Synopsis: A young man is forced to impersonate the king's son in order that the true prince escape a political marriage to a fiery Amazon. After his forced wedding Temru, the false prince, is taken by airship with his wife to the Amazonian kingdom of Thufoora. But on the way the vessel is caught in a violent storm and driven onto the shores of an unknown island. Faced with innumerable threats, including his own hot tempered wife should she discover his impersonation, how will he survive?
Temru, the false prince, stood in the expansive garden of the palace awaiting the arrival of his bride. From the corner of his vision he perceived King Agron eyeing him with a steely gaze, his stern uncompromising visage like that of rough hewn granite. Arrayed beside the monarch were his senior councilors – as gaudy as peacocks - also there to greet the Amazonian princess and her retinue which would arrive within fifteen minutes by airship.
The false prince scanned the skyline looking with dread for the approaching craft, which he was certain heralded the beginning of a life of misery and danger. Temru felt trapped, he was trapped. Marriage should be based on love, not politics. The ceremony would be a total lie in his eyes; why, he wasn’t even a prince and Temru wasn’t even his true name, a name which he must never utter again. For the umpteenth time the young man contemplated the cruel fate that had come so unexpectedly upon him.
Three months ago he’d been a commoner from a well to do family – an instructor in the art of swordsmanship, a teacher to the sons of the wealthy plebeians of Tythor, a city far to the south of Chiamnis’s capital, Xykay, and now he was impersonating the king’s true son in a mad scheme Agron had desperately concocted.
Chiamnis and the Amazonian nation of Thufoora had been at war for five years. The dispute had arisen when vast gold deposits had been discovered on the border of both countries in an area of disputed territory. Previously, the Xiath hills, forested with noxious ubi trees, was the last piece of land that anyone with sense would fight over, but the discovery of the precious metal had changed all that with horrendous results.
On both sides fanatical nationalism had raised its ugly head, stirred up by the ruling class, prompted by greed on the part of the nobility. The conflict had bled both nations almost to death with the common people suffering the most. Six months ago the tide of battle had been turned in the Amazon’s favor by the invention of their flying ships – cigar shaped hot air balloons powered by alcohol fired steam engines.
The ships were primitive ungainly things that could barely make headway against a strong wind, but nonetheless had proven decisive. Able to drop incendiaries from a height well beyond the range of the most powerful bows, they had mercilessly bombarded Agron’s army, scattering it to the wind and then attacked Xykay, capital of Chiamnis. The death toll had been horrific.
Temru gazed across the stricken city, half of which still lay in burnt ruination. The houses, those that were intact, were square in plan with all round verandas and steep pyramidal roofs to shed the wet season’s heavy rain. The buildings were also raised on granite posts to keep the pooling water out. Load bearing interior walls were absent. The internal space was divided by light movable screens of translucent cloth that in wealthier homes were often delicately painted with naturalistic scenes that usually became erotic in the bedrooms. Floors were of polished wood, windows were large and circular; light doors were of a folding design. Each house was separated from its neighbor by an encircling garden of artfully placed rocks and miniature trees, carefully bred for dwarfism in imitation of a mountainous landscape.
Sadness and anger came upon Temru as he gazed at the scene of devastation. Lives and beauty had been destroyed, and for what – cold and lifeless metal! The Thufoorans had won. Agron had sense enough to capitulate. It was either that or be annihilated. Zedee, queen of the Amazons had dictated terms. She’d been sensible not to occupy Chiamnis, but the one sided peace treaty involved her youngest daughter Amari marrying Agron’s only son.
It was of course really a hostage taking ploy disguised as a means of unifying the two nations, for the true Temnu would accompany his wife back to Thufoora as insurance against any further hostilities on Agron’s part. The king for all his faults loved his son, and had no desire to place him in danger for he trusted the Amazons as much as they trusted him, which needless to say was not at all.
Thus, a mad scheme had been formulated. Agents of the king had secretly scoured Chiamnis, searching for anyone who bore a close resemblance to the true prince, and it was the young man’s unlucky fate that he did. There were minor differences, true. He was a little taller than the prince and more muscular, his face more masculine. Nonetheless, the resemblance was remarkable, and only those who knew the prince well would see through the imposture.
He remembered with bitterness being dragged from his parent’s house in the dark of night by hooded figures; the threats made against his family should they talk. His last view of his mother, father and younger brother was of them hugging each other and piteously weeping. Then had come months of training for his role, and now the time for his performance was at hand. He dare not fail, for it had been made clear to him that if he did his family would die by slow torture.
Temru silently cursed the king with every vile oath he could think of. By now the true prince, heavily disguised, would have been spirited off to a remote corner of the kingdom to live a life of luxurious anonymity. His imposter, on the other hand, would be forever on edge, beset with constant worry should he be exposed and his family suffer horribly.
A shout brought Temru back to the present. One of the more excitable councilors was pointing skyward. The false prince looked in the direction of his thrusting arm. A small dot could be seen in the distance. Temru went cold. It was the approaching Thufooran airship.
Agron stepped to his side. “Remember the royal protocols when you greet the princess,” warned the king in an edged whisper. “A first impression must be a good impression. For your family’s sake don’t fail.”
“As your majesty commands,” replied Temru pleasantly, hiding his burning hatred for the king.
The wait seemed to stretch an eon, but at last the slow moving craft arrived. Temru, despite his dark mood, couldn’t help but marvel at the airship. The black cigar-shaped body of tough silk-like material was two hundred feet in length and about a hundred in diameter. A long oval gondola of wickerwork hung suspended beneath the centre of the airship’s envelope, and in the middle of this was the compact steam engine that spun two propellers at the stern. Exhaust from the engine’s stack was vented into the balloon to provide lift, but hot air being less buoyant than hydrogen meant that despite its size the huge craft could carry no more than eight people, pilot included.
Ropes were dropped from the gondola. Ground crew - women who had arrived from Thufoora two days ago - ran forward and caught the cables. They passed them through pulleys anchored firmly to the ground and began to haul the vessel earthwards.
As Temru watched he contemplated the journey to Thufoora. Hours trapped aboard the cramped quarters of the airship was a fate he didn’t relish, nor the height at which they would be flying. The mere thought of being so far above the ground was making him queasy already. A trip by land with an overnight stop at an inn would have been far better, but he correctly guessed that the airship was a display of power – to have the prince carried off by the flying vessel would drive home the fact of Thufooran dominance of the skies, and how powerless the conquered were to counter it.
The airship bumped upon the sward. The lines were secured and the delegation clambered from the open gondola. Temru looked on curiously. Thufoora was an insular nation. Trade took place at the borders of the Amazonian homeland in towns built for that specific purpose. The movement of foreigners was tightly controlled. No one had passed beyond these walled mercantile centers and penetrated into the heart of the rugged mountainous nation, accessible only by deep and narrow valleys that were easily defended.
As the party disembarked the ground crew formed up in a line and saluted - clenched fists to breasts. A tall woman of athletic build who stood forth from the other passengers, marked by her height, severity of black raiment and demeanor, walked towards Temru. Her body was typical of her race. Amari’s skin was pale blue and the short fur upon her head maroon in color – a startling contrast to the Chiamnites’ dark brown allover coloration. Her eyes were indigo and the pupils cat-like in form. Encircling her brow was a thin band of gold set with diamonds that marked her rank.
Temru thought she would have been rather pretty but for the harsh expression she wore. No doubt princess Amari was even less eager than him to be bound in wedlock to an enemy of her people. The false prince took a deep breath as she approached, deciding the only option was to make the best of things. Neither one loved the other, but perhaps they could become friends with time. He resolved to do his best. The safety of his family depended on it.
He dropped to a knee before her and raised both hands, palms outward in the manner he’d been taught. “Welcome to Xykay, capital of Chiamnis, princess Amari,” he formally began in Cho – a mercantile language widely spoken. “We are honored by your presence and will do all we can to make your stay a pleasant one.”
Temnu rose and extended his hand to her so she could take it and be led to the king for introduction as was the custom in these circumstances. Amari didn’t move. She looked at his hand as if he’d just come from scrubbing out the latrines and hadn’t bothered to wash it.
There was a moment of angry and embarrassed silence on the part of the gathered Chiamnites. Temru quickly recovered his poise. He stepped to the king, hand extended. Agron took it and he led the man to the stony princess and introduced him to her.
Amari made no pretense of diplomacy. She gave Agron the same contemptuous look she’d given Temru, then spoke, her voice as cold as Northern ice.
“We of Thufoora are not given to effete ceremony. Enough of this nonsense. The sun is hot. Take me and my party to our guestrooms.”
The king’s eyes narrowed and it was with considerable effort that he remained largely outwardly calm in the face of this gross insult.
“As the princess wishes,” he said with a slight edge to his voice; then gestured to a man in the crowd. “This is Urias my majordomo,” continued the king as the man approached. “He will escort you and your party to the palace wing reserved for royal guests.”
Urias bowed. Amari and her group followed him without another word. The princess knew the Chiamnites were helpless, and it was clear she would make her displeasure of the coming nuptials known at every opportunity. Temru and the king watched the Amazons leave. The two men looked at each other. In a moment of rare agreement the king rolled his eyes. Temru smiled blandly. Their body language was eloquent enough.
**********
It was now evening of the same day. The rather hurried marriage ceremony had taken place in the cool of late afternoon. The princess had made it clear she wanted to depart early in the morning. The wedding, a small affair, had occurred in the open air temple of the Divine Creator – a garden in whose centre was a towering obelisk-like sculpture surmounted by a ring of six golden stars, which was the symbol of the deity.
Temru now awaited the coming of his young wife in the bedchamber of their nuptial suite. For any other man the moment would have been one of eager anticipation, but Amari had been an unwilling bride and thus he dreaded her arrival. He’d be lucky if she didn’t slip a dagger between his ribs despite the likely order of her regal mother not to do so.
He looked about the bedroom as he waited. The erotic wall paintings were illuminated by the gentle glow of an oil lamp. Soft petals from emerald green umura flowers had been cast upon the padded sleeping platform, tingeing the air with their subtle scent. The young man hoped that the romantic setting might improve her frame of mind, but he doubted it.
The folding doors of the room opened, breaking his train of thought. Temru turned at the sound. Amari, completely nude, stepped within the chamber. The princess stalked to the bed, lay upon it with her legs spread wide and spoke coldly to him.
“All right, let’s get this over with. But I warn you, if you hurt me I’ll hurt you twice as badly.”
