The Legend of Ardavon Volume 2

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted

work

illegal.

Criminal

infringement, including infringement without monetary
gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5
years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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

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

Burned Dreams

ISBN: 978-1-77111-136-2

Cover art by Martine Jardin

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

Published by Devine Destinies

An imprint of eXtasy Books

Look for us online at:

www.devinedestinies.com

Prologue

lang, clang, clang.

The ringing noise of iron on iron shivered in the early

morning air. The sparks that sprayed up illuminated the
hulking blacksmith. The bright specks sizzled for an instant
on his leather apron.

Clang, clang, clang.
As the rest of the world slept, the blacksmith worked. He

placed his finished glowing piece into a pail of water. Steam
hissed off the object and swirled around his face. The
blacksmith pulled it out of the water and examined it with a
fond smile. It was a cunning miniature sword for his little
girl. His little darling.

Setting the toy aside, he turned to his other work.

Clang, clang, clang.

KB Forrest

Chapter One

he waning moon had almost set in the night sky above
the castle. Down in the courtyard the peace was about to

be shattered by the dark, scurrying figure mounted on a
wheezing horse.

With a groan, the figure’s horse slid to the ground, dead,

and  the  messenger  bounded  off  the  beast,  the  silver  in  his
uniform  gleaming  against  the  dark  blue  fabric.  The  watery
light  of  the  moon  hid  the  bloodstains  and  grime  the
messenger had accumulated during his trip.

“The Horde has come! The Horde has broken the

defenses! To arms! They will kill us all! To arms!”

Guards came running, rubbing sleep out of their eyes.
“Who is there? Whoa, what’s this?”
“Move it! Move, move, move!” the captain on guard

shouted.

Soon the sprawling courtyard was flooded with the

scarlet uniforms of the guards dashing to and fro, shouting
and  cursing.  High  Lords  and  Ladies  peered  down  at  the
chaos, already chattering. One man was running about at the
gates,  sword  in  hand,  looking  for  the  matted  heads  of  the
Horde. Some dashed into the dark passageways of the castle,
waking more of the nobility and spreading the news.

It was not long before Queen Cunaxa the Pure rushed

down, heedless of her disheveled person. “Give me a report,
someone! You there.”

Burned Dreams

Her calm imperative voice cut through the insipient

hysteria of some of the guards. The man with the sword had
ascended the battlements and was pelting along, only his
sword tip visible.

“It-it’s the Horde, Your Majesty,” the guard said,

dropping  to  one  knee.  “The  Northern  Savages  have
attacked!”  Cunaxa’s  eyes  flashed  to  the  messenger  in  the
blue and silver of the neighboring kingdom. Her heart sank
to  her  frayed  slippers.  She  knelt  by  the  messenger,
remembering  the  time  not  so  long  ago  when  she  had  done
the  same  thing  to  another  messenger.  Impotent  rage  filled
her.

“Can you hear me?” she asked in a clear voice, pleased to

hear none of the fear she was feeling.

The messenger opened his eyes and parted his wind-

chapped lips. “Majesty—need to speak with the Emperor—
the Horde is at the gates, sacking the city. Please, please send
enforcements. King Mena begs you. He will promise the
Princess Sophene the Sharp to his Honored Prince Sugreeva
if you only…” The man broke off in a fit of coughing, but the
queen had heard enough.

“Take him to the medical mages,” the Queen ordered as

she rose majestically. The Guards scurried to obey. Cunaxa
swept down the corridor, her nightgown flying out white in
the pale moonlight. She mounted the stone stairs to the
Emperor’s apartment, determination firing her step.

Darkness shrouded the Emperor’s door, making it look

sinister.  The  maid  that  was  supposed  to  be  on  attendance
outside the Emperor’s door was hovering at the window on
the  opposite  end  of  the  hall,  watching  the  scene  in  the
courtyard,  whispering  with  another  maid.  The  lamp  in  her
hands bobbed as she gestured to her friend.

Cunaxa seized the latch. It did not budge.
“Curses!”
The maid squealed and scuttled back to her post. Cunaxa

KB Forrest

pounded her fists on the massive, incredibly stout door,
cursing Hergor’s fear of assassins as the maid came toward
her.

“Open up, damn you! Face your responsibilities for once!

The Horde is at the Massagetae’s gates, and our people are
starving because of the drought! Open up!”

Dead silence.
Cunaxa whirled on the servant girl. “Do you have the

key?”

