached, thanks to his distinctive uniform. Despite the
rain, they assembled in the town square, eager for news.

The crier took up his position on two crates the people
had supplied him. Unrolling the parchment, he took a deep
breath. His eyes fell on an enormous man with a girl on his
shoulders. Then his voice rang out clearly above the rain,
“By order of the new Emperor, Zohak the Munificent, the
Brave, the people of this land are to bring forth a tithe.
This tithe will

be composed of one third this year’s harvest

and one third of the citizens of this town who are
unmarried, to travel under the service of the Emperor to
the capital. Every family must donate the unmarried of
their families without exception. All marriages after this
date will have to be approved by the royal accountants.
This tithe will extend as far as the Emperor sees fit, or until
the Emperor decides to raise the conditions of the tithe.”

A baffled silence descended. Kava the Blacksmith felt
fear twist his bowels. The unmarried persons of my
family? Do they mean to take the young ones? What
madness is this? How am I to choose? Is this an honor or
a punishment? What are our young going to do so far
away at the capital?

He watched as the crier heaved a great sigh when
people began to shout questions at him.

Kava remained silent as people stormed around him. His
vision blurred with tears of gut-wrenching sorrow. They
blended into the moisture that already beaded on his face.
Somehow, he had a very bad feeling about this.

Princess Sophene the Sharp heard of Zohak’s return

almost as soon as he walked through the doors of the
Council Chamber. She pressed her fist to her lips, looking
out her window at the pouring rain.

Honor be damned! she said to Kartir, her cat and
familiar.

Finally, my friend, you exhibit some common sense.
Hurry, there’s no time to waste. Kartir said, leaping down
from Sophene’s shoulders.

Sophene hurried to her huge closet and rummaged
around until she found the leather pack that she had used
for part of her luggage. Working fast, she snatched two
changes of clothes and a quilt from the bed. Warmer
clothes would have been better, but she didn’t dare waste

the time. There was just enough room at the top of the
pack for a few days worth of food.

She was trembling now. She looked around her
bedchamber wondering if she should take anything else.
She changed her satin slippers for thick-soled boots and
grabbed a dark gray waterproof cloak from a hook.
Shielding her pack with her cloak, she headed for the
kitchens with Kartir draped over her shoulders.

She was not just a princess. She was a mage. She would
seek sanctuary in the temples of the magi. No one, not
even an emperor would dare to harm her there. Not that
Zohak was likely to. He had to deal with bigger problems.

As Sophene fled the castle, another young woman
laughed and hugged her mother. “The Emperor!
I…I…don’t believe it!” she squealed, seeming to be fairly
bursting with excitement. “And I won’t have to marry Gerfo
now. I am so happy! Imagine, I will live in the Royal
Palace.”

Her father watched his wife crying, but trying to hide the
tears. He felt dread as his daughter grinned and dashed
off to her room. She was of marriageable age and they
were a well to do family.

But they weren’t that well to do.

“I…wonder. It just doesn’t seem possible. What would

the emperor want with our daughter? She is as beautiful
as the sun, but the great man could have anyone.”

The mother choked back a

sob. “It’ll come to no good.

Our dear daughter! The Emperor has never even been to
this part of the city. There’s no way he could have seen
her and fallen in love, but they say she will be a royal
wife? It must be some terrible plot.”

They watched silently as the young woman came rushing
past. She had put red roses in her hair. They matched the
jubilant flush on her cheeks. Her eyes were dancing with
the merry light of joy.

The mother and father exchanged a look full of dark
foreboding.

Chapter Six

They had been riding for days. Atar had been too
distraught and exhausted to think clearly on the night after
his encounter with the dragon, but he had rounded on the
two Generals the following dawn.

“Why do you stay? If you wanted to, you could go back

to the palace.”

They gave him looks of disbelief. “Nonsense,” General

Tiridates said. “What kind of soldiers would we be if we
deserted a comrade? You are our general.”

Atar looked at him blankly, trying to unravel the tangle of
words. He got the gist of it. “You mean, you…you…are
going to accompany me? Where shall we go?” Atar
asked.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Sugreeva said, bouncing up

alongside them. “Here are your orders. We are going to
the nearest town so I can sleep on a mattress befitting my
royal person.”

“Thank the gods we have a sensible leader,” Heslin said.

He was hollow eyed and slumped from the exertion of
keeping up.

“We will go wherever you tell us to go,” Monases said,

looking at Atar.

“Good! Of course you will,” Sugreeva said.

Monases knit his brow and shot Sugreeva an annoyed
look. “What would we have to return to with that man as
emperor? Life would be no joy then.”

Atar nodded slowly. Mage! Atar called.

Yes, Firestarter? Heslin said in a falsely respectful
voice.

Translate for me. I guess we should keep moving. He will
send out those hunters of his to track us down. Did you
know our Ezad was once one of them? Anyway, if I were
Zohak, I would dispose of my rivals right away.

Atar paused to give Heslin time to translate. “Good

thinking,” Tiridates said. “Poor Prince Sugreeva,” he
added in an undertone. Atar caught his last comment and
grinned. Sugreeva was riding ahead of them with his back
straight and his chin high. Atar had no doubt the Prince
was composing again. He turned his face forward,
wondering what would become of him.

That had been several days ago.

Now he rode along in the midday heat.

Atar groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected
movement on the path ahead. Bulliwuf bounded out,
seeing the figure at the same time Atar did.

The person’s horse reared as the big wolf came

thundering toward it. Her dark gray hood was thrown back
from her glowing red hair.

Atar recognized Princess Sophene at once. He heard
Ezad’s howl of alarm.

“Bulliwuf, stop it! You’re scaring her horse,” Atar said, but

the admonition was unnecessary, for Bulliwuf had already
recognized her.

Kartir had materialized out of

the shadows of Sophene’s

cloak and was now seated on the pommel of her saddle.
His copper eyes flashed with intense interest on
Bulliwuf.

“Sorry,” Atar said to her, meeting her green eyes briefly.

“Dear God!” Sugreeva squeaked urging his horse

for

ward. “So you’ve come to stay with me in my exile. Oh,

what a faithful fiancée you are. Come here, my dear
Sophene. How wonderful!”

General Monases and Tiridates bowed as low as they
could in their saddles and blushed when Sophene smiled
at them.

“I am pleased to see three of the finest generals in the

Seven,” Sophene said, greeting them graciously, while
pointedly ignoring Sugreeva.

Sugreeva’s chest puffed out with pride, “Of course, you

are my dear, but you mustn’t forget to greet my helper,
Atar. My dear, how ever did you find us? Really now, do
you think it was proper of you to head out alone?”

Sophene ignored him with aplomb, being the trained
diplomat that she was. “It appears that this was a
fortuitous accident. I am actually headed for the palaces of
the magi. As you can probably imagine, the Palace of
Persia is not very comfortable right now.”

“Of course, being promised to me, you did well to leave,”

Sugreeva said.

“You are more than welcome to ride with us if you want,”

Atar said.

“We would be honored if you stayed with us, Princess,”

General Tiridates said, echoing Atar.

Sophene smiled. “I would love to stay for a while, thank

you. It would truly be a pleasure.”

“My dear, you have a knack for stating the obvious,”

Sugreeva said. “Let us stop for lunch. Firestarter, set up
camp while I talk with my wife.”

“Wife?” Atar glared at Sugreeva. They had dismounted

and were standing together as the soldiers set up.

Sugreeva sauntered over and tried to place his arm
possessively around Princess Sophene.

“My dear Prince Sugreeva, I am not your wife. We have

not been married. Now then, fetch me my canteen,”
Sophene ordered him, her attention fixed on Bulliwuf.
S

ugreeva’s jaw dropped.

“You find that smelly wolf more important than me?”

Sugreeva asked.

She ignored him. Over Sophene’s bright red hair, Atar

and Sugreeva glared at one another.

Zohak turned as the six deserters came tramping into his
dungeon study. The soldiers had been feasting and
reveling with everyone else. They sauntered into his study
probably expecting a reward for bearing false testimony
that Zohak had indeed killed the dragon. At the Emperor’s
High Table, they had waxed enthusiastically about how
the Firestarter had gone pelting away from the dragon in
terror, tripping in his haste to escape. The court had
laughed heartily, eager to please him, the new emperor.

Zohak looked at the six now. They arranged themselves
around the room, looking comfortable and expectant. One
was so relaxed that he put his feet up onto a table, despite
being in the presence of the Emperor. The snakes on his
shoulders hissed as their eyes glittered with insatiable
hunger.

Zohak smiled and advanced on the six.

Outside, far above Zohak’s dungeon study, a servant boy

paused as he lit the candles of the lower levels. He cocked

his head, listening. There it was again. A howling scream
of a man in the last extremity of terror. He dropped the
lighting stick and it fell to the stone floor. He backed away,
hardly breathing. There were demons down there. His
mother had told the truth.

The frantic beat of his feet against the floor faded. The
lighting stick flickered and died, leaving darkness.
Darkness and the screams.

* * * *

The rain had stopped, at least for now. Outside, the world
smelled fresh and alive. The dawn light filled the
Emperor’s upstairs bedchambers. The yellow light glowed
through the diaphanous curtains to dance on the young
w

oman’s still features. She had worn red roses in her

hair.

They were the same shade as those she had worn in her
parents’ house. But now, there were no roses on her
cheeks to match. Her eyes were closed. The fire inside
them was put out forever. Her mouth was still and as pale
as her snowy cheeks. The yellow light of dawn bathed her
features, disguising her deathly pallor. She could have
been asleep. Her lovely hair was spread out in all its
shimmering glory on the silk pillows that cradled her. Next
to the red roses were patches of another red substance.

Her lifeblood sank deeply into the pillows and then into the
mattress.

She was still as lovely as the sun, as her father had said.
But that beauty was now marred. Where her high forehead
had once been, there was now a dark, red-rimmed crack
that gaped slightly.

The servant who always came to turn down the bed now
bustled in. She saw with a smile that the Emperor’s new
bride was still asleep. Her delicate white hands were
folded across her stomach. She would make a fine mother
to a prince. The young queen’s face was practically
obscured by the curtain that hung from the bed. The
servant decided to wait until the woman got up. Very
quietly, she began to rearrange the cosmetics on the
dresser. She would want help getting ready today, the
servant was sure. She would be so nervous and excited
about her new life. The servant could remember when she
had been that young.

She turned her head to look at the sleeping woman’s

hands and she was vaguely disturbed. The yellow of the
dawn was fading now, exposing the paleness in her
hands. The servant knit her brow and walked over to the
bed.

Out in the corridor, Meruzanes heard a scream. He
charged into the Emperor’s bedchamber. The screaming
continued. In an instant, he took in the lovely dead bride
and the hysterical servant. She had her hands over her

eyes, doubtlessly trying to shut out the image that burned
into her brain.

“Oh…oh shit! In his own bedchamber!” Meruzanes

breathed. “Oh damn!”

Quickly, firmly, he ushered the servant out. Walking to
the bed, he pulled the sheet over the young woman,
shaking his head. “Oh what a fool! Fool, fool, fool!”

The servant woman stumbled down the corridor. Blindly,
she made her way to the kitchens. All heads turned as she
burst through the door, sobbing in terror.

“My God!” the head cook exclaimed, rushing over to her.

“What happened?”

“I…I…oh, it was horrible! Just, horrible! You were right,

my friend. The emperor is not what he seems. Not at all
what he seems.” Her voice shook as she described what
she had seen to the circle of servants around her.

What am I to do now? Meruzanes slammed the door
shut. With a rattle of keys, he locked the door and hurried
down the wide corridor. His mind was racing. He
supposed he would just have to slip the dead bride into
the old cistern with the other six corpses. But why did he
have to be so obvious about it? With a pang, he
remembered good old easy Hergor. That despot, at least
had been easy to handle.

And he never did…that. Yes, he raped the servants, but

he didn’t kill them by devouring their brains.

Meruzanes shut his mind to his vain thoughts. He was
not going to earn Zohak’s favor by complaining so early on
in his position as the new Emperor’s vizier. Meruzanes
descended down, down, down into the depths of the
castle. He followed a poorly lit corridor down to the
dungeons. As he walked by, the young faces of the tithe
persons peered out at him. They ranged in age, but they
were all unmarried. The very old had been rejected. Zohak
had ordered that everyone send a third of their families.
Only married members were exempt.

His heart burned with jealousy. Although he served
Zohak, he hated him. The succulent savage woman, Jahi,
had come back to him briefly while Zohak had gone to kill
the dragon, but she was gone again. She had gone to her
husband, of all people. But her husband was enjoying the
fruits of his kingdom and he shoved her away from him.
She was wild with desire for him and his power.
Meruzanes was wild with desire for her and wild with
jealousy at him.

At random, he opened one of the cells, and smiled
winningly. “You two there, come with me,” he said to two
larger young men. They were obviously brothers. He didn’t
want to choose maidens, although Zohak was demanding
them. These young men were large in frame.

Happily, they shoved their way out of the crowded, dark
cell. They followed Meruzanes back along the winding
corridor.

“Where are we going?” one of the young men asked.

“We are the sons of Kava, the blacksmith. We are strong.
We can already run a shop. Please put us to work for the
new Emperor.”

Meruzanes didn’t answer, feeling a brief stab of pity for

them.

“I’m real good at running. I can be a messenger for the

king, or whatever. I didn’t like those cells at all.”

“Yeah, they were crowded,” the other young man said.

Their voices sounded eerie in the dark corridor. The
sound of their feet mingled with the cadence of their
voices. They were as out of place here as a spring bloom
in the depths of hell. Meruzanes stopped in front of
Zohak’s closed door. The door opened. One candelabrum
stood on Zohak’s desk, casting high shadows on the walls.
The familiar sound of the running water floated to
Meruzanes. He shoved the young men inside the room.

“Come, come,” Zohak said in a liquid smooth voice.

Meruzanes shuddered and closed the door. He walked
upstairs quickly, trying to outdistance the screams.

That night, Zohak moaned in his sleep, turning over yet
again. Sweat rolled off him and he furrowed his brow as
he moaned and thrashed in his dream.

He was looking out into blackness so profound that no
light touched him. No sound reached him. He couldn’t
even feel his own presence. He whimpered in fear and
with an odd sort of guilt. He turned at the sound of
footsteps approaching. He was in an odd chamber, lit by
candles. The night sky through a window was pierced with
stars. He knew this, but he went over to the window just to
make sure. Meruzanes was there, looking anxious. Zohak
caught his urgency. But he did not want to face him. His
eyes fixed on a gold gilt vase in the windowsill with a red
rose in it. It looked like the roses in his bride’s hair.
Inexorably, although Zohak fought against it, his head
turned to face Meruzanes.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid you were right all along.

He’s…”

Zohak started violently as a profound silence interrupted
Meruzanes. He could see the man’s lips moving. He
strained to hear, knowing it was vitally important.

Clang, clang, clang.

The awful sound of iron on iron shot through the
atmosphere, sounding piercing, but at the same time deep
and eternal. Zohak moaned, backing away. That awful

noise was filling his head. He pressed his hands to his
ears, unbelieving.

Clang, clang, clang.

His vizier was talking to him urgently, pulling at his shirt.
Zo

hak wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were unfocused. He

shook his head, moaning.

“No! No!”

The vizier was shaking him, but somehow, Zohak knew
he was screaming. He couldn’t hear him because of the
awful sound.

Something made him look up. Silhouetted in the door
way was a large dark figure. It just stood there. In the odd
way of dreams, that simple image conveyed terror that
shook Zohak. He screamed. He felt the soreness in the
back of his throat, but he could not hear it.

Clang, clang, clang.

The figure stepped forward and the spell was broken.
The awful clanging stopped and a roaring filled Zohak’s
ears.

Zohak woke and sat bolt upright in bed. His shirt was
plastered to his chest with a cold sweat that drenched him.
The covers were wound about his legs from his thrashing.
In the silence of his bedchamber, his ragged gasps
sounded unnaturally loud to him. His snakes writhed about

his head. Impatiently, he batted at them with trembling
hands. The snake dragons seemed frightened too. They
darted down his shirt. They slithered into his hair. They
moved endlessly in their agitation. Finally, he gave up and
just hid his face with his hands, trembling in the dark.

Chapter Seven

Atar and the party camped in the early evening on the
wide-open country. The sunlight was maturing into a
golden glow that spread across the land. Atar looked out
at the mountains on the horizon. A warm wind was
blowing like silk across his skin.

“Mage!” Atar hollered at poor Heslin, who was asleep in a

pile of blankets. Traveling did not agree with him anymore
than it agreed with Sugreeva. Atar walked over to him and
poked him with his foot.

He turned back and looked at Sugreeva, Sophene, and
Bulliwuf. The two generals were directing their soldiers. A
whirl of activity surrounded the trio. Tents were being
erected, dirty changes of clothes were being taken to a
nearby stream, and rude fire pits were being dug with the
efficiency only soldiers could manage. Sophene was hand
feeding Bulliwuf the last bits of her jerky while Sugreeva
hovered.

“Now, really, is that any way to treat your husband?

Listen to me. Hey!” Sugreeva said, his pompous voice
taking on a plaintive note.

“I’m going. I’ll get food,” Atar said aloud, gesturing at the

mountains. He caught General Tiridates eye and the man
nodded gratefully. Atar knew that the soldiers were first-
rate fighting men, but they had never been trained to hunt.

He was more predator than human, and the Generals both
knew it. Atar mimed drawing back a bowstring when
Sugreeva looked at him blankly.

“And you should come with me, Bulliwuf.”

Bulliwuf looked away.

“What did he say?” Sugreeva asked. “Whatever, you and

I need to talk,” he said to Sophene. He curled his lip at the
ground and then settled down lightly by her side.

Atar watched them with a frown as he took up a bow and
some arrows from one of the soldiers. He turned away
with a secret smile when Sugreeva got sulkily to his feet,
and settled down by a different cook fire. He set out away
from camp, hoping someone would come after him to
help. A wheeze behind him made him turn around. Ezad
was bumbling after him.