Needless to say Temru was quite taken aback by her approach. The young man wasn’t a brute. He’d often fantasized about his wedding night, but there was nothing here of the loving intimacy he desired. If anything the sight before him had the effect of killing all ardor, which was exactly as the princess had intended. He gathered his thoughts and spoke gently to her.
“I’ll not make love to an unwilling woman,” he began. “I know the situation is difficult. We are strangers to each other still. Let us at least become friends first.”
“Friends,” she replied derisively. “You’ll be waiting a long time for that; forever in fact.”
Temru took a deep calming breath. He had a sinking feeling he’d be doing a lot of that.
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable,” he politely asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Go somewhere else and die quietly.”
The false prince could see that further conversation was pointless. Like the princess, he was in a very difficult position. The marriage was expected to be consummated on the wedding night. To leave the room and be found sleeping in another chamber would arouse suspicion and the anger of the king. With silent dejectedness he walked to the oil lamp, blew out its flame and curled up upon the floorboards which, though hard, were at least softer than the attitude of Amari.
It was early morning. The airship was ready for departure. Temru stood by the craft, the king next to him and other notables some distance away. Agron placed his arms around the young man and gave a magnificent performance of a father grieving the departure of his beloved son. The illusion would have been quickly shattered had any bystander overheard the dire threats the sovereign whispered in the young man’s ear – a final warning of what would happen if he failed in his deception of the enemy.
“And I love you too, father,” replied Temru, sarcastically. Agron scowled, but said nothing. “Well,” continued the false prince, “I’d better not keep my darling wife waiting. Oh, what a lucky man I am.”
And with that ironic remark he leapt into the wicker gondola before the king could think of a devastating riposte. Temru knew he was pushing the boundaries of what Agron would tolerate, but a restless night on a hard floor hadn’t left him in a salubrious mood, and the prospect of the journey that lay ahead wasn’t helping either.
Now that Temru was aboard the ground crew released the mooring ropes. The airship rose into a cloudless sky. The engine chuffed. Propellers whirled and the craft was under way.
**********
Temru gazed over the side of the gondola. His palms still sweated with the fear of height, but he now had more control over the outward signs of his distress. Three hours had passed and the densely forested wilderness below was becoming hilly. In the far distance the mighty mountains of Thufoora, partially obscured by cloud, could be glimpsed. Within perhaps another four hours he would be over the Amazonian heartland. He shifted his gaze to the bow of the gondola where Amari sat with her attendants. So far she had ignored him for the entire trip, for which he was grateful. He had no desire to experience the lash of her waspish tongue.
He had tried to strike up conversation with members of the crew, but their knowledge of Cho was only rudimentary, and had proved a barrier to meaningful communication. It had been a lonely, boring and uncomfortable flight - one that was thankfully coming to an end.
Another two hours passed. The mountains were now obscured by heavy cloud which had darkened ominously. Temru noted the flashes of lightening that, even from this distance could be seen. A dangerous storm was brewing. He didn’t relish being in the air when it hit. Approaching one of the crew he pointed at the growing tempest and tried to make his concerns known, but the woman merely shrugged and gestured towards Amari who still sat in the forward end of the ship.
Steeling himself for the encounter, Temru squeezed passed the hot bulk of the steam engine and approached his wife. Amari saw him coming and gave him a disdainful look of such venom that he almost faltered in his advance.
“I’ve noticed a storm is developing,” he remarked as he stopped before her.
“What of it; are you afraid?” responded Amari, derisively.
“I am concerned,” he admitted, swallowing his pride. “The storm is strong and the ship lightly built. If we are caught in the jaws of the tempest it could go badly for us.”
“Did your people build this airship?” Amari responded fiercely. “No, we did. We have conquered the air while you barbarians, whom we have defeated, still trudge through the mud. Our craft is weak is it?” she continued furiously. “I’ll show you how weak it is, how weak we are.”
“I didn’t say anything was weak,” he replied reasonably.
“You implied it,” Amari hotly responded, her volatile nature now in full form. “We will maintain our course. Now, get out of my sight you cowardly mewling fool.”
Temru bowed stiffly, his face reddening at the insult. He retreated with what dignity he could muster to the rear of the craft. The young man cursed himself for an idiot. If he hadn’t spoken of his concerns then perhaps Amari would have seen sense of her own volition and ordered the airship down. But now her national and personal pride had been inadvertently injured, and no doubt she would press on in the face of danger just to prove a point.
Time passed. The airship drew near the mountains. The storm increased its fury. The black clouds, which were now as dark as night, roiled in dense seething masses reminiscent of boiling water. Lightening exploded in glaring flashes and thunder boomed in deafening peals. The airship rocked in gusts of savage wind and Temru clung to the heaving gondola’s side, his knuckles white, his face a pale blur in the gathering darkness.
The young man looked about the rocking craft and saw he wasn’t the only one touched by fear. It was hardly reassuring. The ship was caught in a sudden updraft, soared with terrifying swiftness and then plunged like a falling stone as contrary winds slammed her down. The engine was useless. It lacked the power to fight the fury of the storm. The craft was spun dizzily. Temru lost his grip, crashed against the engine. He cried and rolled away, burnt by the boiler’s heat.
Rain fell in torrents, flooding the gondola, seeping through its wickerwork. The balloon’s envelope began to cool. Their craft lost buoyancy and began to sink. A jagged mountain peak loomed through a rent in the midnight cloud mass. Lightening flared, illuminating its rugged height. The gale force wind hurled them towards it.
The crew madly dumped ballast. The ship rose and the keel of the gondola scraped hard stone as it was swept across jagged rock. Temru wiped the driving rain from his eyes, shivered violently from its chill. He looked forward and saw Amari huddled under her servants as they sought to protect her from the raging elements with their bodies.
He was sure they were doomed and didn’t want to die alone. He scuttled forward, for by now it was impossible to stand against the mad swaying of the airship. Temru reached Amari’s side. She looked badly frightened as they all did. He held her hand and in the extremity of her terror she didn’t pull away.
Night fell. An age passed in wild horror as the violence of the storm raged in unabated fury. More ballast was released. It saved them for another hour; then the engine stopped. The fuel had been exhausted and without its heat buoyancy was steadily lost. The airship sank through blackness. Their speed was such that if they landed they’d be dashed to pieces on the ground. The crew tossed everything they could overboard. The ship again rose, but all upon her knew they’d merely delayed the inevitable.
More time passed. Gradually, the fury of the storm abated. The blackness of the clouds lessened. The rain petered out and sunshine and blue sky could be seen through growing rents in the turgid vapors. Slowly, they emerged into clear calm air.
Temru looked down, bone tired from a sleepless night. Beneath them was ocean as far as the eye could see. They had passed well beyond the mountains of Thufoora, and if he remembered his geography correctly it was probably the Sea of Xuna he now gazed upon. He turned to Amari and felt like cursing her. But to do so would solve nothing and only make a bad situation even worse, so instead he calmly offered the princess his conjecture.
Amari had lost some of her venom, her temper no doubt cooled by the realization of their perilous situation and that her volatile nature was largely responsible for it. She replied in a reasonably civil tone.
“I think it likely,” she tiredly said. “There are rumored to be islands out there. But, not being a seafaring people, we know little of them except for the stories of Barusi mariners who are renowned for their fanciful tales. If we can maintain our height and the wind takes us in their direction, then if the islands exist perhaps we have some chance at life.”
Amari then fell silent. There was little else to say.
**********
The black fabric of the balloon absorbed the sun’s heat. It warmed the air in the envelope and slowed their descent, but without fuel the ship became the plaything of the wind. Noon came and they ate a rationed meal in desolate silence. Their craft had sunk lower and was now a mere four hundred feet from the glittering sea, despite the crew having disassembled the useless engine and cast it overboard in a last desperate bid to lighten their load. Temru searched the horizon for the umpteenth time, but only a depressing waste of sea came to his scrutinizing gaze. But wait, what was that?
Temru stared intently. A dark irregular blotch appeared at the extremity of his vision. He gazed intently at it, saying nothing least his straining eyes were deceiving him. Minutes passed and his excitement quickened. The object grew more distinct as they drifted roughly in its direction. He moved to one of the crew looking the opposite way, tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the landmass when she turned.
The woman squinted for a moment; then shouted excitedly in Thufooran to the others. In but seconds everyone was crowding against the railing. They gazed intently at the steadily enlarging island, which looked as if it was of considerable extent.
“At the rate we’re losing height we’ll probably pass within about five shaz of it,” observed Amari, grimly. “That’s a long swim. We’re a landlocked nation. Few of us are good at it; many don’t know how to swim at all.”
“This gondola is boat-like,” replied Temru who was standing by her side. “It might float awhile. If we cut the suspension cables when we touch water and use our hands to paddle we may make it.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Well, you’re smarter than you look.”
Temru decided he’d best take that as a compliment.
With the passing of about half an hour the airship was just a foot above the waves. Amari gave the order and her Amazons began to saw the cables with large serrated Bowie-like knives. The gondola dropped with a splash that tumbled its occupants. Water began to seep through the wickerwork in a very slow leak rather than a rush, giving all hope that they might succeed in gaining landfall.
Everyone began paddling as the partially inflated balloon drifted clear. The island was still some distance away, but all felt confident it was within reach. Time passed. Without proper paddles propelling their makeshift boat with bare hands was extremely difficult. Temru had thought himself fit, but by the time the shore was a hundred yards from them his arm and back was a writhing mass of agony. His companions seemed only slightly affected by their exertions, much to his envy.
By now Temru was very confident they’d reach the wave washed beach of glistening sand that waited so invitingly. Oh, how he longed to stretch out on its softness in blissful rest. But all such hopes were rudely dashed when a monstrous form breached the water straight in front of them.
Temru gasped as he beheld the creature’s horrid form rearing from the waves. The neck was long, serpentine and surmounted by an ugly head similar to a barracuda’s. Bulging yellow eyes regarded them with sinister hunger. The thing’s huge jaws gaped menacingly, displaying rows of fearsome teeth. The horror fell upon them. Someone screamed as its warty head smashed against their makeshift boat.
Temru was flung into the air. Sky and sea became a dizzy whirl. He fell, arms and legs madly flailing. Into the ocean he plunged. Cold brine closed over him, smothering him. Dazed, disorientated, he swiftly sank from view.
Temru fought to clear his spinning head. All about the water churned madly from the thrashing of the monster’s mighty body. He glimpsed blood swirl in crimson clouds. Fear gripped him. He fought it down, arrowed upward towards the guiding light. The young man broke the surface and gasped air into his starved lungs. All about was a welter of chaos. The monster towered over him, the body of some hapless victim in its crunching jaws. The thing swallowed the corpse darted for another floundering Amazon.