The girl squeaked again and fumbled in her dress, her

nervous fingers shaking. Cunaxa grabbed at the keys herself
and put the most ornate one in the lock. It took a minute for
the  tumblers  to  fall.  Then  she  threw  the  door  open,
slamming  it  hard  into  the  wall.  Immediately  the  smell  of
alcohol  and  stale  sweat  assailed  her.  A  steady  unnerving
noise like a roar of a very large beast reverberated in the still
air of the dark chamber. She stepped boldly into the despot’s
lair,  recognizing  the  snores  for  what  they  were.  The  light
from the lamp of the candle shone on the rhythmic rise and
fall of the snoring tyrant’s enormous gut.

A blonde head rose from the bed covers, and a face with

smeared makeup turned toward the queen, blinking blearily.
The woman’s head then fell back down again with a meaty
plop  on  the  Emperor’s  chest,  making  the  rolls  of  fat  ripple
and jiggle like possessed slugs. Cunaxa grimaced at the sight
of  the  emperor’s  recumbent  form.  He  really  was  hideous
naked, as she had good cause to know.

She crossed the room and slapped his face.
He snorted then resumed the steady roaring snores. The

stench of liquor was perceptible from a distance.

Cunaxa turned away shaking with rage and filled with

disgust. “Fetch the prince. This lump of shit is useless.”

“O-of course, Your Majesty, at once, Your Majesty.”
The maid disappeared and Cunaxa slammed the door,

cursing every god that ever walked for the cruel twist of fate

Burned Dreams

that had robbed her of her power fifteen years ago. She still
remembered  the  day  when  Hergor  the  Traitor,  with  inside
information from Dahaka the Sly, her former husband, had
stormed her poorly defended castle with his army. She had
used  her  wits  and  preserved  her  life,  unlike  the  other  two
monarchs Hergor had time to dispose of before the armies of
the Seven returned from fighting the Horde.

Now the Horde was attacking again. The people were on

the brink of starvation from the awful drought, and Hergor
had his head in the sand. He ignored every warning, every
pleading message, and now a crisis had befallen them. Now
they would have no choice but to enter the War.

* * * *

The light from the maid’s lantern flickered on the stricken
face of Prince Sugreeva the Fair, son of Queen Rutvana,
Emperor Hergor’s second wife. His hair settings trembled as
he shook his head in denial.

“What are you saying, servant? Are they at the gates?

Quickly, get my jewelry case!” Sugreeva swung his skinny
legs out of bed and slipped into lavender rabbit fur slippers.
His eyes were wild and panicky. He threw his hands around
in a weak gesture of defeat, and grabbed at a golden statue
that graced the table next to him.

“No, no, Your Grace, they are in the neighboring

kingdom, but the matter is urgent. The queen, Her Grace
Cunaxa wishes to speak with you at once, Your Majesty!”

Sugreeva blinked and set the statue down. Why does she

want to speak with me? A chill ran down his back as a hideous
possibility occurred to him. Would he be obliged to lead the
armies  himself?  It was  very  common  for  princes  to  lead  the
armies  to  gain  fame  before  their  reign,  and  to  allow  their
fathers to stay at home to rule. The more he thought about it,
the more likely it seemed.

KB Forrest

He slid back onto his soft, lushly appointed bed, and

covered his face with his hands in an attempt to quell the
rising panic in his breast. This was not happening. He would
not let it. He needed to consult his advisor.

He rose and took the lamp from the girl. Then he scurried

out, hoping no one would see him in his nightgown and hair
settings. His soft-soled lavender slippers made no sound as
he hurried along the dark corridors.

Hearing a murmured conversation, he pressed himself

against the cool stone wall, hiding the light from the lamp. A
moment later, the voices died, and Sugreeva took a ragged
breath.

He was off again, scuttling toward the stairs. He began

the  long  descent,  the  flickering  golden  light  of  the  lamp
illuminating  the  worn  stone  stairs.  Patches  of  moonlight
filtered  in  through  the  occasional  window.  Following  a
meandering  hall,  he  crossed  the  council  chamber,  the
treasure  room,  and  a  few  others  he  did  not  even  take  the
time  to  notice.  His  feet  began  to  ache,  and  his  tired  eyes
swam in the meager light.

He reached the grand staircase and surreptitiously looked

down at the great hall, marveling at how the gloom and the
dead quiet changed the enormous ballroom. Feeling naked,
he descended the wide stairs, remembering countless formal
occasions when he had done the same. It gave him an eerie
feeling to see the empty chairs that lined the main banquet
table.