Atar settled into a lope that could cover the miles. Poor
Ezad c

ouldn’t keep up, Atar realized. Looking back, he

was confident that Ezad would follow along soon enough.

Atar’s head was awhirl with thoughts. His life sure had

taken a bad turn, but there were some good points. Not
many, though. He probably wouldn’t get himself extricated
from this mess for weeks. Maybe even months! If that
happened, he would have to delay his trip another year.
He cursed aloud. The delay was what really pissed him
off, that, and Bulliwuf. He wasn’t jealous. Of course, he
wasn’t jealous. He was just mad that Bulliwuf insisted on

staying with the soldiers without any explanation. He
probably wanted to be near Princess Sophene.

Bulliwuf could be a real dog. He starts muttering
ambiguously about responsibility. It is more than a sane
man can handle. Why the hell should I waste my time
running around the country with a bunch of soldiers? I
could make it much better on my own. He felt a strong
desire to just keep running and forget the whole mess.
Bulliwuf would forgive him later.

But then there was Sophene. She needed meat. She
would be hungry. No one that beautiful and intelligent
should ever be hungry, he thought. He remembered
Sugreeva edging closer to her, looking at her bright hair.
He had called her his. Was there any truth to that claim?
Atar wished he had a better understanding of their
language. He was too shy to ask such an intrusive
question of Sophene. But the more Atar thought about it,
the more certain he was it was true. Sugreeva was a
prince, he was handsome, and he knew how to move
among high society. He wore fancy clothes and talked
fancy talk. He was of her world. He was perfect for her.
Atar put extra speed into his running, disturbed by his
thoughts.

She was hungry.

He could feed her.

That was the bottom line. Perhaps in some silly castle in
some silly city, Sugreeva could be the one for her, but the

time was now. They were in his territory. They were in a
land as savage as he was. The wide stretches of land
between settlements were as feral as the plains of
Scythia. He would prove to her that here, for however long
she stayed, he would be more useful to her than
Sugreeva. But did he really want her? Or was he jealous
that Bulliwuf seemed to have taken a liking to her? He’d
always had Bulliwuf to hims

elf. It wasn’t right that he let

himself be touched by someone else. Why, the other
night, he’d caught Bulliwuf upside down in the grass,
allowing Sophene to rub his belly. Her hand had grazed
over his nuts and he’d twitched. It made Atar mad. Bulliwuf
never acted like that with him. He was always so
aggressive.

Atar’s keen ears picked up the sound before he saw it.

The deer was just over the hill. He wasn’t winded, so he
was able to approach silently. Crouching, he crawled up
the hill with the stealthy movements of a hunter. He was
on the top of the hill now. Ever so slowly, he raised his
head. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.

There in the late sunlight was the lone buck, standing
broadside to him. It was a perfect shot. Its rack hadn’t fully
grown in, this being early summer, but it was huge,
magnificent, and powerfully graceful. Atar forced himself to
breathe. The creature was so beautiful that he hesitated to
take its life. But they were relying on him for food. She was
relying on him. T

his deer was Api’s gift to the hungry and

he would be an ungrateful fool not to accept.

Slowly, Atar raised his bow, careful not to make any
sudden moves. With his powerful archer’s forearms, he
drew the bowstring back. He aimed carefully at the vital
organs in the forward part of the creature’s ribcage. There
was an eternal moment just before Atar let the arrow fly.
The buck never saw it coming. He died instantly,
collapsing to the ground without a sound.

Atar raced down the hill, scarcely daring to believe his
eyes. This would feed them all for days.

“How am I going to get this thing back?” Atar asked.

Experimentally, he grasped the legs of the carcass and
pulled. Atar scratched his head. This was going to be
tougher than he thought.

“Should I drag it, or well, no that wouldn’t work either,”

Atar said. He looked around him. With a phenomenal
heave, he raised the deer off the ground, his muscles
bunching and quivering under the strain.

Then he heard the noise from behind him. Ezad came
bumbling out with his arms waving as if to keep from
falling.

“Ezad run. Ezad help Atar,” he wheezed.

Atar and Ezad had to stop and rest at least a dozen
times. Atar’s back and shoulder muscles were aching with
the strain. His legs quivered with the effort of hauling so
much weight. He was covered with sweat, the late evening
breezes doing little to cool him. Behind him, the sun sank

below the mountains. Ezad was able to help ease the
weight, but he wasn’t a big man.

They stumbled into camp just after the moon rose. All
heads turned, except for Sugreeva’s and Sophene’s. They
were seated at a cook fire in the middle of camp and they
were arguing. Soldiers leapt to their feet to assist him, but
he shook his head.

With his last remaining strength, he staggered over to
her. She turned as he approached, her jaw dropping at the
sight of him. He heaved the deer onto the ground at her
feet. He fell to his knees without meaning to and smiled.

“Eek! Get it away! Eew! It’s all bloody!” Sugreeva

squeaked.

She smiled at him and Atar felt his heart skip. He forgot
his weariness for a moment.

Atar turned and blushed as he looked over at Bulliwuf.

Look at you, with your head on her lap. Disgusting, Atar
said, trying to cover his embarrassment with a show of
annoyance.

“Good God!” General Tiridates said, leaping to his feet.

“How far did you two carry that beast?”

Before Atar could answer, General Monases said,
“Thank Mithra you brought him down. I sent some of the
men out to hunt. One came back with a couple of skinny

rabbits, but that’s all. I don’t know what we would have
done for food.”

Atar’s eyes strayed to Sophene, but he looked away

hastily. The other soldiers came over to view Atar’s catch,
but much of their admiration was lost on Atar.

Far out in the dark night, the great boar watched the
young man and his crazy follower stagger into camp. His
gaze never faltered.

Chapter Eight

Kava was seated at the dinner table with his family.
There was none of the cheerful chatter that usually took
place. The only sounds were the scrape of eating utensils
and the muffled sobs from Kava’s second wife.

Kava looked at the three empty seats, wondering if his
boys were happy, if they had enough to eat, and if they
cried at night. He prayed to God to look out for them. At
least, he thought, gazing fondly at his little Lesa, at least I
have her still. Her silken hair was tied back from her now
serious face. He would make her something wonderful this
afternoon and see her smile again.

A knock at the door made everyone jump. One of Kava’s

wives rose, but he gently pushed her back into her seat.

He opened the door.

He looked down at the soldiers standing on his front
steps. He felt his face flush with fury.

“We’ve come for the tithe, sir. We’d like it if you had any

girls. We’re short on girls today,” the soldier in front said.

“What?” Kava bellowed. “You came last week! I’ve

already given my children.”

“Hmm,” the soldier said, riffling through his parchment.

“No, sir, I believe you must be lying. You are marked here
as uncollected. You have a duty to the empire, you know.
Let’s not prevaricate further, shall we? I come across this
sort of thing too much.”

“Be gone! I have paid. I have no business with you,”

Kava said, closing the door. A hard shove sent the door
flying open. It crashed against the wall, causing Lesa’s
glass trinket to fall off a nearby end table. The shatter of
glass made Kava see red.

Kava could hear his own terrible, inhuman bellow of rage
as if it were the sound of a distant bull bellowing. A soldier
flew through the air, smacking hard against the stone
walk. Kava charged through the door, crashing into their
ranks. He picked up a fifty-pound flowerpot and hurled it at
a group of them, killing two instantly. The pot shattered
against the cobbled street with a tremendous crash, the
dirt spraying out, soaking up blood, and sending the bright
summer blossoms tumbling against the beaten down
earth.

Soldiers darted into his house. Ten soldiers attacked and
overwhelmed him. He couldn’t breathe. He felt gut-
wrenching pain as the blows rained down all over his
body. He felt his vision darkening and his limbs growing
weaker when a terrible sound shot straight to his heart.

Lesa!

His daughter was screaming. Kava roared and struggled
with phenomenal strength. He rose to his feet, incredibly,
one soldier with a chokehold around his neck, two on each
arm and leg.

“No! No!”

A soldier was carrying her out. For an eternal instant,
their eyes met. Hers were teary and frightened and his
were full of blood and killing rage. The profound, pure love
they shared for one another was conveyed with perfect
clarity in that moment. Then time started again and Kava
was forced to the ground. Through the pain and
approaching blackness, he heard her scream.

“Papa! Papa! Save me Papa!”

“Lesa!” he screamed. Desperately, he fought the men

holding him, but they pressed down upon him, cutting off
the air to his lungs. His mind flashed through memories.
He remembered how her silky curls had bounced when
she jumped with excitement at her father’s scandalous gift
of the sword. How well he remembered her sparkling
eyes, so full of trust. So full of the life that she anticipated
living.

Sound dulled in Kava’s world. Light dimmed. He

remembered his daughter’s laughing eyes as he started to
slip away.

The soldiers tramped off.

In the cobbled street, Kava lay still. The street was
sprayed with the bloodstained earth from the pot he had
shattered. The bright flowers lay fallen in the street,
glowing with the pools of red blood, like the lights of lost
hope. Three feet away from Kava, a small bright sword lay
gleaming in the street.

Zohak opened his eyes to utter blackness. Such
blackness. Such an absence of anything. But no, that
wasn’t true. It was filled with a searing guilt that cut him to
his very soul. It clung to him and slid over his skin like
grease.

Zohak screamed and the awfulness of the silence
remained unbroken. Zohak struggled, trying to summon
anger, but forgetting the taste of it. He struck out wildly.

Gasping with relief, he saw a chamber begin to form.
Sweat trickled off his body. The feeling of filth and guilt
had not left him. Suddenly the chamber felt as awful as the
blackness. The light made his eyes ache and made him
hunger. There was a red rose on the windowsill in front of
him. Grabbing it, he crammed it into his mouth. With a
start, he realized the thorns had pricked him. Blood fell
from his hand. He looked out the window and saw that the
sky was not there.

Blackness above a nonexistent world.

He turned away. The rose was tasteless in his mouth.
Meruzanes was standing there, looking at him. He was
scared. Zohak knew the vizier thought Zohak was

unearthly. He wanted to say, “No, I am one of you. Don’t
give me that look. I see the hollowness in your eyes!” But
he couldn’t say anything. The vice-like grip of the paralysis
overcame him once again.

The silence. The profound, utter lack of sound.

Clang, clang, clang.

The earsplitting noise suddenly overwhelmed him. The
huge figure was there again, outlined in the door. He
stepped forward.

Zohak bolted upright in bed, a scream barely held back
with his clenched teeth. He gasped, shaking with the alien
terror of his dream. He held his arms against his stomach
protectively and rocked back and forth. It was like this
every night, but never this bad. What the hell was wrong
with him? His life had never been so good before. He had
finally realized his dream and he was living the life he
deserved.

Then why these dreams? Why did they occupy his every
waking moment and fill his night with terror? Why the
clanging noise, like the sound of a black

smith’s hammer?

Why did it frighten him so? Zohak sobbed in the darkness,
letting his tears of distress drip onto the sheets. He
continued to rock slowly as the fear inside him built. After
he had calmed to some extent, he reached for the wine he
kept on his bedside table. Slickness on his hand made his
stomach clench with fear. Hastily, he lit a lamp and looked
at his hand again.

Blood. Blood as red as the rose he had eaten in the
dream.

Zohak felt his cheeks flush and he was invigorated as he
emerged from his dungeon study. His ears rang slightly
from their screams, but that was a small price to pay. His
snakes were sated and quiet, tucked away behind his hair.
Humming softly, he opened the door to Hergor’s old sitting
room.

“Servant,” he hollered, pouring himself a generous drink.

There was a furtive rustle of cloth behind him. “Fetch my
vizier,” he ordered without looking up.

He sauntered to the veranda and seated himself in one
of the chairs. He had determined that willpower and action
would solve his problems. He could will himself to stop
thinking of the dreams.

The day was fair and warm, and the skyline of the city,
his city, was clearly visible against the sky. He closed his
eyes for a moment, just letting the sunshine warm his
face. He frowned at the ringing in his ears. Why did the
awful brats have to shriek like that? It was really quite
annoying. At least no one could hear them so far down
under the castle. No one could possibly know.

Zohak heard the latch snick open. “Out here,

Meruzanes,” he called. The vizier came to him. “Sit,” he
ordered.

Meruzanes sat down, his expression carefully blank.
“So,” Zohak said, swilling his whiskey, “how is the mob
taking the rise in the tithe?”

Meruzanes looked as though his tongue was stuck to the
roof of his mouth. “Uh…” the vizier cleared his throat,
“they’re…well, they’re taking it in the usual way,” he said.
Sweat broke out on his brow. Zohak looked away from his
vizier. The sun seemed a little harsher than a moment
ago. A br

eeze lifted Zohak’s hair and he felt one of the

snakes twitch. Meruzanes was treading on the thin line
between the truth and a lie, Zohak realized, and he was
telling him what he wanted to hear.

“And what of me in particular? What do they say of me?”

Zohak asked.

“Of you? Well, uh…” Meruzanes’ mouth worked. He

swallowed nervously. “Well,” Meruzanes said, “as always,
the, uh, populace is rather uncertain. That’s quite normal,
you must understand. They are always wary of…uh…new
rulers.”

“Hmm,” Zohak said. He took a drink of whiskey and

thought about it for a moment. “Wary, you say. I wonder if
I’ve done anything at all to make them dislike me.”

Meruzanes sat very still.

“The only reason why I’m asking is because I have been

having some v

ery disturbing dreams.”

“Really? What is the nature of these dreams?”

Meruzanes asked, leaning forward, as if eager to change
the subject.

“Well…they have a quality of fear to them. I dream I am

looking out at the sky. I see a red rose in a vase on the
windowsill. Then you come in and try to talk. A figure is
standing at the doorway. What could this mean?”

Meruzanes was silent. “I uh…believe such dreams are

common among the great. I hear even King Siyavush had
such frightful dreams.”

“Really? Hmm,” Zohak said. “King Siyavush. How the

people adored him in ages past!” Zohak sipped his drink.
The wind blew softly against their faces. After a moment
Zohak said, “I want them to adore me. I want them to tell
stories about me. You know as well as any man of the
world that King Siyavush was no better than the common
ambitious politician, but he played it right. He made a
lasting impression. How do you suppose I could win that
kind of affection?”

Meruzanes sat back. “Well, Your Majesty, I can think of

several things.” He paused. “The idea deserves much
consideration. One mustn’t appear to solicit their
approval.”

Zohak nodded slowly.

“I would like to consult my fellows on the matter,”

Meruzanes said. “We will present you with a number of

solutions and Your Majesty can select the one that best
suits his purposes.”

“Good, good,” Zohak murmured. “Get to work my friend.

But still, I

can’t imagine that they could hold anything

against me. It will simply be a matter of making a good
impression.”

Meruzanes smiled nervously, “O-of course, Your

Majesty,” he said, backing away.

Chapter Nine

“Really?” the youngest shepherd asked. The three were

seated on a slight rise in the land. The sheep grazed
below them like clouds in a vivid green sky.

“Yes, I heard the same thing. But it didn’t happen like

that,” the blue eyed shepherd said.

“Oh please! You think you know everything,” the

shepherd with the black beard said.

“Well, in this, I do,” the blue eyed man said, rising to his

feet. The wind had picked up, and he pulled his cloak
around himself. “My mother’s second cousin had a friend
who married a servant who worked in the very castle itself.
I know what I’m talking about. I heard that the eyewitness
came rushing into the kitchen. She didn’t faint at all. If she
did, do you think Meruzanes would have helped her out? I
think not. That weasel is slimier than two eels fucking in a
bucket of snot. That woman ran out of the room so fast
your head would spin. My friend said she was all pale and
shaky. She told everyone that the Emperor’s new bride
was dead. But she had had her brains taken out.”

The youngest shepherd gaped and the others were
silent.

“Blood was everywhere,” the black bearded one said.

“No, no! Wrong again.”

“What do you mean wrong? That’s what they said at the

bar.”

“Bull! She was all beautiful and peaceful in her bridal

bed.” The man broke off, as his blue eyes filled with tears.
He was thinking about his own daughter. Worry filled his
heart. He feared he had made the greatest mistake of his
life. She had been taken for the tithe. The soldier had said
she would work as a servant in the most sumptuous part
of the castle. He had said that she would be trained to
apply cosmetics for the ladies of the court and would do
no manual labor. She would have fine clothes and learn
fancy talk. She would only be working a few hours of the
day and the rest of the time, she could visit with friends or
do whatever she wanted.

He had felt no qualms about sending her off. It was a
better life than being the wife of a tradesman. He imagined
that she would meet nice stable boys or blacksmiths and
live happily ever after. But his wife had cried. His wife had
begged him not to let her go. He had dismissed her ideas
as the product of female frivolity, but that was before the
rumors. That was before the great Queen Cunaxa the
Pure had been killed.

Now his tears fell. Suspicions grew.

“Do you think that’s why he wanted the tithe…the tithe of

unmarried people?” the youngest shepherd began.

The blue-eyed shepherd rounded on him, his eyes still
bright with unshed tears. “What words are these that have
pass

ed the barrier of your teeth?” he demanded, shaking

with emotion. “Hold a civil tongue in your head unless you
want me to rip it out!”

He turned and dashed the tears of worry out of his eyes
as he headed down the hill ostensibly to look at his herd.

The others watched him go in silence. The young
shepherd looked at the black bearded one.

“It’s his daughter, whelp. She was sent off.”

“Oh,” the young one said. “I feel stupid.”

“If you have kids one day, maybe you’ll understand. It’s

tou

gh on a man,” he said. He heaved a great sigh, thinking

of his own sons, drafted to the castle. If that Emperor
dared to lay a hand on his boys…

Crack!

The young one looked over in astonishment, but he was
no more surprised than the black bearded man himself.
His staff lay broken on his lap. He had been gripping it
with his powerful hands. Even now, his knuckles were
white with his fierce grip.

“Someone get that imbecile to shut up!” Atar said, gritting

his teeth. He looked back at them all, feeling ridiculous
and furious.

“The footprints marched ahead into the distance of the

dawn,

Glory, glory, glory, a sign for Sugreeva-aa-

”

“Beautiful, Your Highness, beautiful!” Heslin simpered.