Unarmed, Temru could only gaze in utter horror as the creature feasted. He looked wildly about. There was no sign of Amari. Had she fallen victim to the beast’s raging hunger? With sick fear he turned his frightened face towards it. Again it reared up with a body between its capacious jaws, the yard long spines upon its neck glistening wetly.
An idea sprang to mind – a plan of utter desperation. He swam to the monster, gripped a spine protruding from its scaly skin and began to climb using the bony protrusions like a ladder’s rungs. Swiftly he mounted the feeding beast which, engrossed in its sickening meal was oblivious to him.
In but moments he had gained a position just behind its vile head. Gripping a spine, he heaved upon it with all the strength of terror. The bony growth snapped. The horror hissed in pain. Now it was aware of the strange thing clinging to it. It reached for the dangling man with its murderous jaws. Temru hung on with one hand; with the other he thrust the snapped spine like a rapier.
The bony growth speared one yellow orb. The monster hissed in agony, writhed violently, flinging him off. Temru crashed into the water, surfaced spluttering. He looked desperately around, saw the horror. Its head reared skyward, the spine buried deeply in its eye. The monster’s jaws distended in a piercing cry. The thing stiffened. Head and neck fell like a toppled tree.
Temru gasped. The beast was falling directly on him. He dived, swam with all his might. The thing hit in a thunder of spray. He felt some part of it brush his foot as it sank beneath the waves, then he was clear and surfacing breathlessly, heart pounding wildly. He saw Amari in the distance, clinging to a section of the wreck. He swam towards her, relieved that she was still alive.
“Are you hurt?” he gasped upon reaching the princess. “Where are the others?”
“Either eaten or drowned,” she replied shakily as he also grasped the wreckage.
Temru hung his head. “May their souls rest easy in the abode of the blessed,” he said in murmured benediction. Then to the girl: “We’d best start swimming for the shore. There may be other creatures nearby.”
“I can’t swim,” she admitted, ashamed at confessing a perceived weakness in front of him.
Amari tensed as he placed his arm about her waist to help support her.
“Relax; I’m going to aid you. Maintain your hold and kick your legs as I do. We’ll get there. Trust me.”
After what seemed centuries of struggle the couple gained the shore. With the dregs of strength they crawled from the clinging waves to collapse upon the warm sand, totally exhausted. By now it was late afternoon. The sun was sinking and within an hour night would be upon the world.
After a time Amari roused her tired body, sat up with an effort. “We’d best move further up the beach,” she said. “The tide might come in at night. I have no desire to be drowned in my sleep.”
Temru agreed. He followed her on shaky legs. Both slumped beneath a tall spreading tree and leaned against its smooth white bole. Branches, thick with strappy lilac leaves and black fruit overarched them. The young man gazed at the fruit speculatively, wondering if it was edible. Looking around he saw that some had fallen.
One appeared fresher than the rest so he picked it up and began an examination. It was a lobed ovoid about the size of a pineapple. The skin was warty and of a waxy texture. Temru broke it open. The interior was white and firm with a floral scent. A large dark brown globular seed lay in the centre.
“Have you ever seen the likes of this?” he asked.
“How could I,” responded his companion testily. “I’ve never been here before, have I?”
Her sharp response was more anger at herself than Temru. When her mother, Queen Zedee, had ordered her to marry, she had obeyed out of duty, which was indoctrinated into every Amazon from an early age. She loathed the idea of marriage to the prince, doubly so. Firstly, she had no desire to wed and was being compelled. Secondly, it was to an enemy – a man of Chiamnis, the very nation whose warriors had slain her oldest sister in the last of the major battles. Her emotions were still raw.
The war was over by the time Amari was fully qualified as an officer. She’d never had the opportunity to strike back at those who’d slain Theras, and so Temru had become the target of her ire. But it was increasingly difficult to hate the man. Although he wasn’t at all like the Chiamnian caricature of a misogynistic brute she’d been fed on at the academy, nonetheless Amari felt she’d be betraying Theras by liking him.
Temru looked at her sharply. Of course he had no idea of her history or what was going on inside her head. He was tired and hungry, and after all he’d endured his patience was well and truly at an end. In addition she hadn’t even thanked him for saving her. He decided to drop his diplomatic mask, speak plainly, and to the Ninth Hell with the consequences.
“Are you naturally rude, or did you have special lessons as part of your education?” he brusquely asked.
“Amari glared at him, glad of an opportunity to hate him. “At least I had an education, you uncultured barbarian. You’ve no brains to match wits with me, so don’t even try.”
“Brains?” replied Temru, his temper also rising. “If I tapped that skull of yours all I’d hear is echoes. It’s as empty as the flagon of a drunkard.”
Amari swore. She lunged at him spitting curses, a fist swinging for his face. Temru parried her blow. The pair clinched. They wrestled, churned the sand with their wild writhing, striving to the utmost as each employed all the fighting skills at their command. It was a furious brawl, but brief. Both were spent from their ordeals and within a minute each had exhausted what little strength remained. Temru lay upon Amari, breathing hard from the struggle, pinning her to the ground with his muscular frame.
“Get off me, you oaf,” she hissed.
“I can’t,” he panted, then started laughing at the utter ridiculousness of it all.
“You are insane,” she said as she heaved him off.
“Yes,” he said as he wearily rolled on his back, his mirth spent. “I’m insane. The world is insane, and the gods who created it all; well, they must be insane too. Perhaps death is the only escape from the madness of existence.”
And with that grim conclusion he fell almost instantly into the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
**********
Temru woke. Although stiff and sore, the black mood of the previous night had largely left him, and one of his first thoughts on waking was to wonder if in the light of morning Amari’s disposition was any better. With an effort he sat up and looked around. The princess was leaning against a tree eating the fruit that had been the source of their quarrel. Wordlessly, she tossed him another which he clumsily caught due to the weakness of hunger. He could sense she’d been tempted to hurl it at him.
They ate their breakfast in a rather strained silence, and Temru soon realized he’d have to be the one to try and break the icy quiet.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he began. “I’m not usually argumentative. This dreadful situation has been a strain on both of us to say the least. I humbly ask your pardon. If you cannot love me nor be my friend, then at the very least let there be a truce between us. If we fight each other our chances of survival are significantly reduced.”
Amari was silent for a moment, surprised that he’d apologized and asked for her forgiveness. “Your suggestion is sensible,” she replied, somewhat mollified. “I agree. But be warned: my temper is short and my memory long. Do not insult me again. When you’ve finished eating we’ll look for water.”
The meal was soon complete, and both were feeling much stronger after appeasing their hunger. They set out along the beach, hoping to find a stream flowing to the sea, and within a little over an hour they came across a small brook. Being near the ocean the water at its mouth tasted brackish, and so they decided to follow it inland where hopefully it would prove potable.
The jungle closed over them in a dense mass as they waded up the watercourse. It was like walking through a living tunnel. All around them the white tree trunks rose to dizzy heights, and the strange translucent leaves tinged the slanting sunlight with amethyst hues. Fern-like plants, so dark a shade of purple that they appeared black in the dim light, festooned the stream’s banks in feathery masses, sweeping back into the aisles of the rainforest.
They had come about a hundred yards when Temru again tasted the water and found it pure and cool. He advised Amari. To his surprise she began to remove her clothes, placing them on a large bolder in the middle of the stream. Again he wondered why she would allow him to see her naked when she’d made it clear she had no feelings for him but hostility. He assumed, and correctly so, that Thufoorans had a different attitude to nudity.
“I’m going to wash the salt and sand from my body and apparel as well as drink,” she explained, and then added: “Don’t mistake my actions as an erotic invitation.”
Temru remained silent. There was no point in saying anything. He turned his back on Amari, moved to the other side of the bolder and began to disrobe, intending to be practical and follow her example.
He’d been bathing for less than a minute when he happened to look up and by chance caught sight of what appeared to be a figure darting from the concealment of one tree to another. A second later something pinged off the bolder and landed in the stream. It was swept away by the current before he had a chance to see it.
Temru ducked and another projectile bounced of the rock. With a muttered oath he quickly slid around the boulder. Amari glared at him as he squatted next to her. She grabbed the knife clenched between her teeth and menaced him with it.
“Someone is out there,” he whispered, ignoring the threat, and then explained what had happened.
Amari peered cautiously over the bolder. She gasped in pain. A dart had struck her in the back. Temru swore, jerked it out. Then he too cried in agony as he was hit. He turned, pulling the dart from his arm. Warriors emerged from the trees front and rear of them. They were surrounded.
At first sight he thought they were children because of their diminutive stature, but then saw their bodies had the proportions of adults despite each being no more than four feet tall. The men were heavily muscled with deep chests. Some were armed with long blowguns, others with small steel bucklers and swords resembling machetes. Their hairless skins were as black as onyx, and their eyes dark amber. They wore black leather kilts, and heavy sandals completed their raiment. The warriors advanced menacingly towards the couple. Temru wrenched a stone from the streambed. It was a pitiful weapon, but better than nothing.
Amari groaned, staggered, the knife falling from her hand. Temur caught her. Fear then clutched him. The darts must have been envenomed. Sickness came upon him, but it wasn’t the sickness of terror. He felt weak. His vision began to blur. He too had been poisoned. The young man swayed. Amari slipped from his palsied hands and fell face down in the water. Then he, too, tumbled in the stream as his mind was blotted out by darkness.
Temru regained consciousness. He had been dragged from the stream and his hands had been bound securely behind his back. He still felt a little groggy, but his mind was sufficiently clear to realize that the darts must have been coated with an anesthetic rather than a toxin. He looked around worriedly and saw that Amari was lying several feet from him. Both captives were surrounded by hard faced warriors.
The princess was also bound and just beginning to wake up. Her eyes fluttered open. Amari tried to move and found herself restrained. She began to curse and fight against her bonds, lashing out with her unbound feet. One warrior howled as her heel slammed against his shin. In an instant the stricken man’s companions fell upon the girl, pinning her legs with their weight; others began to beat her savagely with their lengthy blowguns.
“Don’t resist,” cried Temru, “they’re intent on capture, not killing.”
Amari ignored him. A Thufooran Amazon never surrenders. She fought on, managed to sink her teeth into an opponent’s calf. The man cursed, stumbled away. Another warrior struck her on the head. She groaned. Her body went limp, her struggles stilled.