His mind was whirling as he trotted across the great hall

and followed the winding corridors toward his destination.
He  needed  to  couch  his  speech  carefully.  He  descended  a
dark staircase and felt gooseflesh rise all over him as the cool
of  the  subterranean  passage  cut  through  his  flimsy  robe.
These  were  the  old  dungeons.  His  friend  lived  in  the  old
captain’s  quarters,  although  why  he  chose  such  hideous
accommodations eluded Sugreeva.

Burned Dreams

Finally, he reached the dark doorway of Zohak’s

apartments. He raised his hand to knock, when suddenly the
door was thrown open. Sugreeva was taken aback, and
unable to suppress a startled cry that echoed eerily down the
empty corridors.

“Eek! Oh! Zohak! I had no idea you would be awake! Oh,

there are things we need to discuss—chaos reigns above! We
need to talk!”

* * * *

Zohak  swallowed  the  angry  snarl  that  was  on  his  lips.
“What  is  it,  my  dear  friend?”  Zohak  asked,  his  tone  liquid
smooth.  Zohak  had  been  about  to  search  the  castle  for  his
promiscuous  wife,  Jahi  the  Lovely,  but  now  that  would  be
delayed. Zohak was above average in height, and his frame
was powerful from fifteen years in the Outlands of Scythia.
He  ushered  the  prince  into  his  private  chamber.  The  dark
stone walls of the study were well lit by dozens of candles,
yet  the  impression  of  darkness  was  not  banished.  A
doorway  leading  to  the  bedroom  was  partly  ajar.  Sugreeva
threw himself into one of  the couches by the bookcase that
took up one wall.

“The Horde! I was asleep, and then she told me, but they

were not really there so it was okay, I can pack the jewelry
later…”

Zohak closed his eyes as the temptation to silence the

babbling idiot before him almost overwhelmed him.

“Okay, shut up—uh err that is, let’s take stock of the

situation,” Zohak said, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“By Mithra, they are sacking the neighboring kingdom!

What to do? What to do?” Sugreeva wailed, wringing his
hands. “And now that bitch wants to talk to me. I don’t want
to go! They can’t make me! I am the prince! I will marry
Princess Sophene the Sharp anyway. Just because I will not

KB Forrest

lead the army doesn’t mean she can get away with not
marrying me!”

“Right. Here drink this, and sit down while I think.”

Zohak paced and the gentle tinkling of the fountain filled the
chamber  with  its  soothing  music.  The  water  came  from  an
underground  stream  high  in  the  wall.  It  trickled  down  the
wall, settling into a wide, waist high basin, and overflowing
to  follow  a  neat  path  to  a  drain  somewhere  out  of  sight.
Zohak  placed  his  hands  on  the  craggy  black  rocks  and
peered into the dark water.

When he felt his temper was under control, he walked to

his low table and sat down.

“You do not want to lead the armies, I presume? We shall

have to find another way around this then, won’t we?”

“Oh! What to do?”
“Perhaps the prince would like someone to lead them for

him,”  Zohak  said,  leaning  forward,  his  little  black  eyes
glittering.  He  could  almost  taste  the  power.  He’d  been
waiting for this opportunity. He would now begin to act as
the  proxy  for  the  weak  prince.  Suddenly  his  mood
brightened.

“Oooh…”
“Someone strong, decisive, and unquestionably loyal,”

Zohak suggested.

“Hmm. Maybe…”
“Someone removed from the politics, so he could lead

impartially for your glory.”

“Why yes!” Sugreeva said, taking his hands away from

his eyes. “Yes, he could not be poisoned by politics.”

“Someone to fight for your glory! I am just the man to…”
“Yes! You are on the right track! We shall make the

Firestarter do it! Atar the Firestarter! He is just a barbarian,
but he is as strong as Mithra. A little gold bauble dangled in
front of him will have him as passive as a kitten! Good
thinking! Zohak, I knew you’d make a good assistant. Now

Burned Dreams

go after him at once. His trail is a few weeks old I imagine,
but I know with the skill you gathered in the outlands, you
could track him. What a genius I am!” Sugreeva leapt to his
feet with a smile. “Now mind me, you must hurry! Take as
many men as you need to overtake him. Just make sure you
do not harm him or incapacitate him. He will do an excellent
job. Very good thinking.”