“The king to be attacked that day, tore the uh, the, the,

uh something - asunder

Marching, ever fearsomely, roaring like the thunder-

”

“Like the thunder. How descriptive. It catches His

Majesty’s virility wonderfully,” Heslin said.

Atar urged Ishria forward to where Sugreeva and Heslin
were bobbing along at the very front of the party, crowing
to the world.

“High the shouts were raised that day, high the cries of

battle

The Prince of Persia swooped that day, gave the world a
rattle”

“Fires raised into the night, burning for his glory

Songs were sung across the night, telling all the story-

”

Atar had reached Sugreeva. “Your Highness,” Atar said

in his heavily accented Persian. His voice was strangled
with anger. “Please stop.”

“Thank the gods,” Heslin said.

“Oh, lunch so soon! It’s barely mid morning,” Sugreeva

said. “Well, well, my tame savage, I’m glad to see we are
becoming civilized. We shall have some tea and maybe a
few sweets. Of course, I shouldn’t expect that you should
know how to set a tea table. Have Sophene do it.
Shouldn’t we stop if we are to have tea?”

Atar was too frustrated to answer. He rode to where
Sophene was.

“Hello?” came an irate voice from the front of the party. “I

told that barbarian to set out my tea. Sophene? Sophene?
Why is no one stopping for tea?” Sugreeva asked. “Well,
hurry up! Honestly, do you expect me to eat in the
saddle?”

“General!” Monases cut in. “What’s that just beyond

those trees?”

The urgency in General Monas

es’ voice snapped

everyone to attention.

They all stopped.

“Finally! It’s about time,” Sugreeva said, sliding off his

saddle.

Atar felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He gripped
his mace tighter as the trees began to shake.

“Where is my tea? I mean, the time it takes for people to

follow a simple order,” Sugreeva said.

“Please your Highness, we are trying to listen,” one of the

soldiers said timidly.

“Well, that’s a welcome change. I usually have to issue

my orders at least a dozen times before you blockheads
take notice. I wish I were back at the castle. I wish…eek!

They came rushing through the trees, their stout ponies
easily weaving around the obstacles. Atar raised his mace
and involuntarily cried out his challenge, recognizing the
Horde instantly. There were swarms of them, too many to
count, pouring out of the trees like river water. Apparently,
Atar had only scattered them when he had led the armies
of Persia against them, for they were tenfold what they
had been when he had been captured in their camp.

Before they could even turn their horses, they were
surrounded. They were a lone island in a sea of the
Horde.

“Stop!” Lesa screamed as Zohak advanced.

Zohak’s slight smile did not change. “And why should I

do that, my little love?”

Tears streamed down Lesa’s smooth, round cheeks.

They were the same cheeks her father Kava the
Blacksmith had kissed a million times. “Because my father
will s-

stop you,” she said, hiccupping with fear.

The chamber was dark and subterranean. The water
trickling nearby served only to emphasize the absolute
silence of the place. The flickering candlelight illuminated
half the terrible man’s face, but cast dramatic shadows
over the rest. Demons seemed to dance across the walls
just as they danced on his shoulders. Lesa thought of her
home. She thought of the trips with her father. Where was
he now?

“S-stop me?” Zohak mocked. “How?”

“He is v-very s-s-strong. He is the blacksmith,” Lesa

sobbed, shaking now as her instincts warned her.

“Strong?” Zohak whispered, leaning close to her as she

trembled. “I am strength. I am the Emperor.”

Lesa looked into his eyes. She remembered once when
a bull had run through the town, wild with rage. She had
been in the street, staring and transfixed with fear as the
hundreds of pumping blood, muscle and bone came
hurtling at her. The sunlight glowed golden off his red pelt,
highlighting the movement of his muscles as they pulled
his thick bones into thunderous motion. She could
remember staring at the massive hooves and thinking, this
is how I die. The eyes of the bull held the same dull shine
as this man’s eyes. Except now, there was no brave papa
to save her, to swoop into the street and scoop her up just
before the deadly horns speared her.

“My father is the Blacksmith Kava. Why do you think you

are stronger than him?” Lesa said through her tears.

“Nobody is stronger than him. He will get you. My father
will kill you if you hurt me. He will smash your head on his
anvil. He will use his big hammer and clang, clang, clang,
just like that, your head will break. Stay away, demon!”

The demon who called himself the emperor roared like
an animal. His snakes hissed angrily, snapping the air.

“What?” he screamed. “This is why the dreams haunt

me! It must be a portent of some sort. Who is this man?
What kind of evil thing is this?”

“Papa!”

The ten viziers around the table stopped talking as Zohak
entered the room. It was a relatively small room in
proportion to the rest of the rooms in the castle. Two bright
silver candelabras were situated on the long table amidst
the scattered papers the viziers inspected. The deep
green drapes were pulled back from the windows and the
sunlight danced on the sumptuous tiles that lined the
floor.

Zohak couldn’t contain the small smile twitching about

the corners of his mouth as he watched them all hastily
rise. He sat at the head of the rectangular table with a
sigh, ordering wine from a hovering servant with a casual
wave of his hand.

He nodded to their effusive greetings, liking the
groveling, syrupy quality of their voices. “Well, what have

you got for me?” he said at last, taking a sip of the cool
wine. It had a light sparkle to it.

Meruzanes got to his feet. “Uh…ahem…” Meruzanes

began. “I’ve had a number of viable suggestions. Three
seem the most promising. It has been suggested that you
might ration out an extra supply of free grain to the
populace to help them feed their families until the next
harvest. The drawback to that is that it would be difficult to
reach the province and frontier towns and it might smack
of bribery.”

Zohak nodded. One of the men stood up and said,
“Bribery? I think not, my esteemed colleague. The people
are in somewhat of a crisis. Help from the government in
an emergency such as this one is not charity. It is our
duty. The records here clearly show numerous pleas for
help. This action, I assure you, most respected Emperor,
would be much appreciated.” The vizier sat down, flushed
and angry.

Meruzanes gave him a patronizing smile. “Uh, certainly.

Another suggestion was to reduce the tax, for the same
reason as you would supply the grain. There are many folk
out there who are very hungry because of the drought.”

“Hungry?” Zohak said, surprised. “I haven’t heard

anything about that. Are you sure those records are
accurate?”

There was a brief, shocked silence. “Yes, yes, yes, Your

Highness,” the earnest looking vizier said, “they are most
hungry.”

“Hmm. Records please,” Zohak ordered. He let the wine

roll around his tongue while his eyes drifted idly over the
documents. So many little scribbles. He didn’t want to let
on that he was unable to read, having been raised as a
savage.

The silence in the chamber was absolute.

Hissssss.

They jumped as one of Zohak’s snakes hissed and rose

to regard them with glittering copper eyes. A light wrinkle
creased Zohak’s brow and he sighed with annoyance.

“The third suggestion,” Meruzanes said as Zohak tossed

the papers to the desk, “is the least costly. I suggest that
you hold a meeting with the public. It will be a sort of
Grand Council. Tell them to come here and vent whatever
grievances they might have before the Emperor himself. It
would give you a chance to do some very magnanimous
acts in a very public situation.”

Zohak frowned thoughtfully and nodded his head. “Yes,”

he murmured. “But,” he said in a louder voice, “I suspect
there won’t be many complaints.”

Meruzanes sat back down. Zohak ran his finger along his
chin, deep in thought. “Good work,” he muttered. He had a

sudden flash of what it would feel like. Hundreds packed
into the Great Hall. With a nod or a sweep of his hand,
they would erupt into cheers. It would give him a
reputation that could last his entire reign. “Very well,
announce to the people that they may come here to air
their grievances.”

“And your Highness, just for your own reassurance, I

suggest you have all the attendants sign a proclamation
stating that you are a magnanimous, honest, kind, and
excellent ruler.”

“A proclamation! How novel,” Zohak said.

“Yes your Excellency, it will be kept with other important

documents of the Empire such as King Rustam

’s

Proclamation for Justice. It will be written proof for
generations to come. We shall call it The Proclamation of
Emperor Zohak’s Magnanimous Deeds.”

“Yes! That’s rather clever. Yes, I do like that. Tell the

people to come to this Grand Council. Even

if they don’t

have a complaint, they can still sign it. Since there won’t
be too many complaints, I suggest you tell the heralds to
summon those with good things to say as well.”

“Uh…at once your Highness.”

“Up his royal ass!” The beer mug slammed onto the

table. The soldier’s sentiment was echoed around the bar.
“Grand Council indeed! My wife and children are nearly
starving at home. How the hell is my wife supposed to

raise two little ones and work the farm at the same time
with this drought? And

my damn captain won’t give me

leave!” He stabbed at the olives on his plate.

“I’ll certainly be going,” whispered the baker. He was

seated at a table behind the soldier.

“Did you have to fold then, friend?” the soldier asked

turning. The bar was dark. The baker’s face was veiled by
shadow.

There was no reply. The baker downed the shot of
whiskey in front of him. Then he said, “I have no flour.”

“I have no money,” the barmaid said.

“Poor bitch,” a carpenter said acidly, “at least you’ve got

a job.”

“No flour!” The baker roared. The crash of his upturned

table and his bellow made everyone jump. The soldier
froze with a speared olive half way to his mouth. “I’ll kill
that bastard! Grand Council. Grand…Council indeed!”

The baker sat back down, his upper lip curling and his
eyes vacant with animal fury. The other patrons hastily
looked away, giving each other sidelong glances.

Chapter Ten

Atar charged into the Horde surrounding him, drawing all
eyes to him. Unbelievably, they fell back! They roared.
The sound was amazing. It was a vibration that one could
feel in the very air itself. How many of them were there?
He glanced about in panic.

A great shout went up again, as they identified Atar their
chief. He was hard to miss and he realized that he was still
wearing the amulet they had given him.

Damn!

“Chief! The chief!” Their voices echoed the words,

drawing the news back to the edge of the crowd. Atar
recognized the foreign words with a sinking feeling.

His hand clenched around the amulet, which was still
slung around his neck.

“We’ve found him.”

“Don’t let him get away again.”

“Praise be! The chief! We are no longer leaderless. See

the amulet he holds even now?”

Damn, Atar thought, his head whirling in the instant
before they rushed him. He flailed, desperate to stay on

his horse. He started to bring his mace cracking down on
their heads, but they did not have weapons in their hands.
No man of honor could attack a weaponless person.

But he struggled like hell, flailing like a mad thing,
surprising even himself with his strength. He ripped the
amulet off and flung it away, but they were too much for
him. He heard the soldiers being torn from their mounts.
Atar was borne aloft by the enthusiastic Horde.

Kava the Blacksmith had been out of bed for two days.
He had resumed work on the second day, needing some
distraction. The soldiers had left him for dead. He had
remained unconscious for so long that his family thought
he might never wake up. He was not even conscious
when they took his next two sons. When he opened his
eyes, the first thing he saw was his wife.

“Lesa?” Kava whispered.

“No. No, my love, she’s gone,” his wife said, tears falling

from her eyes.

She didn’t tell him about the rumors, but he found out

soon enough. Anger had been burning inside him like a
hot coal. It took the place of the emptiness that threatened
to engulf him.

Clang, clang, clang.

If such things could happen to another man’s daughter,

they could happen to his. The coal inside his heart glowed.
It was waiting.

Waiting to be set ablaze.

He cared not that he was exhausted, working all day and
most of the night, hammering white-hot iron out of shape.
He could see from the looks of people who came to offer
him comfort, that he was a terrible sight, pounding and
pounding with the raging beat of his heart. He didn’t talk
with his customers, except for curt, monosyllabic replies
that sounded more like barks than human speech. He
seldom looked up from his work, but today he did. There
was something about the quiet and lack of traffic on the
street that made him put down his hammer and step
outside.

He looked to the town square and even from where he
was, he could see the people gathering. He could make
out the faint voice of the town crier. Hurriedly, he jogged
toward the meeting. Even on the edge of the crowd, Kava
could see the crier with the advantage of his height.

“…that shall be open to the public. The Grand Council

shall cover any and all grievances that the public may
harbor against the new administration, or against the
great, munificent Emperor Zohak himself. The time of this
meeting will be a fortnight hence. All feedback is welcome.
You are invited to proclaim your satisfaction with the new
government. The…”

“Satisfaction?” Kava roared, his booming voice turning

heads. The crier looked up and around, as if wondering if
he should continue.

“Satisfaction?” he bellowed again, incredulously. “Let me

show you what I think of my satisfaction!”

“You give it to him Kava!” one man shouted. There were

excited murmurings as Kava shoved his way through the
crowd, which parted for him with alacrity.

“Fucking bureaucrats!” Kava seized the crier with his

meaty hands and hoisted him over his shoulder. There
were scattered cheers, but Kava was set on his task.
“Administration!” Kava was raving incoherently.

The crowd eagerly watched as Kava body slammed the
crier into the dung in the street.

“Satisfaction!” Kava screamed at him. The poor crier

moaned.

“You give it to him!” they were shouting and cheering.

Kava lifted him up and threw him smack into a water
trough. He came up gasping and flailing. Kava turned
away and stormed up the street to his shop. The fire in his
heart had been lit.

Atar was conscious of the pain first. The familiar weight
of the amulet was against his chest again. Then he heard
the sound that woke him once more. It was a whimper. He
opened his eyes and the glare of afternoon sunlight made
him shut them again. Then he snapped them open and sat
upright. An enormous woman was bending over him.
Sophene, Sugreeva, Heslin, Monases, and Tiridates were
near him, but they were not bound as he was. The forty
soldiers were off at distance, sitting hunched together.

“You eat,” the woman said.

“Let me go,” Atar said, pronouncing each syllable clearly.

The woman shoved a bowl of stewed meat under his
nose.

“Eat.”

“No! Listen, I don’t want to be your chief. I don’t even

want to be riding with these people,” Atar said, tossing his
chin at the forty men.

“Eat,” the woman said again. She raised the bowl to his

lips.

Atar opened his mouth to protest and got a mouthful of
stew. Hastily he swallowed. She was pouring it down his
throat. Hot drops began to dribble down Atar’s chest. He
tried to turn his head away and she put a powerful hand
under his chin. He glared at her.

“You don’t…” he began, and she tipped the bowl again.

Her eyes shifted to the others and locked on Sugreeva
once more. He whimpered again.

Atar snorted and coughed as the soup trickled down his
windpipe. “Mupf!” he moaned and began to choke. The
large woman shifted her gaze back to him and lifted the
bowl away.

Atar was sure he was turning purple from lack of air. He
just couldn’t get air into his lungs. A large hand smacked
his back and sent him sprawling onto his face. Gasping,
he glared at the Mongols who had come to witness the
spectacle. They had already set up camp.

“I am Beerta,” the large woman said, her eyes locked on

Sugreeva. Atar wheezed on the floor.

He wasn’t going to put up with this.

“Pleased to meet you, Beerta,” Sophene said in

Mongolian. She must have learned it while they were
attacking her city. “Could we please speak to your
leader?” she asked.

Beerta looked at her for a moment and pointed at Atar
who was still on the floor. “He is leader.”

“Oh shit,” Atar said looking up at the cloudless sky. He

coughed again. Suddenly, a big wet tongue licked the
soup off his face.

“Bulliwuf?”

“Eek! Stop that at once!” Sugreeva squeaked sounding

panicked, drawing their attention to him. Beerta was
pawing at his curls. He slapped her hand away.

“Beerta marry you,” she said.

“What is she saying? The gods in heaven save me!

Woman! Be gone! Get thee behind me Iblis! Eek!” he
screeched as she advanced.

“Majesty, majesty,” Heslin said, standing up as well and

adding to Sugreeva’s panic.

“Eeeeeee!” Sugreeva wailed. He scrambled to his feet

and backed away. “You hear me. I’m the Prince of Persia,”
he said in Persian.

“He is the Prince of Persia,” Sophene translated.

“A most honored Prince,” Heslin added.

“Prince? I am Princess,” Beerta said. She turned her

hungry eyes back to Sugreeva.

“What have you done, wife?” Sugreeva wailed. “What did

you say to her?”

“Majesty, Majesty. Oh no,” Heslin moaned.

“What? What?” Sugreeva demanded hysterically.

Atar slowly opened his eyes. He could handle this.
Things would be fine. He would make them fine, even if he
had to bash every head in camp. He roared, struggling
furiously against his bonds. The Mongols watching him
drew back, eyes round with interest.

Beerta said, “Chief is strange. Gods strange too.”

Atar was bound, helpless, and mad enough to kill. He
would be damned if he would let this happen. He had
plans. He needed to be on his way to the Wildlands
yesterday. The season was slipping by and he was sitting
on his ass.

His roar mingled with Sugreeva’s squeak of terror.

“Tell her I am already married,” Sugreeva said

hysterically, trying to hide behind the seated soldiers.
Heslin scurried after him.

“Honored Princess, the Prince wishes to inform you that

he is engaged to another woman,” Sophene said. Bulliwuf
laid his enormous head on her lap and watched the
proceedings.

There was a clatter of tin dishes and a howl of pain as
Sugreeva stepped in someone’s hot soup.

Beer

ta stopped. “Woman? Who does he belong to?”

“Uh, well, to me,” Sophene said awkwardly. “But you can

have him. It’s fine by me.”

Beerta looked at her for a moment, her face stony. Then
a slow smile spread across her features. “Thank you,
Sophene. Beerta thanks you. You are good woman. I shall
give you something in return. You want a horse?”

“What are you talking about?” Sugreeva demanded.

“Wife, I order you to tell me what you are saying!”

“No thank you, Beerta, but it was a gracious offer,”

Sophene said, ever the diplomat. “Perhaps some animal
skins? I’ll be traveling through the cold mountains.”

“She’s bartering you off, sir,” Heslin said, shocked.

“Ga-Wa- Bartering me? I am the Prince!”

“I don’t know what she means by it, sir. It is most

improper. Most unseemly for…”

“Oh!” Sugreeva wailed.

“I have a warm cloak. You take in trade? Very, very

warm.”