Temru looked on in fear and worry as the warriors bound her feet. He prayed her skull hadn’t been fractured by the savage blow. Other captors cut a sapling, threaded the trimmed pole between her bound limbs and hoisted it to their shoulders. Amari was carried away as if she was nothing more than slaughtered game.
The remaining warriors then prodded Temru to his feet with their swords and herded him after those carrying the girl. He didn’t resist. Prudence was the best course of action at the moment. Resistance would only result in a severe beating. Most captives were usually made slaves. It wasn’t a fate Temru relished, but he was pragmatic and in his eyes it was better to be a live slave than a dead freeman. If he was alive then there was at least the possibility of escape.
Within a few minutes the party came upon a paved trail that led towards the island’s interior. Later, he would learn that he and Amari had been captured by one of the many patrols that regularly scoured the coastline looking for invaders. Not knowing this at the moment, and being unable to do anything for Amari, Temru concentrated on observing his captors, the likes of which he’d never seen before.
They moved on in silence for a time. Up ahead he suddenly heard Amari’s fiery imprecations. Temru said a silent prayer of thanks to his divinity. The princess had regained consciousness. Obviously, she was neither comfortable nor happy, but from the violence of her defiant curses it was clear that she wasn’t badly injured. The young man breathed a sigh of relief. She was a trial, but he wasn’t so callous as to want her seriously hurt or dead.
An hour passed and they emerged from the jungle. The land had been steadily rising along the course of their march, and now above them was a cleared and terraced area of the mountainside in which grew many crops, and higher still a strange city carved from the very granite of the steep acclivity.
Temru looked on in wonder at the sight. A tremendous amount of labor must have been needed to create what his eyes beheld. The farmed terraces were artificial, each level connected to the other by broad stone steps. The buildings of the city, also terraced, were constructed on four levels each five miles long.
Every building had been hewn from the living rock in monolithic blocks. None were facades with cave-like living quarters at the rear. All had been carved in the round; then further chiseling by the master sculptors had formed doors, windows, floors and internal staircases. The buildings were tall cylinders with flat roofs and were ornamented with panels of intricate carving. It was like lacework in stone, with color achieved by the use of different types of minerals in hues of blue, red and white.
Temru’s captors prodded him on, for he had stopped for a moment to marvel at the sight. They climbed the stairways, passing up through the terraced farmland in which many workers labored, tending extensive fruit trees and root crops. They crossed small stone bridges along the way that spanned numerous irrigation channels and then mounted staircase after staircase. By the time they reached the lowest level of the city Temru’s leg muscles were afire. In that moment he envied Amari who was still being carried by her captors, and marveled that the men could bear her weight without halting in a breathless pause.
At last they reached the highest terrace of the metropolis after having passed through those below, which were thronged with the diminutive inhabitance going about their daily tasks. Men and women had stopped to stare at the prisoners as they were hustled across the marketplace and then through many squares where fountains splashed and filled the air with rainbows imprisoned in their mist.
Temru noticed that the buildings became more elaborately decorated with each ascending terrace. On the lowest level colored but common stone had been used, but by mid level this had been replaced by semiprecious minerals. Now that they were at the highest terrace precious gemstones were in great use as well as heavy gilding.
The party moved along the broad terrace that formed a kind of avenue that the buildings fronted. The crowds were less here and the people more richly dressed. The black leather kilts of the warriors and the brown of the commoners had given way to ones of white lacework of similar pattern to the carvings, and further decorated with faceted gemstone beads. The captives were ignored by the aristocrats, the prisoners being beneath their dignity to notice. It was a relief to Temru. Being stared at whilst completely naked in public was most embarrassing.
After about fifteen minutes they arrived at a cylindrical building of four levels - far larger than the rest of the two story structures and also more heavily gilded. They passed through its well guarded entrance and entered a reception area illuminated by circular windows of pierced stonework. At the far end of the chamber was a high granite platform, heavily carved. Upon it were two people. One, a young woman, sat on an ornate backless chair; the other was a wizened ancient who, leaning on a tall black staff, stood beside her.
Temru gazed at the woman with curiosity as they drew near. Her size and color was similar to his captors’ hue and stature. She, too, was bereft of hair except for arching eyebrows and lengthy lashes. Her face was broad, her lips full. It was a strong countenance that matched her muscular large breasted figure. A star-shaped pattern of ritual scars marked her brow and indicated she was the ruler of her people as did the purple hue of the tasseled kilt she wore, which was her only garment.
The woman observed the approaching party with an inscrutable expression. Temru shifted his gaze to the ancient standing next to her in an attempt to divine his attitude. The man’s eyes were white, blinded by cataracts. His bony hands gripped the staff that supported his wiry leathery figure. His face was thin and cruel, his narrow lips set in a perpetual grimace as if the very existence of the world offended him. With his dead eyes and malevolent physiognomy he presented the aspect of a most sinister apparition and Temru shivered involuntarily.
The party halted at the foot of the platform. Amari was lowered none too gently to the floor. The princess, who had remained silent for most of the journey, having exhausted herself by fruitlessly struggling against her bonds and cursing her captors, again made voluble complaint with a spray of venomous oaths.
“Enough,” angrily cried the woman on the throne. “You are in the presence of Nenara, queen of Meni, this island. You will conduct yourself with civility whilst in my court.”
Amari stopped her cursing and looked up. The queen had spoken in Cho, a widely used mercantile language. Despite their isolation this unknown people obviously had some contact with the outside world.
“I am Amari,” she haughtily replied, “Princess of Thufoora and an Amazon warrior. Your men have laid foul hands upon me. I demand my immediate release and all the courtesies royalty is entitled to.”
Temru groaned. Nenara raised an eyebrow.
“Your royal title means nothing here,” replied the queen, mildly. “Slavery is the fate of all those washed upon our shore. Such are the laws of Meni.”
“Your majesty,” interjected Temru, fearing another outburst from Amari would make their situation worse. “I am prince Temru of Chiamnis. I’m sure that if you contact my father, king Agron, and Amari’s mother queen Zedee, that both will pay a handsome compensation for any inconvenience we have inadvertently caused.”
It was of course a suggestion of ransom, diplomatically put. Temru wasn’t sure if Agron would pay considering he wasn’t his true son. But he was gambling on the fact that it would look extremely odd if he refused and that the king would do so to avoid suspicion. That queen Zedee would pay was more certain, or so he hoped.
Nenara looked at Temru, seeing him clearly for the first time. It was obvious from her expression that she liked what she saw. But it didn’t change her stance in any way.
“If I did as you suggest we would make ourselves known to the outside world. I and my people have learned what you mainlanders are like from shipwrecked sailors. Your people are much larger than us and more numerous. Our island is rich in gemstones. My people would be easily conquered by your superior strength and numbers. We would become slaves mining the wealth of our own nation for the benefit of foreign masters. I have no desire to see my people in chains and under the lash. No, slavery must be your fate for the sake of the greater good.”
“Not necessarily,” said the shriveled ancient standing next to her. His voice had an unnerving sibilant quality, and his thin lips were twisted into a cunning smile. Nenara gave him a sharp look filled with loathing and suspicion. Temru observed the interaction and gained the distinct impression that simmering enmity existed between the pair.
The man turned his dead eyes upon the false prince, and although blind Temru felt that nothing much slipped passed this sinister fellow.
“I am Sashaster, high priest of Oron, our chief god,” he continued. “If you seek freedom for yourself and your companion you may gain it in the Arena of Blood by challenging our queen to a dual. It will be to first blood, not death. If you win she must grant any reward you desire. It is either this or accept slavery as you fate. Such are our laws.”
Nenara sprang from her throne in fury and glared hatred at Sashaster, no longer caring about civility. “You seek to create mischief, priest. You think the man can defeat me? Perhaps you think you can use him as a tool to humiliate me? A curse upon you! That law is ancient and has never been used in a thousand years. It is an anachronism form an age of savagery that we have moved beyond.”
“It may not have been used in recent history,” countered Sashaster, mildly. “But it is still the law, and we must all respect the law, both commoner and royal. Would you prefer I take this matter to the council for adjudication?”
The queen gave him a murderous look. The council was a bunch of wrinkled traditionalists. They’d see things Sashaster’s way, and a defeat would further undermine her position. Being high priest, Sashaster was untouchable as was Nenara. Both were sacred personages. Neither one could directly harm the other by way of assassin’s blade or poison. No one would carry out the task for fear of damnation in this life and the next, and so each sought to damage the other by more subtle means.
The cause of the conflict between the two was the high priest’s fanatical religious based misogyny. Quenmas, Nenara’s father, had died a year ago, and as he had no sons his daughter now sat upon the throne. To a man like Sashaster having a woman as a ruler was intolerable. Consequently, he schemed to undermine her at every opportunity. His aim was to discredit Nenara to the point where the council would support his call for her removal, and replace her with a man sympathetic to his twisted zealotry.
Amari had been silently listening to the byplay. She’d seen the look Nenara had given Temru and being a woman knew exactly what it meant. Slowly, jealousy had been stirring in her breast, which now rose and fell with hot emotion. The reaction confused her. She didn’t love Temru. Why should she care if another woman was attracted to him? Perhaps it was because Temru didn’t object to her attention. Perhaps he found the queen’s full bodied figure more desirable, perhaps it was because he didn’t introduce Amari as his wife. The thought stung her pride. Now her anger reached its peak and drove her to harsh utterance.
“Enough talk, Amari cried. “Temru is my husband by lawful marriage. You may be queen, but you’re also a barbarian. He will fight for my honor, my freedom and knock you to the dirt where you belong. I demand the dual commence at once.”
Temru grimaced. He felt he’d been backed into a corner. He wasn’t at all happy. He’d have preferred the matter to be resolved peacefully. He was a master swordsman, not some cutthroat bravo of the street. But he could hardly refuse to champion his wife, and so the matter was definitely decided.
It was now late afternoon of the same day, and Temru waited before the iron gate that opened onto the circular arena, a space normally used for theatrical performances. He looked out through the bars of the grillwork and saw something of the crowd that had gathered to observe the spectacle. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves. The battle wouldn’t be to the death, but a lot was riding on the outcome. This was no mere friendly bout between gentlemanly aristocrats. His freedom and that of Amari depended on his victory.
A gong crashed out resonantly, its deep reverberations making him jump. One of the guards behind him laughed derisively. Temru ignored the man. The gate slid open and he walked out into the ring. It was a shallow bowel cut into the bedrock. Its sides were lined with tiers of stone seats divided into four quadrants, each representing one level of the city. There was a hiss of disapproval as the throng occupying the tiers laid hostile eyes upon him.
The flat area where the combat would occur was about eighty feet in diameter and enclosed by a tall fence of spiked iron rods which had been erected for the occasion. At the far end another gate had opened and Nenara strode forth. The spectators rose and cheered enthusiastically, a sharp contrast to the vociferous catcalls to which he’d been subjected.
Temru stopped searching for Amari in the quadrant reserved for the nobility. His wife was somewhere up there under guard. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Would she shed a tear if he was accidently killed? Temru pushed these thoughts aside and focused on his opponent. Nenara wore stilts that raised her height to six feet to offset the disadvantage of her small stature. She was also armed with a staff of light flexible wood five feet in length and approximately an inch in diameter, one end of which was covered in a seven inch sleeve of quarter inch bronze spikes. The legs of her stilts were also covered in numerous short spikes. The stilts, like the rod could be used as weapons to strike at an opponent.
His weapon was identical to that of the queen’s, and his legs were protected by spiked grieves. The dual wasn’t to the death, at least theoretically. The spikes of both combatants’ weapons were no more than a quarter inch long, designed to lacerate not deeply wound. But Temru knew that if Nenara’s stilts or her staff struck him in the head that such a blow might very well prove fatal.
Again the gong sounded, signaling the fight could commence. The crowd fell silent as the dualists approached each other with wary caution. They began circling, looking for an opening. Nenara struck first. She thrust the tip of her weapon against the ground to keep her balance and swiftly swung a kick at Temru’s head.
The young man raised his staff, blocked the stroke and felt the thudding impact of the blow. Had it struck it would have surely fractured his skull. He countered by swinging at her other stilt. The blow slammed home. Nenara staggered, but used her staff with skill to stop herself from falling. Again, they circled like snarling tigers.
Temru thrust at his opponent’s face. Nenara parried. The spiked ends locked together like biting teeth. The queen jerked her weapon. Temru stumbled; his staff was torn from his grasp. He fell flat on his face. The crowd cheered wildly. Nenara stabbed viciously at his prone form. Temru rolled. The spiked tip struck sand, not flesh. He heaved himself upright and nimbly dodged another thrust. But now Nenara was between him and his fallen weapon.
He tried to circle, to lunge for his staff. The queen swung her weapon, forcing him to jump away. Leaping at him she lashed out with a kick he barely avoided. The throng went wild. Nenara tried to kick sand in his face. The grit struck his chest. Again she thrust at him. He sidestepped, managed to catch her staff just below its spiked end. He heaved mightily.
Nenara stumbled, gasped. Temru raced forward and swung his leg. His grieve crashed against the queen’s stilt, knocking it from under her. Already unbalanced she fell heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted in consternation as Temru dashed to her side. He grabbed Nenara’s weapon and hurled it away.
She tried to kick him. He leapt over her sweeping stilt and flung himself upon her. Grabbing her arm he twisted viciously. The queen gasped in pain, struggled furiously. He was forced to increase the pressure. She screamed, went limp, breathing in ragged gasps.
“Do you yield?” he asked.
She cursed him with vehement defiance.
Grim faced he applied more force. She shrilly screamed. Her body writhed in agony.
“Do you yield?” he harshly asked.
“Yes,” she sobbed.
Her tears made him feel like a monster.
Temru helped the weeping woman stand. Her only injury was a nosebleed, some bruising and a very sore arm. He felt relieved. He hadn’t injured her badly.
“I’ve drawn first blood,” he said. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you. All I ask is for my freedom and that of Amari.”
**********
It was now evening. Things had not progressed as Temru had hoped. He stood in the middle of the council chamber with Amari at his side. Both were chained and surrounded by guards. Before the prisoners was a high platform, and on it a backless chair occupied by Amari. Against the left wall of the small room was a long bench on which the six councilors sat, and on the right was Sashaster, standing on a platform smaller and lower than the queen’s.
Temru gazed at Nenara. She was clearly displeased, and with good reason. The crowd had been in an uproar as he’d helped her from the arena. Word of the queen’s defeat had spread quickly through the city and left the population in a state of agitation. The young man feared reprisals from Nenara. He’d beaten her in front of her people. He hadn’t really expected her to free him and Amari. Surprisingly, she’d been quite civil. She hadn’t congratulated him on his victory – that would have been expecting too much, but she had conducted him to a guest room rather than a dungeon, and here he’d been reunited with Amari.
The queen had stayed with them, summoning a scribe to draw up papers for their freedom. But it wasn’t long before a member of the council had requested Nenara’s presence at a crisis meeting. Shortly after the queen’s departure the councilors’ personal guards had burst within the room where Temru and Amari had been waiting. They’d been seized, chained and brought to the assembly. Temru shifted his gaze to the high priest. Sashaster had been addressing the councilors for some time in the local tongue, but now it seemed he was winding up his argument.
“Gentlemen, in summary of all I’ve said,” began the high priest. “We are a small nation. These mainlanders,” he continued, aggressively thrusting his finger in the direction of the prisoners, “are more numerous and physically stronger. We are already vulnerable and having a woman as a ruler makes us even weaker.”
The queen shot to her feet, fury etched upon her face. Her temper had been steadily rising throughout Sashaster’s address. She knew what he was up to.
“You aren’t concerned about our nation,” she spat. “The only thing that concerns you is removing me from the throne. You’re a woman hater and having a female as ruler is intolerable. Who do you plan to replace me with; your son, perhaps? Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? Karon is as dumb as an orex. He’ll do as you tell him and thus you will be the real power in Meni.”
“Karon is a strong man,” countered Sashaster. “He wouldn’t have been defeated in combat. But you were and these foreigners have gained their freedom as a result. So long as they are free they can escape our island and bring hoards of greedy mainlanders down upon us. They will overrun our land, slaughter our men, rape our women and make slaves of our children. No, this cannot be permitted. With every passing decade sightings of mainlander ships have become more numerous. It is only a matter of time before they find us. War is coming. We need a warrior on the throne, not a weak woman,” he concluded contemptuously.
The last remark so enraged the queen that speech failed her. She stood glaring at Sashaster with all the venom of a cobra as her councilors agitatedly spoke among themselves. Though blind the high priest sensed that his argument had struck a chord. But the councilors were conflicted, not wishing to act against the queen in betrayal. It was obvious they were unlikely to come to the unanimous decision required to remove her. He also sensed that Nenara was regaining her composure, and in a moment might say something that would sway them fully in her favor.
“Gentlemen,” he cried above the hum of the conversation, switching to an alternative plan. “I see that you cannot agree. If so then let the gods decide. Let us gather in the temple. I will perform the Ritual of Divination by which Heaven will make its wishes known. In the meantime have the prisoners and the queen taken into protective custody.”
The councilors, ineffectual men who held their posts by inheritance rather than competence, looked relieved. To support Nenara or betray her – either decision could be a mistake. Let the gods take responsibility for it, and thereby leave them blameless. Rykis, chief among them stood.
“Your words are wise,” he said. “Begin immediate preparations for the ritual.” Then turning to Nenara: “Your majesty, the gods are just and judicious, far more so than mere men. We leave this matter in their hands.”
The queen looked at him with withering contempt. “The high priest is the spokesperson for the gods. He puts his own words into their mouths. You poor fools are blinder than Sashaster. He will seize power through his wrenched son. Then all of you will feel his bony hands about your scrawny throats.”
“Blasphemy,” shouted Sashaster. “The queen is mad.” Then to the guards: “Take her and the prisoners to the dungeons. Lock them in and then bring the keys to me.”
The sergeant of the guard looked at Rykis. The man reluctantly nodded. A furious Nenara and the captives were quickly hustled from the room.
**********
Temru gripped the bars and looked around the bleak and cramped confines of their dusty prison, which was some distance from the palace. All three had been thrust into a cell measuring no more than five feet square. They were deep underground. Weak light came through small perforations in the stone of the high ceiling, as well as water for it had begun to rain. There were also perforations in the cell’s floor through which the water drained along with bodily fluids.
The cell was one of a dozen others arranged about a shadowed circular room. To the right of the cell were stairs that led up to freedom. The way was sealed by a locked grillwork door. The prisoners were alone. No guards were present should one loyal to Nenara free the queen and her companions. The cunning high priest, now sole possessor of the keys, had seen to that.
A sob made Temru turn from his futile search of the prison. It was Nenara. She sat huddled in the corner of the cell, arms wrapped about her knees, trembling. He knelt by her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She raised her head and looked at him with teary eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I have a fear of confined spaces. Oh, this horrid cell,” and again she began to weep.
Temru, moved to compassion, took the queen in his arms to comfort her. It was indeed a terrible situation they were in.
Amari looked on; her full lips now thin with furious jealousy. “Need I remind you that I am your wife,” she hissed venomously.
“Are you?” asked the young man, tiredly. “What have you ever done to make me feel we are married? How many times have I extended the hand of friendship only to have it slapped away? Nenara needs comforting. It is kindness, not lust that moves me. Now, leave us alone.”
The words struck Amari more deeply than Temru had intended, for they were said not in anger, but in sadness. She could think of no adequate reply and so shamefacedly remained silent and turned away. They were in a bad situation, no doubt facing a grim end. Bitter regret came upon her. Words of apology seemed so inadequate. She turned, knelt beside Temru and wrapped her arms around him. The trio huddled in the darkness and the wet, awaiting death to fall upon them, for there was no conceivable means of escape.
As the silent and dejected trio huddled in the damp gloom, Temru shifted his positing to get more comfortable, and as he did so he noticed a long crack running through the perforated floor. A faint glimmer of hope stirred within him and caused him to examine the fracture, which ran diagonally from one corner of the cell to the other. His excitement mounted. The crack appeared to run the full depth of the floor, which was in fact a large stone slab that covered the void beneath through which the water flowed.
“What is it?” asked Amari, who had been observing his scrutiny of the floor.
“The stone is cracked right through,” he informed her, “and one section has subsided slightly. It would be too heavy to lift if it was in one piece, but I think that if we shove our fingers through the holes and haul with all our strength that a section will come free.”
Nenara, her composure now regained thanks to Temru’s steadying presence, also bent to look. “You’re right,” she said excitedly. “This dungeon is reserved for political prisoners. It hasn’t been used in many centuries and has fallen into disrepair. Let’s see if we can move it.”
All three heaved mightily. The stone wouldn’t budge. They tried again, desperation lending strength to their effort. Rock grated. The broken section began to move, slowly, painfully. Encouraged, the trio strained to the utmost. Stone protested. It shifted a little more then came free. They let it tumble within the void, and crowded back on the remaining section, exhausted. A shallow splash and a hollow boom reverberated from below.