“Let me see the cloak first, then I will say,” Sophene

said.

“I get cloak and priest,” Beerta said.

Atar roared.

100

In the Realm of Fire, the Goddess watched. She
chuckled as the figure in the luminescent square of color
struggled and screamed his frustration. He really was
adorable in a rage.

101

Chapter Eleven

Zohak preened under the compliments. Who would have
thought that there would be so few complaints, he thought
complacently. The Great Hall was filled with noise as the
family of farmers left. Then the next person stepped up to
the dais.

The miller was shaking as he looked up at Zohak, who
was seated on the dais alone. He knew the effect his
small, chilling smile was having on people.

“Uh…” the miller began. “I…came to uh…. pay

compliments and um… homage to the uh…Munificent
Emperor Zohak,” the miller paused.

When he looked up, Zohak stared at the miller, his
snakes curving and hissing softly around him. He was
lounging in his throne. He’d seen so many people. They
had mostly all said the same things. They seemed to be
satisfied with their liv

es. “Do go on,” Zohak said.

“Uh…and – but I did have one grievance. But it’s not

against you, my Lord. It’s my uh…cow sir. She’s got
cowpox real bad, sir. We need her, my family and me.”

Zohak smiled. Not once had there been a complaint
against hi

mself. Raising his hand regally he said, “You

shall be given a new cow, dear subject, at once.”

102

The miller gaped. The crowd applauded at the show of
Zohak’s charity. Meruzanes bowed his head as if offering
up a fervent prayer of thanks. There was a shout beyond
the doors, but the sound of applause covered most of the
noise.

A huge man slammed the guard into the wall and opened
the great doors. He wore a blacksmith’s leather apron, as
if he hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion of meeting
the Emperor. That annoyed Zohak somewhat, and he did
not immediately acknowledge him. He was content and
feeling benevolent. It had been nice to give someone a
cow. It had been kind of him to change the miller’s life with
a nod of his head.

“Zohak!” a bellow cut across the applause. Silence fell

abruptly as the shocking disrespect of the newcomer
registered. Zohak noticed the way Meruzanes’ head
snapped up. He looked quickly at the other viziers, but
they looked just as confused.

Zohak kept his own expression neutral as the blacksmith
approached, shaking and red-faced. He was travel
stained, wild-eyed and dangerous looking. He seemed
choked with emotion.

“Good sir,” Zohak said evenly. “Do you have a

grievance?”

Kava bit back a scream. He lowered at the lounging
Emperor, the indolent king who had stolen the jewel that
had made his life happy.

103

“Yes, I have a grievance,” Kava said softly.

“Against whom?” Zohak asked.

“You,” murmurs of shock went round the Great Hall.

“Look at you, surrounded by simpering viziers who beg
you and gush of your magnanimity. You’re damn right I
have a grievance! I had eight children. EIGHT! You have
taken them each from my home. You have taken them. I
do not know why, Dragon King. What grievance do you
have against me? What have I done to be singled out like
this

—to have every one of my children taken? I have no

ties to this world now. And my youngest son

– I was

certain he at least would be spared. But no. No, you took
him too. Of all the people in this land, why does it have to
be my children’s brains that are sacrificed to His Majesty’s
worms? If I have done something to you, fight me! Why do
you inflict your malice on my children?”

Silence.

Zohak felt an odd paralysis seize him. How did they
know? How could they know? Did everyone know? He
turned to Meruzanes. “How could something like this have
happened?” Zohak asked, trying to infuse his words with
the proper indignation. To his horror, his voice came out
flat and uninflected. “What is the name of your son, good
citizen?”

“Jamshir, the son of Kava,” the man said, with a touch of

disbelief.

104

“Fetch him at once,” Zohak ordered. “I assure you, good

citizen, that this was an error on the part of my service
members. How can I make this right to you?”

“Give me my last son. That is all I want,” the blacksmith

said.

“No, no, I insist, you shall be reimbursed. I shall not let an

angry citizen leave here. What can I give you? Land?
Women? Money?”

The blacksmith shook his head.

“A cart of incense? Perhaps I should pack it with rugs?”

Zohak asked. The man still did not answer. Zohak felt a
sweat break out on his brow. “Would you like that, Kava
the blacksmith? Excellent, steward! Fix it up for the man,”
Zohak ordered. “And look, there is your little son now.”

The burly man knelt as his son came running over. He
sobbed openly with the boy and then picked him up,
holding the child tight in his arms.

As he turned to go, Zohak said, “Wait! Please stay a

while.”

The blacksmith shook his head.

“At least sign the Proclamation,” Zohak said. He waved

his hand and one of the servants brought the document to
the man, who put his child down and accepted the scroll.

105

Zohak was surprised that the man could read. He began
to read aloud.

“The Proclamation of Emperor’s Magnanimous Deeds:

Emperor Zohak the Munificent, the greatest King of
Kings, the giver of prosperity, the giver of Justice, the giver
of Truth, the Commander in Chief of the Armies, the Head
of State, The Father of the Country, the Master of the
Purse, hereby proclaims his God given right and duty to
the throne of Persia.

When the blacksmith looked up, there was black rage in
his eyes. He shook his head. “Fools!” he whispered,
shaking. “Fools!” he shouted, ripping the proclamation,
and cracking the wooden scrolls with his powerful hands.
Zohak had the sudden vision of himself being broken just
like the scroll.

He looked up to see Meruzanes covering his mouth with
his hand, looking at him. The Great Hall was alive with
excitement, people jostling one another to get a better
view of the shocking spectacle.

Zohak was frozen. The paralysis was on him. A cold
sweat beaded his brow. Sound was dimming. No, no! This
cannot happen now! He gripped the jeweled throne with
white knuckled hands, jaws clenched against the fear.

Clang, clang, clang.

106

“Weaklings!” Kava the blacksmith shouted. He threw the

proclamation to the floor, sneering his disgust. The wood
clattered three times against the stone floor. The guards
surrounding the throne looked to Zohak for orders, but he
just sat there.

“Have you cowards been so blinded with awe and fear

that you cannot see the evil of this man? Giver of Justice?
Giver of Truth? What can this mean when freethinking
people hide the injustice of another because of fear? I will
not lend my testimony to the righteousness of this Dragon
King. I will never stand in awe of him!”

The blacksmith spat onto the ground and thundered out
of the Great Hall with his son in his arms.

There was a moment of shocked silence then
pandemonium broke out.

“Your Majesty! Why did you not strike him dead?”

Meruzanes hissed. “Why didn’t you stop him before he left
the Hall?”

Zohak was shaking.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

It was all he could hear now.

“Wine,” Zohak croaked in a barely audible voice. “Fetch

me some wine.”

107

Kava shoved the guards out of the way, bowling one over
as he exited. He snatched the man’s spear and darted out
onto the courtyard. Beyond lay the open gates. A string of
guards blocked the straining crowd’s way. The angry
people made a mammoth amount of noise. It fell upon his
ear like a roar as he left the Great Hall.

Kava hurried over to the wall and mounted the stone
steps that led to the top of the gate. His young son
scurried after him. From Kava’s vantage, he could see
almost to the end of the sea of people. The skyline of the
great city in the distance drew his eye out beyond the
crowd for a moment. He stood still, feeling the anger of the
throng. Behind him, the glorious castle shimmered in the
brightness of the day. The wind blew his hair, and carried
to him the scent of danger.

“People of Persia!” he roared in the loudest voice he had

ever used. Some were looking up at him. His voice
boomed out over the crowd, “People of Persia! Do you
want just

ice?”

A roar from them shivered the very air. It rumbled up
from the ground, vibrating on the soles of his feet.

“Do you want freedom?”

The roar again. The guards looked about them, frantic.

“Get that maniac off there!” the captain shouted to his

nearest man.

108

“Do you want honor?” Kava roared from the top of the

wall.

They screamed again, inhuman with the fire of his
words.

“Captain? Captain, what did you say?”

“Zohak is no King. He is a Dragon King. He is the Maker

of Evi

l,” Kava shouted.

Thousands called up to him. The sound was the very
essence of fury. The power of that inhuman, yet very
human voice filled with rage and passion, crashed against
the ear like a tidal wave.

They watched him remove his blacksmith’s leather apron

and secure it to the spear he had stolen from one of the
guards. The wind picked up the leather as Kava held it
aloft like a flag. The Banner of Fire, the Kavayani banner,
had been raised against injustice.

“Let us liberate ourselves from the yoke of this evil man’s

reign! By means of this leather, worth nothing, costing
nothing, let us distinguish the enemy from the friend! Let
all stouthearted citizens rally against the Dragon King! Let
us seek shelter under the protection of the Firest

arter’s

Royal Farr!”

The brisk wind snapped the leather, punctuating Kava’s

speech. The crowd roared.

109

“Let us seek Atar!”

“Let us have a new King!”

“On to the Firestarter!”

The castle gates slammed shut on the rowdy crowd.
Kava whirled as a scream from below alerted him to
danger. There was a flash of silver hurtling toward him as
the guard’s sword came down. Kava brought up the spear,
neatly blocking the sword, and their weapons cracked
together. Kava roared and threw the guard into the air, but
found to his dismay, that he was surrounded.

Below, the crowd watched helpless. Snarling, Kava
sliced the air with the long reaching spear, beating his
attackers back with the savageness of his assault. Below,
the crowd screamed their approval. In the second they
hesitated, Kava scooped up his one remaining son and
launched himself off the high wall, the Banner of Fire still
clutched tight in his fist. Eager hands caught him. Kava
was swirled away into the front of the enormous crowd,
the Banner of Fire marking his progress.

The chant began, climbing in volume as more took up the
cry, “FIRE-STAR-TER! FIRE-STAR-TER! FIRE-STAR-
TER!”

The dust from the passage of the crowd began to hang
thickly in the warm air. It came from the fire of their
excitement as the procession headed out.

110

The noise from outside vibrated through the walls of the
castle. Meruzanes opened the door to Zohak’s dungeon
study and entered. Zohak did not turn from the pool.
Outside, the crowd roared, causing delicate ripples in his
goblet of dark wine.

“What happened up there?” Meruzanes asked. Zohak
slowly turned and took the few steps to his ornate seat.

“Vizier,” Zohak said as he poured more wine. “I will have a
new wife sent up to my rooms.”

“Of c-course, at once, Your Majesty,” Meruzanes said after
a slight hesitation. “Sir, do you want us to draft the
Proclamat-

”

“No!” Zohak interrupted quickly.

“Very good, Your Majesty. Are there any orders you would
have me relay to the soldiers?”

“Get out of here,” Zohak said flatly.

Meruzanes slipped out of the chamber, fumbling with the
doorknob in his haste. When the door shut quietly, Zohak
let out a shaky breath. He licked his dry lips and tried to
gather his wits. The ringing clangs had filled the Great
Hall. The massive shape of the man of his dreams…He
broke out in cold sweat at the memory.

111

Chapter Twelve

Atar’s eyes snapped open. The dark camp was utterly
silent except for the wild calling of crickets. His face was
cold from the chill of the night, but there wasn’t a trace of
sleepiness in his eyes. Atar eased himself out of bed. He
could see that Bulliwuf sensed he was awake and
stretched indolently, falling back into slumber with enviable
ease. Atar took a stealthy peek around him. In the
darkness, he could see the red orange glow of the fires.
Trying not to look sneaky, he stood up and boldly walked
through the leather tents and sleeping forms, his bare feet
not making a sound.

People tending their fires looked up at him as he passed,
saluting him and smiling. Atar smiled back and forced
himself to walk slower. He approached the outskirts of the
camp and smiled cheerfully at the four guards clustered
around a small fire, watching the horse herd.

They watched Atar approach with suspicion, one of them
swiping up the dice they had been playing. The four hastily
made room for him as he indicated his desire to sit with
them.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Atar said in Mongolian.

The dice man grunted in response. Atar noted that he
seemed to be the one in charge. He sized the four of them
up trying to be as casual as he could. Besides the dice

112

man, there was a young man and two others who sat
close to one another. One of the two was wearing an odd
furry helmet and the other was scowling. Atar felt the
weight of the amulet around his neck with painful
acuteness as the stares of the men drew out. The young
guard looked away, awed and embarrassed to be in the
presence of the Chief. Atar shifted slightly and three of the
four men were almost on their feet. The young guard
looked mortified that he hadn’t responded as quickly as
the others had.

Atar laughed, dread sinking into his heart. “Take it easy! I
couldn’t run away if I wanted to. You people took my
boots.”

There was a beat of silence and the men settled back
down chuckling. These men had all heard of how he had
outfoxed the guards once, and were not eager to let it
happen again.

“I heard you bit Beerta when she took them away,” the
guard wearing the helmet said.

They lau

ghed when he shrugged. “I would have done a lot

more if she hadn’t sat on my head,” Atar said. Even the
scowling guard burst into raucous laughter. Atar told
himself sternly to relax. The men were still poised to
pounce despite their apparent ease. Atar assumed an
exaggeratedly relaxed position under their intense
scrutiny. The uneasy silence threatened to stretch out.

113

“Who does that one belong to?” Atar asked pointing to a
proud mare grazing at the edge of the herd.

“That one?” the scowling guard asked with a touch of pride
as he uncorked a leather canteen. “She is mine, but you
may have her if you like,” the man offered, seemingly
flattered that the chief had complimented his mount. His
expression smoothed out.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I could not possibly
accept. Have you seen my horse?” Atar asked.

“The blue stallion?” the man with the helmet asked.

His companion snorted with disgust, “Of course he means
the blue stallion.”

“That’s a magnificent horse,” the young guard offered in
an awed tone.

“Can you believe this young fool tried to approach him?”
the dice man said. The Helmet man and his companion
chuckled as the young guard turned bright red.

“I-I meant no disrespect, I just…uh…wanted to see
him…uh…” the young guard trailed off.

“Uh,” the scowling man mocked with disgust and his friend
in the helmet laughed. The dice man gave the two friends
a quelling look.

114

“You are in the presence of the chief,” the dice man said, a
flus

h of embarrassment at his men’s poor behavior coming

to stain his cheeks.

“It’s okay. Ishria the Stormy does that to everyone. You
should have seen the first time I tried to approach him,”
Atar said with a wry smile.

“Do tell us,” the dice man said eagerly.

Atar told the story without needing to embellish. As he
spoke, he needed to pause a few times to come up with
the right words, but his narrative was not adversely
affected by his unfamiliarity with the language. The young
guard in particular was enthralled, but the scowling man
was still watchful. Firelight flickered off their faces.

“So I rode into camp to the great shock of Zohak.”

“Zohak the Emperor?” the young guard interrupted
incredulously. The dice man gave him a fierce stare.

“Yes, he was one of the Paralatae for years. I thought he
had been born there as I was, until all that mess broke out.
Anyway, I rode out of camp, but the guards on duty
thought I was their relief. I waited for a second and the
storm clouds grew darker and darker in the sky. Suddenly,
CRACK! A bolt of lightning hit the herd and they
panicked.”

The scowling man’s frown disappeared as he was drawn
into the story. “So what did they say? You must have been

115

a hero. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to turn
the entire herd,

” the scowling man said.

Atar smiled. “You need to see him up close. He really is
one hell of a horse.” He stood up and let out a piercing
whistle. The other men stood up too. Ishria appeared after
a moment and pranced up to Atar.

“Good Goddess!” the dice man exclaimed. “I’ve never
seen such a horse.”

“My pony is so short compared with this,” the young guard
said, unconsciously stepping forward.

“Not too close now,” Atar warned, “he’s none too kind to
strangers.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Hey, what’s going on over there!” came a distant shout.
The four guards turned their heads and Atar saw his
chance. One moment he was on the ground, the next he
had vaulted into the air and onto Ishria’s back.

“What – hey stop!” the dice man howled.

Atar’s nose was filled with the scent of freedom. With a
piercing battle cry, he urged Ishria into a sprint.

There was chaos behind him.

116

“Take the left way out,” the scowling man ordered his
friend as they scrambled for their ponies.

“Get reinforcements,” the dice man snarled at the young
guard as he shoved him roughly toward the camp.

Atar heard the cries behind him and felt his blood run
hotter in his veins. Ishria’s legs ate up the ground. Atar
leaned into his whipping mane clinging to his bare back
like a burr.

They were beyond the horse herd now. Atar and Ishria
disappeared over a rise in the land. He jerked Ishria to an
abrupt halt by a cluster of trees. Heart pounding, he
scrambled off his mount and hit the ground, eyes darting
about in search of the sack he had hidden away earlier in
the day. Could someone have taken it? His heart leapt as
he saw the dark shape, illuminated by the watery
moonlight. Next to the sack, he had propped his enormous
mace against a tree.

He whirled and raced back to Ishria. Too late, he realized
his mistake. Ishria shied away from him, alarmed by the
dark shape hurtling toward him.

Damn, no games now Ishria, I don’t have time for this!

Atar approached again, slower this time, and to his horror,
Ishria bolted. So much for being such a fine reliable horse,
Atar snarled silently. The shouts from the camp grew
louder and horsemen approached.

117

Atar whistled, praying to Ahuramazda.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder and saw riders
silhouetted against the now bright camp. They descended
the hill, coming straight at him, full speed.

“No!” Atar screamed inside his head.

A snort from behind him made his heart jump. “Ishria!”
Atar gasped. He gra

bbed Ishria’s mane and vaulted onto

his back, clutching his precious sack and his mace. They
were almost upon him. His pursuers shouted, catching
sight of him.

“Run, Ishria, run!”

Ishria took off over the moonlit expanse, building in speed
as he ran. Over

the noise of Ishria’s pounding hooves and

his own pounding heart, he could hear the pursuers
shouting at one another. Atar urged Ishria faster.

118

Chapter Thirteen

“Yes, Atar the Firestarter, surely you’ve heard of him,”
Kava said, slightly impatient. He set his beer mug down on
the rough wooden table.

“Oh yes, of course, of course the Firestarter! Hasn’t
everyone?” the barkeeper laughed nervously. “But no, we
haven’t actually seen him. A peddler came in three weeks
ago and said they saw the Atar and the forty soldiers
outside a small town about three days ride from the
Dragon Caves. He said they were headed east. I am
certain of that,” the barkeeper said, filling Kava’s cup
again.