“It’s a long way down,” panted Temru. “And there’s little water in the tunnel. A broken leg is what we’ll get if we jump.”
“Then we’ll have to make a rope using our clothes,” said Nenara. “I don’t fancy being naked, but I won’t die from embarrassment.”
Quickly, all three removed the kilt-like garments which Menian men and women wore. A rope was soon made from torn cloth, tied to an iron bar of the cell, and dropped into the void. Temru descended first into the pitch black hole and in a short time reached the end of the line. He lowered himself until his arms were straight and his clawing hands grasped the very end of the rope. The young man felt about with his feet. No surface was below him. He could see nothing. The bottom might be a foot away or a thousand feet for all he knew. The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t hang there forever. It was either take a chance or climb back up and face whatever fate Sashaster had in store for them.
Temru let go the rope. He fell, landed with a jar, splashing in ankle deep water. Solid rock had been five feet beneath his heels. He let out the breath he’d been holding and called up to the others that it was safe.
Nenara came next. His groping hands found her legs and he eased her to the floor. Amari soon followed. Her body slid across his as he helped her down. For a moment they stood chest to breast in the darkness. Temru’s hands were around her waist, his cheek pressed against hers. He smelt the fragrance of her skin, felt its warmth and the feminine contours of her body. Then the spell was broken by awareness of Nenara’s inhibiting presence, and the princess gently pushed away from him.
“Which way now?” she asked.
“This is a storm water conduit,” said Nenara. “They run beneath every level of the city, parallel to the buildings,” she continued as she groped about, seeking a directional marker. “There will be hand and footholds cut into the wall at exit points. All we need to do is find one. It doesn’t really matter which way one goes. But in our case we must reach the temple and stop Sashaster. Ah, I’ve found a signpost. Take my hand and I’ll lead you.”
They joined hands, Nenara in the lead and set off gropingly along the pitch black way. As they progressed and their eyes adjusted to the gloom the darkness began to lessen. Temru could now perceive the dim outlines of the others. When he looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel he saw the source of the faint illumination. Strange insect-like things scuttled across the ceiling, disturbed by their approach, their thoraxes glowing with warning light. Nenara did not comment on them. They must be harmless. Nonetheless Temru shuddered at the sight.
As they traversed the conduit Temru questioned the queen on how they could defeat Sashaster. It seemed a very risky plan considering there were only three of them, and he suggested they seek reinforcements.
“I cannot be certain who is loyal to me,” explained Nenara. “We may be betrayed by the very people we seek aid from. You saw how easily my councilors sided with Sashaster. Since my father’s death his influence has been growing, and I have been powerless to stop it. Our only hope is to ambush him during the ritual. There is a gap behind the idol and the wall it stands against. This space can conceal us. When the high priest feels strong hands around his scrawny neck he will submit. It is a desperate plan, but we are in a desperate situation and so desperate measures are required.”
Temru didn’t like it, but there appeared to be no alternative, and so he fell silent and continued with the others along the way. As they progressed another thing began to cause him worry, for he noticed the water level was increasing. Initially, it had been ankle deep, but now it had risen to knee height, and was mounting with disturbing rapidity. Nenara’s worried voice cut through the gloom confirming his unnerving suspicions.
“The light rain has become a wild storm. We must hurry before the tunnel floods,” she said with evident alarm.
They waded on, the rising water hindering their progress. Soon, the flow was at mid thigh. The current had become swifter. It was difficult to maintain a footing. Nenara, being smaller and lighter, was suddenly lifted off her feet. She would have been swept away but for Temru’s firm grip upon her hand.
“How much further?” he anxiously cried as he pulled her close.
“Not far,” she gasped, clinging to him.
They pressed on. The water rose to Temru’s waist. The flow had now become much swifter. He felt his feet losing contact with the bottom. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a surge of water hit. All three were swept away. Amari cried in panic, clung to Temru as did Nenara. The flood tumbled them. They went under, surfaced. Ahead through the gloom Temru glimpsed what appeared to be hand and footholds cut in the square wall of the tunnel.
He swam desperately for it, hindered by his clinging companions. The flood bore him towards his goal in a frightful rush. Again, they went under. Temru kicked powerfully. They surfaced. The wall was upon them. He flung out a clawing hand and caught a stone foothold. But the flood had him in its grip, threatened to tear loose his precarious hold. He grasped the stone cutout with both hands, held on with the strength of sheer desperation.
“Nenara,” he cried. “I can’t maintain my grip much longer. Start climbing.”
The queen caught a handhold, clung fast and began her ascent. He turned to Amari. She was frightened, but in control of her terror. Unprompted, the princess began to climb also. Temru followed. Water was pouring down the shaft like a cataract, making the stone treacherous. Amari cried in fear. Her feet had slipped on the slick rock. She hung by her hands. Temru grabbed an ankle, guided her foot to a foothold. She paused for a moment to gain her breath; then continued on. Shortly, Temru clambered from the aperture to join the others in the drenching rain.
They had emerged in a corner of the Temple’s courtyard garden at the confluence of several drainage channels. Temru helped Nenara replace the grating she’d levered open as Amari kept a wary watch for enemies. Crouching behind a flowering shrub, the young man looked about, and as he did so he saw the temple was constructed on a circular plan that formed a broad ring with a deep colonnade on its inner and outer circumference.
Worshippers entered through a doorway, and progressed clockwise about the temple, making offerings at the shrines of the lesser divinities until they came full circle to the altar of Oron, chief god of the Menian pantheon. Fortunately, the trio had emerged some distance from this area, with the heavy rain obscuring their arrival.
Nenara placed a hand on Temru’s shoulder, making him jump, so keyed up was he in alertness.
“As I’ve mentioned, I can’t be certain of anyone’s loyalty,” she said. “We’ll have to confront Sashaster on our own, take him hostage and force him to submit. Follow me, and keep low.”
The queen led them to the shrine of Oron. The temple was deserted as Nenara had suspected. The heavy rain had delayed the arrival of the priests and nobles. No one wanted to get drenched by the downpour. Shortly, they stood before the altar, and Temru gazed upon the idol with interest.
A wall ran across the width of the temple’s interior, but not the courtyard, separating the entry point from its exit, and it was against this barrier that the shrine had been positioned. The golden statue of the god was some ten feet in height. It sat tailor fashion on a large onyx plinth about two feet tall. The idol was man-like in form and completely nude. Its face was stern. A third eye – the all seeing eye of the god - was set in the middle of its brow, and its head was surrounded by a sunburst of gold rods with large rubies set in their tips.
A long groove had been cut in the top of the plinth at the front of the statue. At one end of the groove was the Menian ideogram for “yes” and at the other the symbol for “no”. A hollow iron sphere, which was slightly smaller than a tennis ball, rested at the channel’s midpoint. The globe was colored with turquoise enamel, and was free to run in either direction along the groove. Also, at each end of the channel was a large pear-shaped incense burner where fragrant offerings to the god were made.
“The Ritual of Divination will be performed before this altar,” explained Nenara. “Sashaster will light the incense burners and offer praise and entreaty to Oron. He will then ask a question that can be answered with a simple yes or no. If it pleases the god to respond, then the ball will mysteriously and of its own violation roll towards one end of the groove or the other, and thus make the will of Heaven known to us.
“My father suspected that trickery is involved as do I. The will of Heaven coincides far too often with that of Sashaster, and his ways are evil. How the trick is accomplished I do not know. That it is effective is beyond doubt, for the people blindly follow these revelations, which are thought to be of divine origin.”
Nenara was about to say more when the sound of running feet splashing on wet stone alerted the trio to someone’s swift approach. Quickly, they retreated to the garden courtyard and crouched behind a shrub. It was none too soon, for within mere moments of concealment the racing figure disclosed itself as it cut across the garden, heading for the shrine of Oron.
The hidden watchers saw that it was a priest – not Sashaster but one of his many underlings. The man, also delayed by the storm, paused by the idol for a moment, breathless from his run, and looked warily about as he rested. Having recovered his breath, and satisfied that he was alone, the priest slipped between the narrow gap that separated the shrine from the wall it stood against – the very gap that the trio had planned to hide behind. He then pressed a section of the plinth. A door in the statue’s back swung inwards and he disappeared within the hollow idol.
All three watchers looked at each other. It seemed the solution to the mystery of the god was at hand. With unspoken agreement they crept warily to the idol. Suddenly, Amari gripped Temru’s shoulder in alarm. She cocked her head. From beyond the wall came the sound of many voices. The rain had eased and the nobles were now entering the temple. Quickly, all three squeezed behind the statue and began a careful examination of the plinth. In moments a section gave beneath Nenara’s probing fingers and the door swung silently inwards.
Cautiously, the queen peered within. A short ladder led to a chamber below the shrine. The priest was there. By ill chance the man looked up. His eyes widened in alarm. He shouted wildly and drew a wicked dagger from his girdle. The queen cursed silently. The coming nobles would have been alerted by his reverberating cry. Indeed, from beyond the wall came a questioning yell, then the rush of many feet hurrying to investigate.
Below, the priest waited alertly with his dagger, ready to stab any seeking to foolishly descend. He was beyond the reach of possible attack. That way was securely blocked. There was no time to flee, for in mere seconds the crowd would sweep around the wall and savagely fall upon the profaning escapees.
The priest also heard the rush of feet. He paled in sudden realization. The door was open and the falsity of his religion was in danger of exposure. He hurled his dagger at Nenara. As the blade left his hand he scrambled up the ladder in a frantic bid to close the secret way. But his hurried aim was poor. The dagger missed. It clanged against the door jamb. Nenara thrust her fingers in his eye as he gained the upper rung.
The priest screamed, fell back. The queen leapt within the idol. Amari swiftly followed. Temru entered and slammed the door as a second later the hurrying nobles burst within that portion of temple before the shrine. The young man clung anxiously to the ladder, one ear pressed against the door as he listened to the muffled voices of the searching throng. If they were discovered all was lost. Tense moments passed, but eventually the agitated sounds died away. Temru guessed that Sashaster had brought order to the crowd, and settled them with a pacifying explanation least their continued prying accidently discover the secret of the idol.
Temru descended the ladder with slow caution, fearing the slightest noise would again rouse the suspicion of their violent enemies. His companions waited quietly at the bottom. The priest was even quieter – his neck had been broken by the fall. Temru stepped from the ladder and looked around the cramped interior.
Dim light and muted sound filtered in through fine ornamental perforations in the face of the idol’s onyx plinth. Beneath the groove in the top of the plinth and running parallel to it were wooden rails, and upon these rails was a small trolley about eighteen inches long and seven wide. The trolley was positioned in the middle of the rails. At one end of the rails was the Menian ideogram for “yes” and at the other the symbol for “no," each marking corresponding to that at the ends of the groove on the plinth. A large black stone possessing a metallic luster was fastened to the trolley by copper bands.
Temru stared in puzzlement at the arrangement; then he smiled as the truth dawned upon him. Stooping, he picked up the dead priest’s fallen dagger and touched its blade to the stone fastened to the trolley. The steel clung to the rock, confirming his suspicion that it was a loadstone – iron ore that had been magnetized naturally.
The secret of cunning priest craft was now exposed. Sashaster would utter his question, his voice coming through the perforations to the cleric hidden within the idol. The preordained answer would then be given by rolling the loadstone either left or right which, in turn, would drag the enameled iron ball in the desired direction, thus making the supposed will of Heaven known. Temru succinctly explained this to his companions in a whisper.
“We must use Sashaster’s cunning against him,” quietly responded Nenara. She paused in thoughtful silence for a moment, and then continued. “Listen carefully, for this is what we must do …”
Sashaster began the Ritual of Divination. Though blind he was thoroughly familiar with the layout of the temple and, with the aid of his staff to feel the way, needed no assistance. He lit the incense burners, and shortly a strongly fragrant scent filled the air, its spicy odor drifting through the crowd. He began his eerie sibilant chant in a long dead tongue so ancient that it was foreign to the expectant congregation. A minute passed. The chant ended. He bowed low to the glittering idol. The congregation followed his example.
“Oh Lord of Heaven,” he began in the contemporary language of Meni. “Our kingdom is troubled. Danger threatens on all sides: From within a weak and ineffectual queen, and from without powerful foreign foes who would conquer us. We greatly fear Nenara is unsuited to meet the challenges of this menace, and seek your divine guidance in this matter. It greatly behooves us to ask this question, but the welfare of the kingdom is above that of any individual, and so we seek to know if queen Nenara should be forced to abdicate in favor of another more suited to the throne. I beseech you, oh mighty Oron: make your will known to your humble devotees.”
It was with difficulty that Sashaster concluded his entreaty without smirking. It was a pretty speech but one malodorous with hypocrisy. The high priest well knew that all gods were figments of the imagination, but nonetheless useful tools for manipulating the gullible. Sashaster had nothing but contempt for the fools who bowed in all sincerity before the blind and deaf idols of their own creation.
The high priest heard the iron ball begin to roll, sensed the expectation of the intently watching throng. The globe ceased its motion; the crowd murmured at the answer of the god.
“What says Oron,” he asked rhetorically, well aware of the preordained outcome.
“The Lord of Heaven does not favor abdication,” cried Rykis, the queen’s chief councilor. “The ball has rolled to the ideogram for negation.”
Sashaster staggered in shock. This was definitely not the answer he had planned. Then his astonishment gave way to wild fury. That fool of a cleric had badly blundered. How could the idiot have gotten things so wrong? Quickly, the high priest smoothed his emotions and resumed an air of outward calm. Now composed he turned to the congregation and addressed them.
“The Lord of Heaven has made his will known. I must now commune with Oron in private and seek further clarification. All of you may depart, but do not release the queen or the other prisoners until after I have sought additional guidance in this matter.”
Again, the crowd began to murmur. Many wondered why Sashaster needed further explanation when the answer had been so clear and definite. But a lifetime of indoctrination stifled their doubts. It was not for them to question the high priest – the mouthpiece of the gods - and so they began to depart, talking among themselves as they left.
“Karon, are you there?” called out Sashaster.
“Yes, father,” responded one noble, set apart from the others by his huge stature and brutality of countenance.
“I must speak with you. Stay with me and by my side.”
The pair waited in silence until the throng had completely left the temple. Sashaster then turned to his son and spoke in a low but agitated voice, explaining how the priest hidden within the idol had, through sheer stupidity, thrown their well laid plans into utter disarray.
“I thought the answer strange,” murmured Karon. “I assumed there had been a last moment change of plans. What shall we do?” he asked, worriedly.
“Kill that fool of a priest, first,” hissed Sashaster. “Strangle him slowly. I want to delight in his gasps of agony as he dies!”
A malicious grin spread across Karon’s brutal features. Both men moved towards the idol, their passions aflame with black delight. Sashaster’s son slid behind the statue; opened the secret door. A dagger flew out. It struck Karon’s shoulder. He gasped, staggered sideways as Temru leapt through the open door and at his bleeding foe. Karon was wounded but the brute’s sheer vitality kept him on his feet. He jerked the dagger from his shoulder and struck savagely at his attacker. Temru caught his wrist, stilled the plunging blade. Both men wrestled furiously within the confines of the narrow space.
A giant by the standards of his people, Karon easily matched Temru in strength and ferocity. He head butted his opponent. Temru gasped. Karon broke the young man’s weakened hold as Amari scrambled from the idol. Temru fell, tripped by his wild assailant. The dagger plunged upon the fallen man. With a savage cry Amari leapt at Karon, caught his arm. They grappled furiously, straddling Temru who, stunned by the fall, lay helpless on the flagstones.
Karon spat in Amari’s face. The distraction was enough. His hand pierced her guard, clamped upon her throat like claws of iron. She gasped for air. Her knees buckled. Karon tore his knife hand from her weakened grip, prepared to strike a fatal blow. The man gasped in sudden agony. The dagger fell harmlessly. Karon’s hands clutched his groin. Amari staggered free as he tumbled in a moaning heap, downed by Temru’s brutal kick. The young man snatched the dagger from the floor, struck mercilessly. Blood gushed and Karon died in a pool of his own gore.
Temru climbed painfully to his feet. He turned and saw Amari leaning weakly against the idol. Her throat was bruised and she was gasping. He stepped towards her and she embraced him, her head resting on his shoulder. He could feel her racing heart pressed against his own with stirring intimacy.
The sound of Nenara clambering from the idol made them move apart. The queen looked hurriedly around. “Where is Sashaster?” she worriedly asked.
Quickly, all three stepped from behind the idol and caught a glimpse of the high priest disappearing behind a fountain in the middle of the temple garden. The trio rushed to the leaping cascade. They stopped in bewilderment. Sashaster had vanished without a trace.
Temru swore. “How can this be?” he gasped. “We were upon the very heels of the devil, and now he has gone utterly.”
“The fountain must hide a secret way,” suggested Nenara. “We must find it before Sashaster eludes us completely.”
Swiftly, they began a hurried search of the fountain, which was a series of three concentric rings, each about two feet in height, with water filling the space between them. The entire structure was approximately twenty feet in diameter. Jets of spray spouted from the rims of the two innermost circles to form a curtain of gracefully falling liquid six feet in height.
Frustratingly, a search of the flagstones where the high priest had disappeared failed to reveal any evidence of a trapdoor through which he could have escaped. The walls of the fountain were too low and narrow to conceal a secret way similar to that of the statue. With every passing second Sashaster would be passing further from their reach to summon aid. In but moments the alarm would be given and a hoard of vicious foes would fall upon them. These were the frantic thoughts going through the minds of all as they continued their fruitless search.
Amari muttered an exasperated oath as she gazed at the jetting water. Inspiration then came upon the princess. She stepped within the fountain, waded through the water to the central ring, and thrust her head through the middle curtain of leaping spray. The central ring was dry, for the jets were angled outward slightly, and no water fell within the hollow. In addition a drainage channel encircled the inner circumference to carry away storm water. It was a strange arrangement – one that instantly aroused Amari’s suspicions.
As the princess scrutinized the inner surface her eyes alighted on the frieze of diamond bas reliefs that ornamented the circumference of the wall. Each diamond had a hemisphere protruding from its center and it struck the girl as exceedingly strange that ornamentation was present where none could see it. Could it be the carving concealed some kind of actuating mechanism? Amari pressed her palm firmly to a hemisphere, then another and another until one protrusion sank beneath her hand. Stone grated, and a trapdoor in the middle of the circle fell open. The princess excitedly called to her companions, and in mere moments they were crowding around her, peering into the gloomy hole that was now disclosed to their inquisitive gaze.
“I’ll go first,” said Temru. “We must be careful. Sashaster may be lurking at the bottom of the shaft.
The young man clamped the dead priest’s dagger between his teeth and began the descent by way of a bronze ladder. Soon, he stepped from the bottom rung and looked along the tunnel’s gloomy length, which ramified into other dim passages. The way was weakly illuminated by a few cylinders of amber stone that glowed with a harmless radiation. These cylinders rested on discs of green crystal that were held in brackets protruding from the wall, each bracket widely separated from its neighbor.
In the dim light Temru caught a brief glimpse of the high priest vanishing around one corner of the branching way. He called excitedly but softly to his companions, urging them to hurry. The two women descended swiftly and then all three quickly set off in determined pursuit.
They rounded the corner and halted. Sashaster was waiting for them. As with most blind people his other senses had been greatly heightened to compensate for his loss of vision. Therefore, despite their caution, he had heard the soft footfalls of those upon his trail.
Sashaster twisted a section of his staff. Sharp steel sprang from its tip in the manner of a switchblade. The high priest grinned malevolently. His arm swept out. His bony hand clawed the glowing rod from the crystal disc it stood upon. The light went out the instant the two were separated. The tunnel was plunged into gloom. Then another touch of Sashaster’s hand upon the bracket caused a bronze barrier to swiftly leap up from the floor. It clanged against the low ceiling, cutting off retreat and what little light seeped around the corner.
The high priest’s eerie voice rustled in the midnight blackness: “You have eyes, but now you cannot see. But I who live in constant darkness am at home. None of the killers of my son shall leave this place alive.”
Sashaster fell silent. Temru tensed as did his companions. Now they were as blind as their wily foe, but unlike him were not accustomed to moving in utter darkness. Was that a soft footstep he heard to his left? Was it Sashaster coming to attack him, or was it one of his companions that had moved? He could not tell in the disorientating darkness. He dare not strike least he make a fatal error. Nor could he call out to his friends for that would alert the high priest to their whereabouts.
To the rear the way was blocked. There was no escape. Before him was a dangerous foe he could not see. He was trapped, blinded by darkness with an enemy whose friend was utter blackness. He couldn’t imagine a worse position to be in.