“Good,” Kava said.

“I just can’t believe it is all happening. I just don’t know
what to do with three quarters of the town riding off to join
the uprising.”

“You’ll live,” Kava said.

The barkeep looked skeptical.

“Hush up you sack of chicken shit!” the other barkeeper,
the man’s wife said, catching his last comment. “You
embarrass this establishment, honestly. General Kava, sir,
pay no mind to my timid husband. We are all just so
amazed. What a thrill to see the army coming into town!

119

What a thrill! The people making a stand and all. High time
we took matters into our own hands. I just felt so helpless
when they took my own dearest daughter and two of my
sons in the tithe.”

The woman made no effort to gloss over her bitterness.
Kava gave her a reassuring smile. “We shall have done
with this Dragon King. We could, in fact, use a woman of
your organizing skills in the movement. Care to join?”

The woman paused. Her husband shot her a don’t-you-
dare look and she abruptly said, “Certainly!”

“Get your things,” Kava said, hiding a grin. “You won’t
need much.”

A few minutes later Kava walked out of the bar with the
woman. Her nagging husband was whining in the
background.

“Get the extra blankets and don’t forget the two sacks of
flour by the hearth,” the woman ordered her husband as
she stepped out the door. The streets were packed with
people, some lounging, and some sitting right in the
cobbled street, all talking excitedly. A group of newly
recruited farmers wove among the groups of people,
carrying wickedly sharp pitchforks. Some women right in
front of the inn looked up and greeted Kava as he
emerged. The small town was too tiny to hold the
enormous force of people, all armed with anything that
might serve as a useful weapon. It was a remarkable
sight.

120

“Sir,” Jamshir called out.

“Son?” Kava turned to see his young son carrying the
Banner of Fire.

“Look!” the child’s shrill voice made people turn. Jamshir
unfurled the banner on its heavy spear and held it aloft for
all to see. It shimmered gloriously in the morning sun. The
gems and gold brocade threw back refracted light. A wild
cheer rose up as the banner was lifted into the air and the
golden streamers fluttered on the edge of the glorious flag.
Kava felt his heart swell with pride at the sight of his son
waving the Banner of Fire and the glorious cheer that rose
up from the very soul of the people of Persia. It was a
sound that meant the injustices suffered by the people
would not be tolerated. They were united under the
glorious, once worthless flag that had been his
blacksmith’s apron.

“What happened to it?” Kava asked Jamshir, the awe in
his tone plain.

“One of the rich silk merchants and the jeweler from this
town decorated it. Those stones are real!”

A well-

dressed man and an older man in a jeweler’s apron

stepped out of the crowd. Kava took the flag from the boy
and marveled at how it had changed. The figure of a fierce
boar had been stitched in gold with incredible detail.
Around the figure of the Royal Farr, gems were embedded
into the leather. The flag was the same on both sides.

121

“Unbelievable,” Kava whispered. He looked up at the
jeweler and the silk merchant. “Do you know how much
you have assisted us? How can we ever thank you?”

“Just doing my part,” the jeweler said, “seeing as how I am
too old and crotchety to fight, I thought this might make up
some.”

“Yes, it was the least I could do. My best artist sewed that
gold brocade,” the silk merchant said proudly.

Kava raised the banner and moved toward his horse. “Let
us be off to find Atar!” he bellowed.

“I’ve got my horse, my mace, my tiger skin and my life.

There is no way I am going back, Bulliwuf. The summer is
almost halfway gone. I am not going to waste time
bumbling about the countryside with those manic
barbarians.”

“You’re just mad because she sat on your head.” Bulliwuf
was having a good laug

h. “Still, I’m serious, Atar. You

have a responsibility.”

“Maybe if you deigned to explain yourself once in a while I
would follow your advice. What do you mean? You keep
referring to responsibilities, but I don’t know what you
mean.” Atar looked away from Bulliwuf.

122

Bulliwuf stopped speaking a second before Ishria reared,
wild with panic. The shrill whinny that tore from his throat
chilled Atar’s blood. Desperately, Atar clung to Ishria’s
back.

What does he see? Atar thought desperately as his heart
kicked into high gear.

Ishria’s front hooves hit the ground and the creature stood
stock still for a split second. Atar’s eyes flicked over the
land but could see nothing amiss.

Ishria whirled around and nearly jerked Atar off balance.
The stallion bolted in a dead panic over the land. Atar let
the great beast run, feeling a cold trickle of fear because
of the narrow escape. Abruptly, Ishria stopped, rearing
again, his eyes rolling with terror.

Atar was so surprised by his horse’s abrupt change of
direction that

he was thrown off Ishria’s back. He let out a

pained yowl when his body smacked into the unforgiving
ground. Ishria’s hoof beats thundered away.

Damn! Atar looked at the rolling hills that surrounded him,
trying to catch his breath. Bulliwuf was nowhere in sight.
He probably had not noticed that he had fallen off Ishria,
he thought, as a wave of nausea swept through him.

“Damn!” Atar ST cursed aloud this time. He groaned and
got to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain,
determined to move on. If he lost his damn horse, even for
a few hours, those crazy barbarians could gain the

123

advantage. Of all the horrid, impolite… Atar’s thoughts
stopped, as did his feet.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as an exhalation of
breath behind him stirred the quiet morning air. A second
ticked by and he doubted he had actually heard the noise.
Slowly, Atar turned.

The creature was perhaps three yards behind Atar. His
tusks were most definitely tipped with gold. Atar’s throat
grew dry. It would move in for the kill any second, he
thought. His entire frame was tense and filled with
adrenaline. The great boar’s eyes glittered with
intelligence, but it did not move. The moment dragged on
for a frozen eternity.

Atar blinked and the creature before him disappeared. I’m
going nuts, he thought, aware that the blood was leaving
his face. Feeling dizzy, he felt his legs bend under the
pressure of his own weight.

He turned his body abruptly to search the plain behind
him, but there was nothing. He was alone. He let out a
shuddering breath that turned into a semi hysterical laugh.
I am as crazy as Ezad the Insane!

Bulliwuf appeared over the rise. He was returning.

As soon as he was close, Atar ran to him and knelt. “Did
you see it? I mean…it was…this creature. I saw the most

124

enormous boar! It just stood there waiting to kill me. You
must have seen it retreating from your vantage point.”

Bulliwuf was silent. “Well?” Atar demanded.

Bulliwuf moved on and Atar had no choice but to scramble
to his feet and follow him. They finally were able to spot
Ishria and then they decided to stop for lunch. Atar didn’t
waste time roasting the fat ground squirrel he had killed
earlier that day. It wasn’t much, but they ate hungrily.

Atar’s mind was whirling. He had had time to consider his
encounter with the enormous boar. With a sickening
feeling, he realized that he had run into the great beast
before. His mind cast back to that eventful day when he
was just thirteen. Later, he had dismissed the idea that the
beast had just disappeared. Atar assumed that his over
active imagination had run away with his better sense. But
he wasn’t thirteen anymore and his eyes had not fooled
him. Why else would Ishria have panicked?

Without wasting time, Atar tore into the last bit of meat as
he headed for his horse. He mounted Ishria easily and
tossed a glance over his shoulder. He wasn’t even as
afraid of the Horde as he was of that creature.

“In a little bit of a hurry?” Bulliwuf inquired with typical
condescension.

“Yes,” Atar said. His mind conjured up an image of the
great boar following him, waiting. Unconsciously, he urged
Ishria faster. “What if that thing is following us?”

125

“It probably will,” Bulliwuf said cheerfully.

“I don’t know how you could joke about it. I was almost
killed.”

They rode on for several more hours and the sun began to
sink. In the distance, Atar saw smoke rising. As they drew
closer, he saw that they were approaching a small town.

“Excellent!” Atar exclaimed. “We can stop here for the
night and get our bearings.”

They entered the town at a canter. Atar was surprised to
discover the place was nearly deserted. He slowed Ishria
in front of an inn of sorts. Uncertainly, he dismounted, and
a stable lad rushed over to take Ishria’s reigns. Atar shook
his head and waved him away, leading his ill-tempered
mount into the stables himself. He breathed in deeply
when he stepped out and immediately looked up at the
darkening sky.

“Should I go in?” Atar asked Bulliwuf hesitantly as he
looked at the door. The wolf had grown very quiet.

As they entered the inn, Atar was glad of Bulliwuf’s
company, despite his condescension. Atar left the door
open and approached the bar. He wasn’t sure he was
allowed to sit on the high chairs. His gaze was so fixed on
them that he neglected to see the chair leg that caught his
foot.

126

A tremendous crash brought the temporary proprietor out
into the dining area at once.

Bulliwuf sat down and watched Atar try to detangle himself
from the table and chairs he had overturned. Red faced,
Atar got to his feet to see a man staring at him with ill
concealed shock.

Atar cleared his throat and picked up his mace. “Hello,”
Atar said stiffly.

“Good Lord,” the man said under his breath. “I expect
you’ll want a bite to eat?” The man disappeared into a
door before Atar could say a word.

The man returned, “Sit, sit,” he invited Atar as he set a
great meal on the table.

“I can’t,” Atar said. A sound behind him made him turn.
There were people outside staring at him through the open
door. “I haven’t got any money, I-”

“No problem,” the man said, a big smile on his face.

“What a sweetheart!” a feminine voice from the doorway
said. “Poor thing looks so hungry, don’t he, Rohna?”

“What lovely big eyes you’ve got there. You’re just the
sweetest dog I’ve ever seen. We’ve still got that meat
roast from yesterday, right?”

127

Bulliwuf was acting like a big weak and helpless dog as
the women patted and petted the ferocious carnivore.

“You must be Atar?” the man said. Atar looked up,
shocked. He noticed that a woman had joined the man
behind the counter. People outside began to file in,
looking at him with intense interest.

“H-how did you know?” Atar asked, digging into his food
with the air of a half starved animal.

“What do you mean? Everyone knows you,” the woman
exclaimed. “Why, half of Persia is looking for you.”

Atar felt his heart sink. So, Zohak wanted to finish him off?
He had fervently hoped that the man would just let the
matter slide, but he seemed to be out of luck. Or did they
still think he was guilty of killing Hergor? He shot a glance
over his shoulder at the gawking townspeople and
shoveled his food faster.

“This is delicious,” he said, and the woman blushed.

“I am so glad you like it, Firestarter, sir. I shall tell all my
friends,” the woman giggled. Atar stared at her. Was that
the way people treated someone wanted for murdering the
Emperor?

“You certainly have made yourself scarce,” the man said
chuckling. “Only last week, Kava the Blacksmith came
through here with the Army of the People looking for you.”

128

Atar choked. They had sent a whole army after him?

“The A-army of the People,” Atar repeated dully when he
got his breath back.

“Yes, it was an exhilarating sight!” the woman said. “Kava
the Blacksmith is looking for you. The actual owners of this
place have left the town, along with half the people, to join
the Army.”

“Kava?” Atar asked.

“Yes, the blacksmith from the settlement near the Dragon
Caves.”

“Um, why?” Atar asked, feeling phenomenally stupid.

“Well, to lead the Army of the People, of course,” the man
said.

“Wait – this Kava wants me to lead what?” Atar asked. He
stopped speaking as he realized that the people in the
now crowded room were listening raptly as history
unfolded before their very eyes.

“Kava the Blacksmith and the Army of the People are
looking for you,” the woman said. “They want you to lead
the army against the evil Dragon King.”

Atar had a vivid flash of memory. General Tavos’ face
popped up behind his eyes.

129

“No,” Atar said. There was a collective gasp in the small
room. “I’ve had enough of leading armies to last me
several lifetimes. I only came into this town to get an idea
of where I was.”

“B-but, the people – the stand against injustice…” the man
said, trailing off.

“You can’t just let Zohak go on like he is. You must help
us!” the woman said.

Atar felt inexplicable guilt, but could not help asking,
“Must? Why does this Kava want me, in particular? If he’s
assembled an army, let him do the leading.”

“You are the Firestarter! Not only that, but you are
destined to be the next king. They seek the protection of
your Royal Farr.”

Atar gaped at them. Finally he said, “Thank you very much
for the meal, I greatly appreciate your kindness, but I really
must go now.”

“Oh no! Won’t you take a room?” the man said.

“Uh, no, no, I really must go,” Atar hastily exited the room
and went to Ishria. The stallion was none too pleased with
having to head out again and wasn’t shy about letting Atar
know how he felt. When they were a goodly distance from
the town, he stopped Ishria under a small stand of oak
trees.

130

Curling himself into a comfortable position, Atar tried to
relax. An hour later he was still wakeful, the normally
soothing sounds of the night doing little to woo sleep. The
disappointment in the faces of the people nagged at him.
He couldn’t get rid of the feeling of guilt. But why? It
certainly wasn’t his duty to go leading armies. He had
made that awful mistake before and still hadn’t extricated
himself from that mess. It was a dangerous business. And
he certainly didn’t owe anyone anything. All he really
wanted to do was spend his life by that beautiful lake he
had dreamed of in the Wildlands. He couldn’t care less
about who was ruling the kingdom, or whether or not he
was cruel. He

just didn’t care!

The silent and furry form he was curled against stretched
into the shape of a man. In the dark, Bulliwuf’s silver eyes
reflected the stars in the sky. He put his arms around
Atar.

“I am happy to have you for my own, at least for this little

time.” He covered Atar’s face with his sweet kisses.
Bulliwuf’s long arms wrapped around him. His hot body
rubbed against Atar, whose breath caught as the familiar
but exciting sensations flooded him. He wrapped his legs
around Bulliwuf’s body, opening himself for the one for
whom he never stopped yearning. Finally, Bulliwuf
brushed the hair away from Atar’s sweaty cheeks and
looked at him. Atar wanted to look away.

“No, I like to see you as I make you cry out. I never get

tired of you, sweet

Atar.”

131

They stayed in each other’s arms until the rosy fingers of

dawn touched the sky.

Atar rode back into the town at dawn, making his way
back to the inn. He opened the door and walked in
scowling. Tiptoeing around the tables and chairs, he made
his way to the bar.

The woman from yesterday poked her head in and
withdrew with a squeak. The man came in with a heavily
laden breakfast tray.

“No, no, I only came for directions,” Atar said.

“To the Wildlands?” the man asked as the woman
emerged from the doorway.

“No,” Atar said, “to the Army of the People.”

132

Chapter Fourteen

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Kava bellowed,
impatient with the translator.

“Gone,” Beerta repeated, unruffled.

“Kava, sir, she does not know where he is,” Heslin the
Speaker mage said timidly.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine what the fuss is about,”
Sugreeva said from his position lounging on some
blankets. “You’ve got me. Clearly, this situation needs to
be taken into hand by a true leader. Servant, fetch me
some wine!” Sugreeva ordered a passing soldier. Beerta
gave him a fond look and Sugreeva’s face blanched.

“Listen, Kava,” Princess Sophene said, “there is no sense
in panicking. This situation calls for action. If you set up
your forge, General Monases and General Tiridates can
begin training the new recruits. I’m sure there are artisans
among the newcomers that will lend their skills to the
cause. I will issue an order for all skilled persons to report
and then we can begin to give out orders. Meanwhile, I
shall appoint overseers to see to it that all have adequate
food and blankets before the night sets in. I understand
there has been no effort thus far to regulate such things?”
Sophene inquired.

“Uh…no. Okay, set up my forge you say?” Kava asked.

133

“The sooner the better. Your skills in particular are most
vital. Take as many assistants as you need. Atar’s
abse

nce shall not be spent idly. Come now,” Sophene

said, gesturing to two men to follow her.

As Sophene made her way swiftly toward her own tent,
she cast an eye over the now enormous Army of the
People. It had been quite a shock yesterday when they
saw Kava and the Banner of Fire at the head of his
somewhat ragtag force. For a few tense minutes,
everyone had been convinced that an attacking force from
the capital had been sent to hunt them down. When Kava
had mentioned the name of the Horde’s chieftain,
everyone settled down. Now came the mammoth task of
keeping up the spirits of the people until the Firestarter
could be located.

Three hours later, Sophene reviewed the list of skilled
persons. General Monases and General Tiridates stood
before her. The sound of Kava and his assistants hard at
work filled the air adding to the excitement and bustle of
the camp.

“Interesting, how very fortunate,” Sophene said rolling up
the list and walking briskly through camp. “Pity we have so
little money. Get these cooks in there and see if you can
take command of these hunters. They will have to work
fulltime to supply enough food for this lot.”

Princess Sophene and the two generals sidestepped a
woman with an enormous bundle of blankets in her arms.

134

“At once, Princess,” General Tiridates said. “We have
some good news to report as well. Kava has received an
enormous donation of iron from the people. It will be no
trouble for him now to convert all those pots and pans and
shovel ends to swords, spears, and armor.”

“Excellent. That takes a worry off my mind. What of our
bows and arrows supply?”

“There are four skilled craftsmen already hard at work on
that. We have a number of people working on arrow
production as well,” General Tiridates said.

“Good, excellent! General Tiridates, have you seen to
those volunteers?” Sophene asked.

“Yes, Princess. There will be no shortage, in fact my
officers have too many to train. Everyone wants to be on
the front line. The acting chieftain’s daughter, Beerta has
offered to take on what we can

’t handle.”

“Thank God for that!” Sophene said. “Have we got a total
on the number of horses?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Monases said. “There will be enough
to mount at least one third of our forces. The Horde, of
course, already has mounts, but most of the townsfolk do
not.”

The trio stopped when Sophene caught sight of a rather
large group of people. Sophene walked swiftly toward the

135

group sensing trouble. As they approached, the speaker’s
agitating voice rose above the general conversations.

“And here we have come all this way, only to find that the
so called Firestarter is not among his band of soldiers.
What is one left to think? And now we are asked to give up
our pots and pans, and any metal we can spare? I don’t
know about you, but I certainly expected more. I came all
this way with my wife so that we could seek the protection
of the Firestarter’s Royal Farr. But since he isn’t here,
what protection are we offered? What the hell do we think
we are doing?”