Temru crouched low. He moved slowly to his right, changing his position in a bid to confuse Sashaster should the high priest be aware of his location. His arm brushed against something. Nenara’s startled gasp was like an explosion in the darkness. Both jumped apart. A rushing body leapt at them. The high priest’s blade hissed in the shrouding blackness. It struck Temru’s dagger a ringing blow and sent the weapon spinning from his hand.
Heart racing from the narrow miss, Temru calmed his gasping breath with an effort. Sweat was upon his brow. Sashaster could be anywhere. At this very moment the high priest’s weapon might be plunging at his unprotected back. His flesh crawled in fear. Weaponless, his blade lost in blackness, he fought the urge to panic.
Somewhere a sandal scraped on stone. There was another rush in the darkness, the slash of an invisible blade. A woman’s scream rang out; then silence. Temru tensed. Who had been struck, and how badly? A shocking vision arose of Amari lying on the floor, fatally wounded, bleeding to death. He wanted to call out, but dared not.
Temru controlled his fear, listened. He could hear nothing. Sashaster was as silent as a shadow; as invisible as the wind. The young man was surrounded by eerie darkness that gave no hint as to his foe’s whereabouts. But not all his senses were so shrouded by the gloom. A scent came to him. It tickled his nostrils, stirred memory with familiarity. What was it? Then he remembered - it was the smell of incense that had been burnt before the idol of the god.
The high priest had been closest to the altar. The fragrant smoke from the censers must have wrapped about him, clung to his body, his clothes. Temru turned his head, inhaling slowly. The scent seemed strongest to his right. It was a terrible risk he was about to take. He might easily impale himself on Sashaster’s blade, but to delay any longer could prove equally fatal.
He crouched low, sprang, arms outstretched. Temru collided with a body. He felt the bony frame of Sashaster in his grip. The high priest staggered from the impact. He dropped his deadly staff, writhed like a serpent. Though old and small he was remarkably strong. They wrestled desperately in the blackness, grunting, heaving, straining. Temru managed to entwine his leg about that of Sashaster. He tripped his foe. Both fell. Temru landed on top of his thrashing opponent. His groping hand caught an arm, twisted it viciously behind the high priest’s back. With a grunt of satisfaction the young man pressed his other forearm on Sashaster’s neck, pinning him further to the floor.
“I’ve got him,” panted Temru, exultantly. “I’ve got the slippery devil.”
The light came on. Nenara, who’d been groping about during the fight had found the stone cylinder and placed it back on its sconce, thus restoring the illumination. Amari stood some feet away, her back pressed to the wall, one hand clutching the shallow wound upon her shoulder.
“I’m not badly injured,” Amari reassured her companions. “Shall we kill him now?” she asked, glaring hatred at Sashaster.
“No,” replied Nenara. “We’ll haul Sashaster before the council. With him as hostage they’ll be forced to listen to us as we expose the trickery of the idol. There is one sin my people hate above all others and that is the sin of deception. There will be no trouble in having him executed.”
Sashaster cursed her foully. Nenara kicked him viciously in the ribs, then tore a strip of cloth from his apparel and tightly gagged him with it.
“That will still your seditious tongue for now,” she said with venomous satisfaction. “The headsman’s axe will be a permanent solution.”
**********
Seven days had passed. The trickery of the high priest, now dead, had been exposed before the council. All of Nenara’s advisors had been thoroughly outraged by the blasphemous deception. They had unhesitatingly voted for Sashaster’s execution and a thorough purging of the priesthood. Shamefaced, they’d also agreed to the restoration of Nenara to the throne.
Amari and Temru were being lauded for helping save the queen and exposing the high priest’s evil scheme. Temru should have been happy, but he wasn’t. Amari seemed to have been softening her attitude towards him, but over the last few days had become distant. She seemed to now regard him with the wary suspicion and hostility she’d exhibited when they’d first met, despite his friendly overtures. Her antagonism upset and puzzled him greatly.
Temru sighed discontentedly and made another round of the palace garden, oblivious to its flowering beauty. Being trapped in a marriage to an angry, argumentative and hostile woman was hardly conducive to a joyous frame of mind. He looked up from his disconsolate pacing and saw Amari striding towards him with a purposeful and venomous air. Temru took a deep breath. The confrontation he’d anticipated was now at hand.
The princess halted before him and spoke her mind with forceful directness.
“You’re no prince,” she began. “I’ve met other nobles who’ve come to Thufoora on diplomatic missions. You know the courtly graces, true, but you don’t exhibit their aristocratic arrogance, their condescending nature. You’re like an actor playing an ill suited role. At first I wasn’t sure, being distracted by our constant fight for survival. But now I’ve had time to think I’m certain of it.”
“I’m just different from the rest,” said Temru in what he hoped was a convincing manner that hid his nervousness.
Amari’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him and gripped the dagger at her hip. “You’re different from the rest because you’re not who you claim to be,” she snapped. “You’re fooling no one but yourself. I want the truth, and I mean to have it now.”
Temru realized any further attempts at deception were quite pointless. “Very well,” he replied. “I’ll speak the truth, but by doing so I not only place my life in your hands, but that of my family also, as well as the fate of both our kingdoms. War, further senseless death and suffering, may result from what I’m about to tell you.”
He then explained how Agron, king of Chiamnis, had forced him to impersonate the true prince, with threats of death by slow torture to his family if he failed in his mission. “I’m sorry that I attempted to deceive you,” he concluded. “But it was the only way I could save those dearest to me from a horrid end.”
“So, you’re a base born commoner,” cried Amari, deeply offended by the trick that had been played upon her. “This is an outrage, an utter outrage!”
“I may be a commoner, replied Temru, with forced calmness, “but my blade has defended you with more vigor than most noblemen could muster.”
“Bah, it’s an imposter’s blade,” she cried with hot derision. And to make her feelings fully known the princess, with swift and wild strength, slammed her fist hard against his jaw.
Temru staggered from the power of the blow. He lost his balance and tumbled to the earth. Amari stood over him, fists balled, glaring fury. A sudden shout from above made her look up. Almost directly over them was a Thufooran airship, one of a number queen Zedee, Amari’s mother, had dispatched in search of her missing daughter. Amairi hailed the crew joyously, her emotions a stark contrast to her feelings towards Temru.
Helplessly, the false prince looked on as the dirigible began its descent to the spacious garden. He had hoped that being marooned upon the island with Amari would prevent queen Zedee from hearing of the deception - a deception that would undoubtedly reignite national hostilities. A miasma of bleak emotions seized him. A grim vision of his family being executed arose in his troubled mind, and he sank further into the black pit of utter despair.
**********
A day and a half had passed. Temru gazed morosely from the balcony of queen Zedee’s palace. He looked upon the city of Shadki, capital of Thufoora, as he reflected on the dire situation in which he found himself and all that it portended for his family and his nation. The Amazonian airship had landed several hours ago on home soil, and Amari was with the queen giving an account of all that had befallen her. Temru had been excluded from the proceedings for the moment, and he wondered with trepidation what Amari was telling her royal mother.
The only good thing, as far as he could see that had come from his misadventure, was that diplomatic relations were in the process of being established between Meni and Thufoora. Rykis, Nenara’s chief councilor, had accompanied them for that purpose. The island kingdom had been discovered by outsiders. Nenara and Amari had become friends, causing Nenara to have a change of heart. The queen of Meni had sense enough not to try and seize the Thufooran airship when it had landed. Better to seek an alliance with a powerful and grateful nation rather than make an enemy of it.
Temru focused on the city stretched out before his gaze in a bid to further distract his worried mind. The metropolis was laid out in a grid pattern, with broad avenues dividing the city into quadrants, with lesser streets running off the major thoroughfares. The houses were mostly single story structures built on a trefoil plan, which was a sacred symbol in the Amazonian religion. It symbolized the three aspects of the Cosmic Mother – creation, preservation and destruction.
The lime washed walls of the buildings were of cob – a blend of subsoil and vegetable fibers that bound the mixture together. The roofs were of dark thatch. A deep verandah encircled each home, and it was here that most of the daily activities took place. The windows were also trefoil in design and the doorways arched. The buildings had a very organic look - as if they had sprouted from the earth like exotic mushrooms. The effect was added to by the lush gardens that surrounded them.
The palace, with its roofs of red tile, was of similar design, but constructed of a pale blue stone rather than cob. It was a sprawling structure of trefoil buildings linked by sinuous covered walkways and formal gardens. Temru gazed down into the garden the balcony of his suite overlooked. Amazonian guards patrolled the manicured grounds, alert and heavily armed. Other warriors were stationed outside his rooms. There was no escape.
The sound of an opening door broke through his glum thoughts. He turned and saw Amari enter the room. She paused for a moment as their eyes met. Her expression was unreadable. She had avoided him during the journey from Meni. Temru tensed and eyed her warily as she walked towards him. Unconsciously, he touched his jaw. It was still bruised where she had struck him.
Temru glanced past his wife, expecting at any moment a dozen guards to follow her in, grab him roughly and drag him off to a grimy dungeon. Surprisingly, she was alone and he breathed a little easier. Again, he looked at her intently. Amari paused. They stood staring at each other in an awkward silence. The princess lowered her gaze. She moved hesitantly to his side and leaned on the balcony’s ornate balustrade.
The uneasy quiet continued. It was an invisible barrier between them. Temru sensed that Amari was struggling to find words with which the silence could be breached. At last she said somewhat ineptly: “How’s your jaw?”
“Bruised,” he replied rather sharply. “Next time we have a problem let’s resolve it with calm words rather than fists. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Amari responded quietly. She sighed. “This whole thing started badly. I’m sincerely sorry for all the wrong that I’ve done.”
“It’s how it ends that really worries me,” he replied. “What did you tell the queen?”
“I told my mother that you are a brave and noble man, and that I couldn’t wish for a better husband.”
Temru looked his surprise. Given her previous attitude this was the last thing he’d expected.
“Thank you,” he responded with emotion. “You have saved my family and averted the rekindling of the war.”
She looked at him sharply; then softened. “What I said wasn’t uttered just for political purposes. It is the truth. Before, my anger at our forced marriage prevented me from seeing your decency. For us things started badly, but they needn’t end so, if you’re willing to try and make our union a success.”
“I’ve always wanted it to be a success,” he responded with a smile, “and not just to save my family or my nation.” Temru moved to touch her affectionately; then hesitated.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I won’t bite. Here women rule, true, but we’re not man-haters as some foreigners suspect.”
“I never thought you were,” he replied as he placed his arm about her waist.
Together, they gazed out across the city, towards the future and all the hope therein.
THE END