Sophene pushed her way through the crowd, which hastily
made way for her and the two generals once they saw
who it was. The speaker’s jaw dropped when he saw who
approached and the man hastily gave up his crate to
Sophene.

General Monases and Tiridates handed her up to her
vantage point and she turned to face the crowd.

“As to what we are doing here, I’m sure you all know
exactly what we are doing. The Army of the People is
making a stand against the injustices perpetrated on us all
by the Dragon King. We are lashing out against the
corruption that has festered in our beautiful capital since
the battle of Larzum and the ascension of Emperor Hergor
of Tur. I ask you all to gather your courage, to stand tall
despite the hard times to come. I ask you, the people of
Persia, to remember your children taken in the tithe, to
remember your hunger during the drought, and to

136

remember the rights that are due to us. This is not a
venture for the faint hearted. It certainly must have been a
surprise to hear that the Firestarter, Atar, was not among
us, but that is no reason to lose courage. He will return. I
am certain of that. In the meantime, there is so much that
needs to be done. Each one of you is needed for the
cause. I beg you all to do your part, to fight in whatever
way you can. When Atar returns, he will find a vast army
standing where a ragtag band of citizens once camped.”

The cheer that followed Sophene’s inspiring speech drew
the attention of others, but she bade them to disperse at
once. Many of her words were repeated during the next
few days, but Sophene herself felt fear creeping over her.
She was not at all sure Atar would return.

Zohak saw Meruzanes crinkle his nose at the stench of
blood. It didn’t bother Zohak anymore. The vizier ushered
the cloaked figure forward into Zohak’s poorly lit dungeon
study.

The cloaked figure drew back in alarm, stumbling against
Meruzanes when Zohak turned away from the gently
trickling pool to face him.

Hisssss.

“Ahuramazda save me, oh Lord have mercy on me for my
indiscretions!” The cloaked figure babbled as Zohak’s
s

nakes wove in the air around the Emperor’s head.

137

Zohak laughed softly and tossed a lock of his hair off his
forehead. “Tavos, I’ve been wondering when you’d show
your treacherous face.”

“I’ve…uh that is to say… there have been s-some…uh…”

“Hurry up, gather your wits. I tire of you,” Zohak said.

“Uhh…” Tavos cleared his throat and swayed on his feet.

Zohak smiled as the man’s eyes locked on two bodies
thrown carelessly into a corner of the dark chamber. That
was where the blood smell was coming from, of course.

“Emperor Zohak,” Tavos hit the floor, groveling on his
hands and knees, “I beg to be of service. I have vital
information.”

“Go on and say it then. Have I not just finished telling you
that I am a busy man?”

“Uh…of c-course, uh…at once…the people, Your M-
majesty! They rally against you! I have seen Kava’s army.
They mean to march on the capital

.”

There was a ringing silence in the dark chamber and then
Zohak laughed. He clutched his stomach and guffawed.
Tavos and Meruzanes joined in nervously.

“What? They mean to march against whom? Let the
weakling dogs come. But then,” Zohak paused,
considering. He walked to the pool and gazed down into

138

the dark water. “Perhaps I shall – Tavos, you will ready the
armies for battle. See to it that the troops from Turania are
given superior positions. Their loyalty hasn’t been
corrupted by that…person.”

Tavos babbled incoherently for a moment, then he backed
out of the chamber.

Atar drew Ishria to a halt, his jaw falling open at the sight
of the thousands hurrying around in the camp below him.

“Where the hell did they all come from? There must be
thousands down

there,” Atar said. His limbs felt like they

were made of lead. If he hadn’t been mounted, there was
no doubt in his mind that he would have sunk to the
ground. “Impossible,” Atar muttered, fighting the intense
desire to just stop and settle in for a nice long sleep.

Bulliwuf loped toward the camp.

“It’s been a week. A week!” another agitator called out.
Princess Sophene broke into a cold sweat. There were no
more empty promises she could offer. Desperately, she
cast about in her mind for a way to appease the people
and keep them working. There had been so much
progress in the past few days. It would be a horror if it all
stopped now. The new soldiers had been in training long
enough for their muscles to be complaining loudly, and the
people had been camping out long enough to become
disenchanted with the hardship.

139

“A week! And there is no Firestarter. Does he even exist?
Perhaps Zohak is the rightful King. How can we tell?
There has been much hearsay about footprints and boars,
but a true king would not leave his people to fend for
themselves. We have been kept so busy that there has
been no time for us to realize this.”

“Your Majesty,” General Tiridates said in an undertone,
“would you have me remove this person?”

Sophene knit her brows. “No, I’m afraid the situation is too
volatile. It would appear as if we are acting as new tyrants.
They are in a mood for rebellion.”

The agitator’s voice rose. Sophene wondered if she
should step in. She had already broken up so many of
these little malcontents that she did not want her words to
be cheapened by constant application. She also knew that
she had nothing to offer but promises.

“Were we ever this hungry at our homes? Perhaps, but we
did not have the added danger of risking our lives. We are
being worked like slaves, we have no real shelter, and we
are suffering. It is time to return to our homes.”

Sophene drew in her breath and stepped forward. None of
the agitators had ever gone that far, although she knew
that just beneath the surface, the desire to return home
loomed temptingly.

“Get off that platform, you traitor to the cause,” Sophene
shouted before she had even reached the crate. “What

140

business have you stirring up discontent? Can you
imagine if Atar returned at this moment? What a shame
your gratuitous di

splay would bring upon us!”

“I would rather be shamed than dead!” the agitator
shouted.

“Fine! Go home you pack of cowards, hang your heads in
defeat, and warm your feet by the fire. Let future
generations remember how the Army of the People
dispersed all because there was not enough butter to
satisfy your appetite. I shall lead whoever has the courage
to go without sweets for a few weeks,” Sophene said with
bitter defeat lending hardness to her tone.

Excited chatter in the back of the crowd drew some
glances.

“Firestarter! He’s here?” a man’s voice boomed out.

“What? Atar has returned?”

Sophene’s heart leapt. Could it be? She turned to her
generals, “Did you hear that?”

“I’m going to check it out at once,” Tiridates said, but
Sophene was already moving of

f toward Kava’s forges.

Kava rushed over when he saw her approach. “Did you
hear?”

141

Atar followed Bulliwuf into camp. People stopped in their
tracks, gaping at him as if he were an apparition. The
lucky ones who had brought leather or oilskin tents came
out to stare and run to spread the news. Atar noted how
organized the dwellings and fur bedrolls were. In the
distance, he could hear the clanging of iron on iron, as
several blacksmiths no doubt were hard at work. His eyes
swept over the cook fires. The groups of people were
laboring on their appointed tasks. They stopped,
exclaiming with wonder when they saw him. He tried not to
blush and to sit easily in the saddle, but had the distinct
impression that he bounced along stiffly like an imbecilic
novice.

He forced himself to acknowledge the presence of the
workers, all the while realizing that his dream was slipping
away from him. Every step he took farther into this camp
was a commitment that he could not shrug off. There
would be no freedom. He would be trapped under a
burden of responsibility and duty. There would be no
escape from his conscience, from the endless toil…

The shouts and exclamations of the people began. They
came in droves, howling, pressing in close to Ishria and
forcing him to go slowly. On impulse, he directed Ishria
towards the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer. The sound
stopped abruptly. The noise of the people built. Atar
continued in the general direction, wondering how Bulliwuf
was fairing.

When Atar reached the blacksmith’s awning, he saw
Princess Sophene at once. He pulled a face when he saw

142

Bulliwuf reveling in her attentions, tail wagging insanely,
his obscenely long tongue lolling out of his mouth. General
Monases and General Tiridates were standing next to the
man called Kava.

Atar dismounted, second-guessing his decision to come
after all, as the crowd surged around them. He caught
Sophene’s eye for a moment then was swept away. He
turned and saluted Kava but was unable to do more.

Before he knew it, he was seated like a king on heaped up
furs before a fire. A goblet of wine was pressed into his
hands. Atar’s head was whirling. He needed to think. He
stared at the flames before him.

“So you’ve decided to become one of my generals after
all,” said a familiar voice.

Atar looked up at Sugreeva and Heslin the Speaker
Mage.

Sugreeva settled languidly onto one of the furs. “How
marvelous. Servant,” he called to a passing woman. She
didn’t turn, caught up in the excitement. “What foul service
one gets around here. I do declare I have to give my
orders a dozen times before I am heeded.”

“Most atrocious,” Heslin cooed, placating him.

“Where is my man?” a booming feminine voice hollered
over the general mêlée. Sugreeva ducked his head and
turned pale.

143

“Oh damn! She’s looking for me again.”

“Hurry, let us hide! Oh what to do?” Heslin squeaked.

“There you are,” Beerta boomed. Behind the chieftain’s
daughter were Sophene, Kava, and the two generals.

“You’ve returned!” Sophene exclaimed, the relief clear in
her voice. Atar realized suddenly what his absence had
put her through.

“It is good,” Beerta said taking in Atar and Sugreeva.
Heslin translated reluctantly.

“I beg to differ,” Sugreeva proclaimed. “It is not good, with
you giving me that leering look. I am aware that I am
irresistible, but ladies are required to keep a lid on their
passions. I am retiring now to the privacy of my tent.”
Sugreeva got to his feet and turned to leave, but Beerta
followed him. “Eek! Be gone woman!” Sugreeva squeaked
when he saw that she followed him. “Go away! I will not
entertain your favors. Go away, I say!”

“It is my greatest pleasure to meet you,” the man called
Kava sa

id to Atar. “I am so glad you’ve returned. Things

were starting to get desperate.” From behind Kava’s form,
a young boy peered out at Atar, a starry expression in his
eyes. “Please meet our little standard bearer, my son,
Jamshir.” Atar smiled at Jamshir, who held a stout spear in
his little hands. Kava said, “Show him the Banner of Fire,
son.”

144

The boy unfurled the banner, revealing its glittering jewels
and gold brocade. Atar stared at the finely sewn figure of a
boar outlined in stunning jewels. His jaw

dropped. “It is

gorgeous! I can see how you managed to get such a
following,” Atar said after a minute. The figure of the boar
burned into Atar’s brain.

“Get your hands off me! Eek!” Sugreeva squeaked. He
came running back to the circle of leaders around the fire,
Beerta close on his heels.

“Do not be shy, little snail,” Beerta called in Mongolian. “I
promise to be most careful, my little snail.”

“What did she say? Heslin! Heslin where are you?”

“You M-majesty, I-I am here,” Heslin said.

“Well, protect me, you useless wizard!” Sugreeva
squeaked, throwing Heslin into Beerta’s path.

“Really…uh, Lady Beerta this is most improper, most
unbecoming-

AHH!” Heslin shouted as Beerta shoved him

aside. Heslin fell in a great heap on the floor.

“Beerta!” an admonishing male voice stopped Beerta
dead. Atar turned to look at the man who had acted as the
chief of the Horde. “What business have you chasing that
little blonde?”

145

“It is all in order, Father. I purchased him fairly from the
Princess,” Beerta said, her eyes tracking Sugreeva’s hasty
retreat.

“Oh, my mistake, carry on then, Daughter. Firestarter,
what luck that you have returned.”

Atar smiled and acknowledged the man’s greeting. “Thank
you all for keeping things in good order. I see that much
progress has been

made,” he said as the leaders sat

down. Atar was secretly delighted to find himself seated
next to Sophene. His smile died as soon as it had formed.

Bulliwuf, you never fail to make an ass of yourself, Atar
muttered to the wolf, who sprawled with his head on the
Princess’ lap.

The two generals began to report. Atar’s eyes strayed to
Sophene with new appreciation. It was something of a
shock to realize how much work she had done. He
wouldn’t have been able to think of some of the things that
she had organiz

ed, even if he had been around. It wasn’t

actually all that surprising, when he reflected. She was
trained for this sort of thing, after all.

What a pity the people didn’t decide to elect her as their
leader.

“That’s it! I demand that something be done about this…
this…woman!” Sugreeva screeched, cutting into General
Monases’ report, which was nearly completed anyway. His
clothes and hair were wildly disheveled.

146

“Yah! You want marry?” Beerta inquired in broken Persian.

“Eek! Help me!” Sugreeva said. “That beastly woman is
learning our noble language.”

The generous platters of food set before Atar and the
leaders caused the Firestarter to knit his brows for an
instant.

Sophene, ever sharp, murmured, “Do not object. They
would rather have less later on than to miss this
opportunity to celebrate. It is essential to make a show of
enjoying yourself for their morale.”

Looking at the swirling activity all around him, Atar was
filled with an indescribable sensation. It was very much
akin to power. It was the realization that the people
actually were a force to be reckoned with. He felt a deep
sense of honor to be the leader of such people. The
festive air continued well into the night, and Atar, who was
tired from his days of travel, rose from his place. There
was a cry of protest from the craftsmen and soldiers
crowded around the fires, but Atar did not need to fake his
exhaustion. He had met far too many people to remember
and had eaten far more than he should have.

With one last smile and a wave, Atar headed for the
outskirts of camp.

“Eek! Woman I will not tolerate this!” Sugreeva said from
somewhere close by. Atar looked around, but the Prince

147

was nowhere in sight. He must be in one of the tents, Atar
realized.

“See here now,” the shrill voice said again. “Oh-oh dear!
My how exuberant. Oh…dear!” Sugreeva said. His last ‘oh
dear’ had a decidedly different tone to it.

Atar suppressed a roar of laughter and continued on his
way, careful not to make any noise to disturbed the odd
couple.

148

Chapter Fifteen

The drip, drip, drip of water cut through the air. Each drip
reverberated in his head. Zohak opened his eyes slowly.
At least the clanging hadn’t started. His limbs were heavy.
He tried to speak, but only a low moan escaped his lips.
He thrashed his head and moaned louder. He saw the
figure in the doorway. It was dark, but rays of light made a
fiery backdrop. He moaned again and tried in vain to
move. The figure casually set a huge mace down and
pulled a wicked-looking knife out of its sheath. Zohak
recognized it as the knife belonging to his foster father,
Melik of the Stout Ribs. He had given it to Zohak just
before he was murdered.

The man’s face was visible now. It was Atar the Idiot, his
half-brother, and the real heir to the throne. Zohak wanted
to plead with him. Atar’s face was impassive. All of its
anger was gone. He pulled off the covers to reveal
Zohak’s naked body and then, as if working with a deer
carcass, he began to flay Zohak. Unable to scream, Zohak
moaned in torment and terror.

Instead of the torment ending in death, he was roughly
dragged out of his bloody bed and it was then that the
clanging began. The dragon snakes were already writhing
in agony with their master, but now their frantic
movements maddened him.

Clang, clang, clang!

149

Another figure appeared at the door. He was a huge
man

—yes, it was the blacksmith Kava. He was carrying

iron chains. He took these and wrapped them around
Zohak’s burning body and they made his flesh sizzle like
roasting meat. Zohak was overwhelmed with the horrifying
odor of his own burning flesh. The blacksmith eyed Zohak
for a moment then reached back to something he’d set on
the floor. He put an ox yoke on Zohak’s neck.

Zohak could see the agony in the man’s mind. He saw the
blacksmith’s daughter, the one his dragon snakes had
eaten. His skinless body burned at the memory. He could
see and feel the agony of every person he’d fed to his
snakes. In response, the snakes vomited a vile-smelling
substance that tortured him as it spilled over his exposed
flesh.

The men were making him walk. They moved on and on
until they reached a mountain that looked horribly black.
They led him into a cave deep in the mountain. The
blacksmith held a hammer in one hand and a long iron
spike in the other. He was unable to move as the man
hammered the spikes into his body, pinning him into the
rock. Zohak realized that the man was being careful not to
harm his vital organs.

The two men left him in the darkness and suddenly Zohak
found his voice.

Zohak’s screaming brought the guards, his viziers, and
even his wife, Jahi the Lovely. “Bring the astrologers and
magicians,” he croaked.

150

His hair was in disarray and he hadn’t changed his
bedclothes. Urine soaked the front and back of his robe,
but

Zohak didn’t care.

“So what does this dream mean?”

“We cannot be certain…”

“It can mean several things. Perhaps not all bad,” another
astrologer said.

“Guards!” Zohak roared. “Prepare to have these men all
flayed alive. They are hiding the truth for fear.”

An old astrologer, the chief, stood. “I will tell you. The
reason we hesitate is that there is no good news. The
dream means this: Everyman is born not for his parents,
but as a tithe for death. No person

—not even the highest

king, can escape death. It means too, that your evil deeds
have earned you a terrible reward. The man they call the
‘Firestarter’ will come back and he will destroy you. The
blacksmith of your dream represents the many people you
have killed to satisfy the greed of your snakes. Because of
that greed, people have risen against you. You cannot
escape your destiny, which is endless suffering as an
eternal captive in Mount Damavand. The iron with which
they bound you represents good over evil. The blacksmith
works with iron. Iron represents forces that work against
demons. It means, in short, that you are now not a man,
but a demon. For you, death would be a blessing.”

151

The astrologer finished his speech and sat down again.
Zohak felt the world spin around him and his body slid
from the throne to the cold, hard marble of the floor.

152

Chapter Sixteen

“Empty the treasury if need be. Send emissaries to the

northern lairs of the demon people. They can be
persuaded with the promise of gems. I want the best of the
demon armies to be assembled immediately. Call upon
the best magicians, wizards, and sorcerers. We must fight
fire with fire. If that wicked Firestarter plans to use his
magic against us, we have no choice but to retaliate.”
Zohak wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

“Your Highness! The scouts report that the so-called

Army of the People is growing. There are even deserters
from the army joining their ranks. The villagers are
refusing to pay their taxes. We ordered the farmers to give
all of their harvest to feed the army, but instead they give it
to the rebels.”

“Kill any peasant who refuses. Meruzanes! Have you any

word from the demon armies?” Zohak called over the
officer’s head.

“A group has already arrived. They are assembled in the

main courtyard, but they are hungry. They will accept
human meat,” Meruzanes said.

“That will not be a problem.”

“But sir,” another officered approached. “There are some

who are refusing to fight side-by-

side with demons.”

153

“Feed those to the demons, then” Zohak was fairly

foaming as he ordered the officers. “I will go to look at the
demon battalion.”

“This way sir.”

Zohak rubbed his hands together when he saw them.
“They seem disorganized.”

“I beg to differ.” The demon general reared up in front of
Zohak. Scales In shades of green covered whatever could
be seen of his hands and face. His nose was flattened and
extended over much of the mid-portion of his face. Large,
dry lips covered teeth that were coated with vile, stinking
plaque. His eyes were outstanding. They swelled out of
their sockets so that the whites of his eyes were fully
visible. This left his irises looking very small. His body was
writhing with swollen lumps that moved as if rats crawled
about, seeking escape. He smiled at Zohak’s surprise.

“I am a second generation demon, but my father was first
generation. I see the admiration in your eyes. Thank you.
Well, then, when do you expect to attack?

”

“Your men’s mounts…” Zohak’s mouth fell open in
surprise.“Well, that is, men and women. Our women are
just as able soldiers. The mounts, yes. It depends on the
skill and magic of the particular demon. As you can see,
some use elephants, cranes, snakes, lions, and even
large tortoises. Oh yes, a few small dragons too, but only
the kind that can be tamed, you follow?”Zohak chose to
overlook the rude comment. “We are waiting for

154

reinforcements.

have

crush

the

rebels

decisively.”The demon’s laughter rumbled. “What is so
funny?” Zohak asked. Blood rose in his head. “Well, our
force alone can crush even your army, what to speak of
the ragtag rebel force. I find your fear amusing. Why wait?
We will crush the puny Army of the People. Give us your
riches and

save yourself trouble.” His bottom lip drooped

to the left, revealing a rotted canine tooth. “Emperor
Zohak!” Another messenger saved him from having to
answer to that insult. “A group of sorcerers have arrived.”

“Bring them into my throne room.”

Zohak reclined in his throne, trying to look calm. Sweat
trickled down his back and the cup of wine in one hand
shook so badly that he set it down. The snake dragons
hissed and writhed.

“Your wrap, my Lord. As you requested.” The manservant
bent in a bow as he pla

ced the warm robe on Zohak’s lap.

“Well? Open it and place it around my shoulders,” Zohak
snapped.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The man’s entire body trembled.
Suddenly he screeched and fell away, hands clawing his
face.

“It has bitten him, Emperor!” Meruzanes was pale.

“Get him out of here. I suppose he’ll be dead soon
enough, like the other one.”

155

The assembled wizards and sorcerers watched the show
silently. Zohak finally unfolded the robe, muttering curses
and wrapped himself in it.

“Well, let’s begin. I have much to do and little time. How is
it that you people can help me? You have heard the
predictions. You have been presented with the dream.
Speak or get out of here!” Zohak suddenly grabbed one of
the snakes viciously and wrung its neck. It drooped for a
moment then resumed its questing through his hair.

The silent men turned toward a dark form in the middle of
them. His face was totally hooded and even his hands
were hidden in his black wizard’s robe. One of the other
men spoke. “This one will speak with you in your private
quarters.”

Zohak’s face registered his anger and shock. “I will decide
that. How dare you?”

The assembled sorcerers remained silent. Zohak felt an
odd chill emanating from the group. He stood suddenly.
“Fine. Vizier, show the man to my chambers.” As he
passed Meruzanes he whispered, “Post several of my best
guards directly outside the door.”

The temperature in the room seemed to have plummeted
despite the fire in the hearth. The air outside was warm,
but Zohak’s chambers were even colder than usual. Zohak
felt fear prickle up his spine as he eyed the man, who still
stood.

156

Slowly he drew back the hood. Zohak fell to his knees.
“Father! I thought you’d been killed. What happened to
your…”

“Silence! How do you like my little gift?” Dahaka’s neck
was still torn where Bulliwuf had mangled him, but the
grayish flesh wasn’t bloody. His face was ghastly pale and
his eyes were like coals burning in his skull-like face.

“W-what gift?” Zohak’s hands automatically fluttered
toward his shoulders.

“Those, of course.”

“But the beautiful goddess…she was the one…” Zohak
sputtered as he tried to understand.

“Ha! That was a trick, of course. You know that I can take
the form of a woman quite easily. Remember how I fooled
that monstrous brother of yours? Did you really think that a
heavenly goddess came and granted you two snake
dragons so vile that they require human brains to eat? You
are so stupid. But I knew that you would be foolish enough
to believe a be

autiful goddess, so I took that form.”

Dahaka smiled his hideous parody of a grin.

“Why, Father? Why? This is a curse! I suffer every day
because of this.”

“Why, my whelp? Why? Because you were just about to
lose the crown to that Atar imbecile. Without them, you
would have never been able to subdue the Dragon of

157

Drought. I saved you from the worst humiliation. Now,
listen, for you are again facing difficulties way beyond
even the power of my magic.

“You must leave now. Put that cowardly Meruzanes on the
throne until you return. Flee to India. Once there, we shall
create an entire country of wizards and sorcerers. It will
indeed be a land of sorcery. We shall then assemble an
army and march back to reclaim the throne. It is the only
way to escape your fate. If you ignore this, you will end up
a prisoner for eternity. A mountain of your own excrement
will surround you, as day after day you suffer nailed into a
mountain cave. Make haste! You will travel with me, and
the wizards I have assembled. They are the best in the
entire world. All of them practice the blackest of magic.”

Zohak stood stunned. “And leave? What will the people
think? I can’t bear to think that Atar the Idiot will think I ran
in fear!”

“Son, he would be more pleased to get his hands on you.
The blacksmith

—remember the blacksmith. He has gained

much power by his awful loss. He is another dangerous
enemy. And worse of all is that the Idiot is now under the
protection of the goddess Ardwisura Anahita. She will not
allow you to touch him, but soon, you will have the power
to destroy him. Now immediately hasten to depart.”
Dahaka left the room in a foul puff of air.

“Meruzanes, I appoint you regent to rule in my absence. I
am leaving for some time to raise a powerful army north of
here. Do whatever you need to do to hold back the rebels.

158

Make use of the demon armies and the sorcerers and
magicians.” Zohak handed him a smaller scepter than the
one he used.

Meruzanes fell to one knee and accepted it with trembling
hands. “I will rule as you wish. I am eternally grateful to
you for having faith in me, your most humble servant. Be
assured that all will remain in safety until your Lordship’s
return. May you travel with good fortune! May your quest
bear fruit! May even the gods bow at your feet, dear
sover

eign.”

159

Chapter Seventeen

Campfires were lit in the midst of the massive gathering.
“Can you believe this?” A soldier asked aloud to no one in
particular. “What a sight. Poor farmers eating with the
lords! Even the defected army of Persia sitting with the
Horde they fought with so recently!”

Atar smiled in agreement. He reached Prince Sugreeva’s
tent. “No! I just…well, really?” Beerta pulled aside the flap
and pushed Sugreeva out. His stiff ringlets had been
braided with rawhide and clay beads. He wore a leather
loincloth and a cloak of soft fur. His dainty shoes had been
replaced with the sandals of the barbarians.

“See Chief Atar? See my husband too much beautiful,”
she said in accented Persian.”

Sugreeva was blushing and awkward. The tribe people
gathered to admire and touch him.

“You look great, Sugreeva, like a true prince that you are,”
Atar said with real admiration. He had changed. He
seemed harder, having lived such a rough life for these
months since he’d left the palace.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

Beerta was beaming. “And my husband, he learning to
ride Mongolian pony. Very brave man, my Sugreeva. Oh!

160

Oh! Come husband. I so exciting I need to make the sex
with you!” She pulled the blushing prince into the tent.

Princess Sophene was smiling as she watched the couple
leave. Ezad the Insane followed her. “Ezad is also making
progress. We are working together. I am using my magic
to help him and he is using his spy skills to help the army.
He reports that Zohak is calling on mercenary troops of
actual demons from the North to augment his army, now
that so many troops are defecting.”

General Tiridates added, “We must attack soon. Perhaps
even in the morning. Ezad reports that only one demon
battalion has arrived. Zohak is opening the royal treasury
to supply a huge number of troops. If we strike before they
arrive, they will be forced to return

—if we win, that is. They

know they won’t be paid.”

Atar mulled it over. He looked at Bulliwuf, who was smiling
slightly. He’d been in his human form for a while now.
Bulliwuf nodded. “I believe that to be a wise move. We
should get some sleep.”

Atar said, “Tell Kava to announce that we should sleep
early, as we will meet to strategize in the morning. There
is no sense telling them that we may attack. They will get
no

sleep if we tell them that.”

Bulliwuf pulled Atar toward their tent, which was the only
one with a large opening in the roof. He was imitating
Beerta’s excited voice. “Oh my brave Atar. I so excited I

161

need to make the sex with you.” Atar looked to see a few
observers trying to hide their mirth.

162

Chapter Eighteen

Atar rarely dreamed, so what was this? A beautiful woman
floated to him. She was dressed in golden armor. She
carried a golden spear in one hand and a dazzling golden
bow over her shoulder, where a quiver of arrows as bright
as the sun blazed. She had stepped off a golden chariot,
which was pulled by white horses of the kind Atar had
dreamed. She touched Atar on the head and stroked his
hair.

“Atar, I am the goddess Anahita. I have watched over you
all these years. I sent my Bulliwuf to serve and protect
you. I have taken your mother, Queen Cunaxa over the
Chinvat Bridge.”

“My Mother? She was my mother?” Atar began to cry. “Do
you mean she is dead?”

“Yes. Zohak murdered your fair mother. She loved you
very much. It was so painful for her to never be able to tell
you this. She begged me to do it for her. She wanted you
to know that she was forced to abandon you with the
Paralatae. It was that, or allow Hergor to kill you, her dear
baby. Do not cry for her, Atar. You must attack now and
avenge her death. You must avenge the death of all of the
people your brother Zohak has killed. But you mustn’t kill
Zohak. This is what you must do…

163

Kava sat erect on his horse, the Banner of Fire held in one
big hand. “Protect the Banner!”

It was essential for keeping up the a

rmy’s morale, Atar

thought. He also understood how important his every
move was to the spirits of his people. If his shoulders even
so much as sagged, hysteria would spread through the
troops. Ishria’s hooves splashed into the sodden ground,
the army following the proud stallion and his rider. Atar
looked ahead toward Kava and the Banner of Fire. Even in
the gloom, the snapping flag looked bright to him. Kava
held it high, his back rigid with the tension of battle.
Jamshir had howled with anger when he discovered that
he would not be on the front lines, and was not at all
happy to give up the standard to his father.

Atar rose slightly in his saddle, the wink of metal in the
distance sending a chill, then a fierce heat through him.
Through the mist of the drizzle, Atar could see the Army of
Persia. Bulliwuf sprang forth, darting ahead, eager for
battle. Atar looked up to see an eagle soaring above them.
At the sight of the magnificent bird of prey rising into the
air, the Army of the People let out a whoop and a cheer.
Kava waved the Banner of Fire and the cheer grew into a
roar of rage.

Screams of terror shot through the Turanians in the front
ranks of the Persian army when, from out of nowhere, it
came hurtling at them. Beaten gold hooves smashing into
the earth, it charged forward, ripping through the ranks
with vicious golden tusks. It snorted. Chaos and screams
rose all around it. Then it was gone.

164

General Tavos of the Persian army was stunned. His head
snapped to his left, the screams of terror breaking through
the trance he had fallen under watching the bright banner
of the foolish rebels. “What the hell was that?” Tavos
asked.

“Perhaps a volley of long bows,” Meruzanes suggested
from Tavos’ right. “I propose we waste no time in returning
attack. That volley seems to have them terrified. Tavos,
order the demons to attack!”

“Bitches,” Tavos muttered and spurred his horse forward.
He rode up to meet the demon general. “General Putana!
Order your troops to lead the attack. Just the sight of them
will scatter

those ignorant farmers.”

General Putana let out a wild demon battle cry. To the
astonishment of all, it was answered by a Paralatae battle
howl that rose even higher than his did. The demon
general snarled, spittle flying out of his mouth and he
thundered toward the rebel army.

Atar fearlessly crashed into the Armies of Persia, his
gleaming mace viciously slicing the air. Behind him, the
roar that rose up from the Army of the People sent a
shiver through the atmosphere. It vibrated the very bones,
its pure rage sharpening the reality of the cause. Newly
made swords gleaming in their untrained hands, they ran
forward, eager to lock with the enemy.

Atar snarled at his opponents, blind with battle fury. He
disarmed one man and dispatched him, sending his head

165

sailing into his comrade’s lap. Bulliwuf tore the comrade
off his horse with inexorable force, his powerful jaws
locking around the man’s leg. Above, the eagle screamed
as it dove into the battle, its sleek frame gaining power as
it shot down from the heights of the sky.

“For Lesa!” Kava screamed as he impaled his opponent
through a crack in his armor. He turned his horse and
attacked another soldier, ripping out his bowels with manic
satisfaction. The Banner of Fire jerked in the watery light
as Kava wre

nched his sword out of the man’s gut. The

man screamed, his cry joining with the others.
Desperately, he tried to scoop his shining innards back
into his body before death claimed him.

The Army of the People fought with a fury born of the
years of pent up anger. The roar that rose from them was
a culmination of their rage. They had no say for years and
this was their final response to being ignored.

“Fire!” The demon general screamed at his archers over
the din. He decapitated an un-mounted farmer with a
careless sweep of his mace, his muscles pulling the
heavy, fatal weapon through the air.

Atar whirled on Ishria, his eyes like that of a furious wild
animal. The next volley of arrows came, followed by a
charge. Atar could feel the People losing their courage.
This was their very first battle, he reminded himself. He
roared a battle cry, swinging his mace above as his eyes
scanned for the broad shouldered figure. Where was he?

166

Atar darted deeper into the ranks of the enemy, spreading
panic with his relentless attack.

Behind him, Kava screamed. The man attacking him
struck again, and Kava’s other arm shot out. The Banner
had fallen. A man near Kava, horrified at seeing the
Banner go down, and seeing the Firestarter nowhere in
sight, dropped his shield and ran. A ruthless Turanian ran
him down. The sight was so horrific that his comrade also
threw down his shield and ran.

The demon army began to pour out into the fray. The
simple people looked on in horror as demons with grossly
deformed limbs fell upon the Army of the People. The
carriers of the demons were as horrific as their riders.
Some were covered in horny plates. Thorny growths
protruded from their thick, leathery skin. One elephant-like
creature with two stout horns on its face ran with three
men impaled on its horns. It stopped to shake its great
head and the men shot off in a thick spray of gore.
Soldiers and farmers from the Army of the People began
to scatter in all directions, but they were overtaken and
speared by the great demon army.

The monsters startled Atar, but he struck out. He was
under the protection of the Goddess. He knew what he
had to do. Calling upon his power as the Firestarter, he
took up the mace of Colaxais and attacked the demons.
He struck the horned demon carrier, and it fell to its knees,
sending the monster on its back to the ground. The demon
had one eye the size of a saucer, but it was a glassy black
color. The snub nose angled up so high that mucus

167

membranes could be seen jiggling inside. Its mouth
opened to reveal a forked tongue that darted forth more
than a foot. Atar attacked it with a spear, aiming for the
eye, which exploded, sending a gelatinous rain of slime on
the lion carrier that was rushing to his assistance. It roared
up at Atar and he roared back.

Most of the peasant part of the army scattered at the sight
of the demons, but some brave souls, and some of the
professionals, fought on. A chorus of war cries broke
through as the army of the Horde joined the battle against
Zohak’s army. Leading the fierce group was a couple.
They wore the war paint and costumes of the Mongol
general rank. Atar stared in fascination as Sugreeva and
Beerta broke through and began to battle the demons.
Beerta stayed close to the Prince, protecting him from
attack as he swung a sword, lopping off heads.

The demon army began to weaken. Chilling screams of
demons rent the air as, in the distance, at the crest of the
hill; the Mages of the Sacred Fires of Ahuramazda
appeared, headed by a red-haired mage, Princess
Sophene. Their chanted spells rang out over the din of the
battle and demons threw down their weapons to cover
their ears in fear. The fires rose in the air, smokeless and
bright as the chanting grew in volume.

In response, the wizards and sorcerers of the palace
began to chant their evil curses against the mages. From
their collective breaths issued dense smog of foul air that
revived some of the frightened demons.

168

Atar had to dispatch them before they could give strength
to the demons. Bulliwuf appeared at his side and they
rushed the army, breaking through as dead soldiers and
demons fell in their wake. Atar felt his limbs going weak as
he approached the lines of wizards. The vile stench
choked off his air supply.

“Atar!” Bulliwuf screamed. “Do it! Summon your power as
the Firestar

ter!”

Atar shook his head to clear it. He just couldn’t do it. It
seemed impossible. Ishria began to sway and one of his
legs shook violently. Atar prayed. He focused his mind on
the vision of his father. His father Anacharsis, the
Firestarter who had given him his power. Then he saw the
kind face of his mother, Queen Cunaxa the Pure. The
mother who had loved him all along. He imagined her
dead at the hands of Zohak, and it began.

He felt the tingling first in his extremities. The heat grew
and grew until it had nowhere to go but out. Suddenly he
reared up in his saddle and Ishria fell to his knees. Bulliwuf
rolled near the horse and put his paws over his eyes. Atar
saw only the blinding light and felt the power emanating
from every pore of his body.

The wizards and sorcerers stopped in mid-spell as the
Firestarter began to glow. Running in all directions, they
tried to find escape. The light became blinding and
suddenly they all burst into flame. They danced and
jiggered as the fire burned them alive. Their burned forms
fell to the ground and disintegrated into ashes.

169

“Zohak! Come out and face me!” Atar bellowed, now
recovered. His chest was splattered with blood, his mace
oozed with it, making him have to grip his weapon ever
more tightly to prevent it from slipping. Atar plunged
ahead, heedless of fear now. “Zohak!” Atar bellowed. He
charged at a group of soldiers and snarled with frustration
when they scattered. “I demand you face me! Let’s get this
over with!” Atar roared in Paralatae. But there was no
answer.

The demon army was fleeing. Not one demon dared fight
with the holy mages chanting the sacred mantras. Looking
into the turbulent skies, they saw the mighty form of the
god Verethragna in the shape of a giant, golden-tusked
boar. He held a golden mace over one shoulder and his
massive hooves glittered gold. Beside him, the god Mithra
roared into battle, shining on the sun chariot pulled by the
horses of the sun. The demons passed stool and urine as
they fled, terrified.

Atar rode into the palace on Ishria with Bulliwuf at his side.
They rode right into the throne room, Ishria’s hooves
making a strange tapping noise on the marble floors.
“Zohak!” Atar howled.

On the throne, decked in finery and wearing the crown of
the Emperor of the Persian Empire, sat Meruzanes. His
eyes glittered with madness. “Get out of my royal
presence!” he screamed. “How dare you ride a horse into
my throne room? Remove that animal from my presence
at

once,” he said, pointing to Bulliwuf.

170

“Where is Zohak?” Atar demanded.

“He is gone. He appointed me in his stead. Beware! When
he comes back, he will destroy you. Beware the Dragon
King!”

Bulliwuf casually approached Meruzanes and showed his
teeth in a snarl that sent the poor man howling away,
tripping on his long train.

171

Chapter Nineteen

The long job of rebuilding the empire was not Atar’s idea

of the life he had wanted. First, he ordered grain to be
distributed to the needy families. He sent envoys to
countries willing to supply grain. He used gold from the
royal coffers to purchase grain and animals. He reunited
families and gave payments to those who had lost
relatives to Zohak’s hungry snakes. He removed all the
magicians, sorcerers, and wizards from the palace staff
and appointed magi under the direction of Princess
Sophene.

“Bulliwuf, I just can’t do it,” Atar said. They were reclining
in the courtyard. “I may be the heir to the throne, but I
don’t want to be Emperor. I want to be with you in the
Wildlands. I want to leave. I have set the country on the
right path. My job is done.”

“Yes, I also want to leave here, but we aren’t finished,”
Bulliwuf said.

A servant entered and bowed. “General Kava to see you.”

“Kava! You have done a great job in distributing supplies,”
Atar said. The man seemed disturbed.

“Atar, I appreciate the confidence you have in me,” Kava
rumbled. “Thanks to you, people are returning to normal
lives. But I can never be normal again. My Lesa. My poor

172

daughter is dead. Sophene has helped me a lot to grieve,
but I can’t go on living when the man who murdered my
family still walks free. This thing remains undone. As our
king, how can you allow this? Atar, I demand justice!”

173

Chapter Twenty

The hall remained silent after Meruzanes had finished his
speech. The thick Indian air was redolent of spices and
incense. A dark servant waved a peacock feather fan at
Zohak’s side, and another, on the opposite side, waved a
yak tail fan. Whenever a fly tried to settle on Zohak, they
would wave it off. The snakes attracted many flies with
their vile odor that grew day by day.

“So you say that the Idiot Atar has installed himself as
emperor and that he has taken all of my wives to his bed?
Even Jahi the Lovely? You say he insults me and tells the
pe

ople that I ran off as a coward? Such nerve!” Zohak’s

serpents waved in anger as he sputtered.

“Yes, my Lord. He has commissioned paintings in every
town square showing you running with your trousers at
your ankles and piss running down your legs. He spends
all day lounging with your wives and eating enormous
quantities of food. He has gotten very fat and ugly. The
people bristle under him. Many are calling for your return.
Sire, the nobles are your supporters too. Please return
and avenge this disgrace!” Meruzanes finished his speech
with a flourish.

“Meruzanes, I wonder why only you have told me these
things. My spies say the opposite, that Atar the Idiot is well
loved and that the people are happy. They never

174

mentioned the insults to me. They never mentioned the
way he has bedded my wives,” Zohak said.

“Yes, he spends much money finding and paying off the
spies,” Meruzanes said, nodding sadly.

“Leave before I kill you!”

Meruzanes ran from the room. The servant fanning him
backed away and scurried out the door, leaving Zohak and
his snakes fuming alone. I will not! I cannot allow this. To
hell with Dahaka and his plans! If I listen to him, it will be
years before we are ready to take back Persia. I have to
go back and kill him. The Idiot! The damn Idiot! Will I ever
be free? Will my life be spent in his awful, idiotic shadow?
The serpents here are the proof of my magic. Had I been
there to lead the troops, Persia would still be mine. Why
did I listen to Dahaka? That withered old smelly wizard
has been nothing but trouble for me. Now I have been
disgraced and the Idiot is violating my wives. I will kill them
all!

175

Chapter Twenty-One

“The mages say that evil approaches. I believe you and
Bulliwuf need to be attentive to anything unusual. I have
taken the liberty of reassigning Kava as your personal
attendant. He’s done very well in his job, but Atar, he has
the magic of the blacksmith.” Princess Sophene finished
her speech and placed her cat on her lap.

“Thank you Sophene,” Bulliwuf answered. “Atar, she is
right. You have been avoiding Kava because he demands
that you punish Zohak. I think that eventually you will have
to deal with Kava and his petition for justice. If it is true
that evil approaches, we

should have him near.”

Atar considered this for a few moments.

Atar still needed to sleep in the outdoors. He and Bulliwuf
lay together in the grass near the fountain in the courtyard.
“You know, Bulliwuf, this is where my mother used to
spend many hours. Her attendant, Sanatruk, has been
telling me all about her. She told me about how my mother
personally fled with me in her arms when I was three. She
could have sent one of the servants, but she wanted to be
with me as long as possible. I remember her va

guely.”

“Yes, my little one,” Bulliwuf answered.

“Come on, don’t call me little.” Atar stuck an arm out,
showing off.

176

“I remember the day well. The men paid to bring you to the
Paralatae decided to kill you and save themselves the
trouble. I rescued you,

as a matter of fact.”

“Oh Bulliwuf, my life has been so strange. I wish I had
been able to know that she was my mother. I saw the
kindness and the agony in her eyes, but I knew nothing.
She was able to convince me to fight the Horde though, so
she was powerful. By the way, Sugreeva and his band
arrive tomorrow. I have something special planned for
them. I can’t believe what Beerta has done with him.
Sugreeva is…well, he’s become the man he was only in
his mind. Nobody dares to call him ‘Sugreeva the Fop.’
T

hey don’t even call him Sugreeva the Fair. His new name

is Sugreeva the Fierce.” Atar laughed loudly and Bulliwuf
joined him.

“Well my little one…that is, my big…whatever. I want to
ravish you tonight. It has just been too long. I know you
won’t allow it in the palace. It’s not as if we are the only
ones enjoying sex within these walls, but as you are so
shy, I have arranged for us to ride off into the night. We
will go to a grove far away and enjoy ourselves until
dawn.” Bulliwuf looked at him and brushed the front of his
trousers down. “You know, if you don’t hurry, I will take
you right here. Now gather your bedding. I will go fetch
Ishria and Bahira so that nobody need know our
whereabouts.” He put a finger up to his lips and smiled
wolfishly.

Atar blush

ed and looked around nervously. “Ok. I suppose

I have been pretty horny for you too. Don’t be too long.”

177

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zohak waited to see that the wolf-man was gone. Not that
he was afraid. He’d decided to do this alone. He and only
he would confront the hated Idiot and finally put an end to
his reign of stupidity. Zohak remembered all the times he’d
tried to end the life of the simpleton without success. The
problem was that the man was so colossally stupid that
somehow he would bumble out of eve

ry danger. He’d

been thrown into a swollen creek, left in the forest as a
toddler to starve or be eaten by wolves, thrown into a pit of
vipers, fed poison. Why, he’d even led the Idiot into the
cursed tomb of Colaxais. No man had ever left there alive,
but incredibly, the Idiot had bumbled out with the very
mace of the famed first king of the Scythians. No doubt,
he’d been so stupid that the ghosts had mistaken him for a
goat and ignored him.

When sent after the man-

killing stallion, he’d doddered

back riding the horse, with a dim-witted smile and drool
running down his face. Well, he hadn’t seen the drool,
which the Idiot had probably wiped onto his sleeve along
with the snot, since he was always bawling. Even after
Zohak had thrown the Idiot into an impossibly deep trench,
somehow he’d emerged and stolen his birthright.

The worst blow was to find out that the Idiot was his
brother. Maybe he’d been dropped as a child, but Zohak
knew that Atar could not be normal. It was as the old seer

178

Monu had said. Atar

wasn’t just an idiot; he was an “Evil

Idiot.” There was no more time to be lost.

Zohak crept down the stone wall. His horror at this new
ability didn’t stop him. His fingers had claws that extended
to allow him to move easily. He scuttled from the shadow
of one tree to the next. The Idiot had gotten his blankets
and was waiting. He dreamily put his stupid melon of a
head on a blanket and shut his eyes. Silently Zohak made
his way in the dark, finally standing over the moronic
shape of the Idiot. The man who

’d taken what was his: his

horse, his wife, his heritage as the Firestarter, and now his
kingdom.

The snakes on his shoulders trembled with suppressed
rage. They grew. They extended themselves, ready to spit
the most toxic poison onto the vile Idiot.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Atar opened his eyes and stood. Kava stepped out of the
shadows. He had his hammer in one hand and he
dragged a medium sized anvil on a wooden pallet. Zohak
was cringing on the ground with his hands over his ears.
The snakes mewled in terror. Kava grabbed one snake
and held it on the anvil. His hammer came down again
and again until the thing was nothing more than mush. He
grabbed the other cringing snake and then did the same.
Finally, he looked at Zohak with eyes red from grief and
anger. “Now it is your turn.”

179

“No, Kava. I must kill him,” Atar said. He looked like Mithra
in a killing rage. Atar raised his mace and it whooshed
down, but it stopped in mid-air. They saw the Goddess
Anahita materialize. Her hand held back

the mace. “Why?”

Atar asked in a growl.

“My dear heroes, it cannot end this way. Zohak cannot be
killed, just as his father, Dahaka, cannot be killed. Zohak’s
fate will be far worse than death. Kava, you must make a
very heavy iron chain and long iron nails. Atar, Bulliwuf,
and Kava are to take Zohak to Mount Damavand. There
you will chain him in the deepest cave and nail him to the
stone. He will live there until the end of time. That place
will be so foul that if even a bird flies over it, that poor
creat

ure will fall down dead. It is decreed, so shall it end.”

180

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Your Majesty, with your blessing, Bulliwuf and I will set off
now. We plan to find that fabled land of the Water Dogs,
where white horses graze near a crystalline lake.” Atar
bowed slightly.

“It is you, Atar, the real Emperor of the Seven Kingdoms,
from whom we ask for blessings,” Sugreeva said
solemnly. “I have accepted your command and I will rule,
but only as your humble servant until you so choose to
return.”

The nobles in attendance were polite enough to look away
as Sugreeva wept openly. Many others began to weep.
Beerta of the Horde wailed and her followers raised a
ululating cry of grief. Atar lift a hand and they fell quiet.

He was wearing his tiger skin with the teeth framing his
face. He pulled it down. “I will always hear the call of my
people. I give you three of my hairs. If you ever need me,
burn one of them and I will appear within three days.”

The court bowed to him and followed him to the gates of
the city. Mounted on Ishria the Stormy and flanked by
Bulliwuf the Proud, Atar the Firestarter struck out of the
city with a ferocious Paralatae Scythian war cry.

For hundreds of years minstrels sang ballads of his
bravery and kindness. Scythians, Mongolians, and

181

Persians told stories as they sat around campfires. The
story of Atar and Bulliwuf lived on.

In the land of the Water Dogs, Ishria grazed freely with the
white mares near the crystalline lake.

###

182

About the Author

KB Forrest has researched ancient Indo-European history
and folklore for several years, and brings to this novel his
story-

telling flair and the accurate details today’s readers

demand. He is skilled in animal husbandry, primitive
survival skills, and horsemanship. These talents allow him
to imbue his stories with realistic elements.

KB lives on a farm in Northern Mississippi with his faithful
dogs. He raises Brahman cattle and a large variety of
birds. When not writing, he paints in oils and watercolors.

183

Table of Contents

- A hissing sound made him startle awake. The things
were hungry. Desperately hungry. His shoulders burned.
Nausea bloomed in him. It affected not just his stomach,
but also every part of his body. The things wanted food.
The vile, snaky odor of the creatures assailed his nostrils,
but he refused to move. One of the creatures slithered
through his hair as if it knew how the feeling terrorized
him. Zohak opened his eyes to see one of them looming
over his face. Suddenly, it attacked him, and when he
screamed, it slithered down his throat questing. Questing
for food. It did not find what it wanted, so it emerged as he
gagged violently.

“The only thing senior about you is your dragging, flaccid

man-

part,” the first said.

- Zohak smiled slowly then he laughed in his rich baritone,
seemingly delighted with the proceedings. “My people!
Can you ask for a clearer sign from the gods? I have come
into my power as king, as you see. I am almost a god.
Indeed, I am part-

god, as is clearly obvious.” Zohak

stepped forward and the snakes waved in the air above
his head, tasting the air and relishing the fear of the
watchers.

Bulliwuf addressed the court. “I am only a guest, but I will

state for the record that rather than being a sign from the

184

gods, the snakes Zohak sports are a gift of the demons. In
particular…”

- Atar was most displeased to see Heslin the Speaker
Mage among the party of soldiers.

- Atar looked down at the excited, chattering faces. The
people stood well back from their path. He could hear a
blacksmith somewhere clanging on his anvil. The sharp
sound of iron on iron carried over the noise of the people.
Atar caught glimpses of little gardens in front of the
modest houses, but for the most part, all he could see was
the crowd. The dusty main street was lined with shops. It
did not take them long to find the inn. It was a solid two-
story structure with a steeply peaked roof.

- The mayor shivered at the sight of Bulliwuf, but his wife
sashayed over to fuss over him. The table was laden with
food. Monases, Tiridates, Heslin, and Ezad were seated to
Atar’s right. The wife whispered into Bulliwuf’s ear and he
answered softly. Atar was jealous when he saw Bulliwuf’s
fingers gently and subtly graze the woman’s arm. She
went back into the kitchen part of the house and returned
with a large roast that was barely cooked. This she placed
in front of Bulliwuf. He ate with the dignity of a king, but
with the voracious appetite of a werewolf.

“Atar, it is something that they are not a part of,” Bulliwuf

said.

- The shivering town crier reached the settlement near the
Dragon Caves. The torrential downpour obscured the

185

outline of the town. This was the last of sixteen towns on
his particular route and he was glad his circuit was over.
Vainly, he squeezed water out of his dripping tunic. The
news of Zohak’s ascension to the throne had, of course,
spread like wildfire. The shocking murder of the beloved
Queen sent shockwaves through the land. To his relief,
people took note of him immediately, even as he
approached, thanks to his distinctive uniform. Despite the
rain, they assembled in the town square, eager for news.

- Sophene hurried to her huge closet and rummaged
around until she found the leather pack that she had used
for part of her luggage. Working fast, she snatched two
changes of clothes and a quilt from the bed. Warmer
clothes would have been better, but she didn’t dare waste
the time. There was just enough room at the top of the
pack for a few days worth of food.

The mother choked back a sob. “It’ll come to no good.

ot.”

- Atar and the party camped in the early evening on the
wide-open country. The sunlight was maturing into a
golden glow that spread across the land. Atar looked out
at the mountains on the horizon. A warm wind was
blowing like silk across his skin.

- Slowly, Atar raised his bow, careful not to make any
sudden moves. With his powerful archer’s forearms, he

186

drew the bowstring back. He aimed carefully at the vital
organs in the forward part of the creature’s ribcage. There
was an eternal moment just before Atar let the arrow fly.
The buck never saw it coming. He died instantly,
collapsing to the ground without a sound.

“And what of me in particular? What do they say of me?”

Zohak asked.

“Bull! She was all beautiful and peaceful in her bridal

- Atar urged Ishria forward to where Sugreeva and Heslin
were bobbing along at the very front of the party, crowing
to the world.

“Hello?” came an irate voice from the front of the party. “I

told that barbarian to set out my tea. Sophene? Sophene?
Why is no one stopping for tea?” Sugreeva asked. “Well,
hurry up! Honestly, do you expect me to eat in the
saddle?”

187

“You give it to him Kava!” one man shouted. There were

excited murmurings as Kava shoved his way through the
crowd, which parted for him with alacrity.

“Fetch him at once,” Zohak ordered. “I assure you, good

citizen, that this was an error on the part of my service
member

s. How can I make this right to you?”

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
K B Forrest [Fire Chronicles 03] Burned Dreams [eXtasy MM] (pdf)
Charlie Richards [Wolves of Stone Ridge 28] Paws for Change [eXtasy MM] (pdf)
Emily Veinglory [Ballot s Keep 02] Lover of Ghosts [Samhain MM] (pdf)
Lynn Hagen [Bear County 04] Cowboy Rescue [Siren ManLove MM] (pdf)
Zelazny, Roger The Second Chronicles of Amber 04 Knight of Shadows
Tracy Falbe The Rys Chronicles 04 The Borderlands Of Power
2011 2 MAR Chronic Intestinal Diseases of Dogs and Cats
04 List of basic and derivative calibres
Forgotten Realms Avatar 04 Prince of Lies
04 Sea of swords
Sara Reinke Tiralainn 04 Book of Dragons Volume 02
Iain Banks Culture 04 Use Of Weapons
Edward Wellen Origins 04 Origins of Galactic Law
Enid Blyton Mystery 04 Mystery of the Spiteful Letters
Alan Dean Foster Flinx 04 End of the Matter
Ali Atwood [Huntress Chronicles 02] Huntress at Large [eXtasy] (pdf)
Diana Palmer Men of Medicine Ridge 04 Will of Steel
Forgotten Realms Paths of Darkness 04 Sea of Swords

więcej podobnych podstron