Sugreeva swept out of the room, leaving Zohak gaping

with shock. He snapped his teeth as he shut his mouth.
Going over to the basin, he dunked his head under the dark
water and screamed, frustrated beyond belief. Will I ever be

free from the damn idiot? Will he ever stop darkening my every

moment? He took away my rightful inheritance. I was to be the
Firestarter. Now such immense power is in the hands of a

simpleton who has no idea how to use it. An evil idiot indeed! And

as if that weren’t bad enough, now I have to work with this
imbecile prince! How did he ever think I’d suggest such a thing?
Blasted! He beat his fists against the wall until they bled.

KB Forrest

Chapter Two

tar the Firestarter groaned, the rich snuffling snorts at
his ear breaking into his dream of the red haired girl he

had seen at the banquet held in his honor. A wet wolf
tongue smacked across his peaceful face.

“Stop it, Bulliwuf! Do you know how early it is?” the

young man murmured, opening up his blue eyes a crack. He
drew the fur blanket closer around him and attempted to
curl out of sight.

Bulliwuf’s deep human voice came to him now, and Atar

was enveloped in the arms of his dear lover and comrade.
“Now there, for a werewolf, it is quite late. I am too excited
to just sit here and watch as you sleep. I want you!”

Atar snuggled into him. It was so warm. He looked up at

the silvery, alert eyes, and ran his hands through the thick,
silver hair. He could never quite get used to seeing Bulliwuf
like this. And he never wore clothing, nor could he stay in
the human form for very long—except for when he was
horny. And he was very horny now.

Bulliwuf kissed him until he felt breathless. His body

must have a higher temperature, Atar had realized. He was
always so hot. Bulliwuf liked to rub his hot body against him
until he thought he would ignite. Life was so sweet for him.
He wished they could enjoy life like this forever. Just Atar,
Bulliwuf, and Ishria the warhorse.

Atar got up finally, groaned, stretched, and donned the

Burned Dreams

tiger skin that was one of his few garments. The skull of the
tiger  had  been  left  intact,  and  the  fierce  fangs  had  been
tipped  with  gold.  Atar  looked  like  a  wild  man  when  he
pulled the hood over his curly black hair. The other items he
wore were a black loincloth, black boots, and a dagger on a
black  belt.  All  of  these  last  items  had  been  given  to  him
before  the  great  banquet  that  had  turned  out  to  be  such  a
fiasco.

He began to move around the camp, packing his meager

possessions for the day of travel ahead. “What should we do
now?”  Atar  asked,  sinking  to  his  knees.  Ishria  the  Stormy,
Atar’s  blue  roan  destrier,  raised  his  head  from  the  tender
grass he had been grazing on. “The last town wasn’t worth a
shit, and we are only going deeper and deeper into to wild
lands. Bulliwuf, you can manage the winters well, but Ishria
and  I  need  supplies  if  I  even  hope  to  have  a  chance  of
surviving.”

The thought of striking out on his own in the wild lands

scared  Atar  as  much  as  it  thrilled  him.  Who  knew  what
untold  dangers  he  would  face  in  the  lands  beyond?  Who
knew  what glorious  and  beautiful  sights  awaited  him?  The
trouble  was,  he  did  need  supplies,  and  he  had  no  money,
thanks  to  the  little  escapade  at  the  banquet.  He  heaved
himself  to  his  feet  and  finished  packing  as  they  reviewed
their options.

Bulliwuf was snacking on a huge leg of deer they had

killed. “Well, we can either go to the next town and try our
luck, or double back and see if we can hit one of the larger
cities to the south.”

Atar listened as he packed. “The trouble with that plan is

that in any city we will stand out. People will suspect us,
and there is always the chance someone will recognize us.”

“Indeed,” Bulliwuf agreed. “Rumors about you, the new

barbarian Firestarter, have flown to all Seven Kingdoms, and
we can do without more attention.”

KB Forrest

“I don’t get it,” Atar said. “Why did they make such a big

deal about me being the new Firestarter? I don’t even know
what the hell I’m supposed to do. I don’t feel any different
now. It’s crazy.”

“Well what we do know is that we have to get out of the

public eye,” Bulliwuf said.

“Yeah. Besides, all I know is the wilderness. Growing up

with the Paralatae Scythians only gave me that advantage.
Cities scare me. People live in things called houses. They are
built like tombs. I’d rather wait until I die to be in a tomb,
but better yet, I’d rather be eaten by wild animals. That way
I could always be under the sky.”

Bulliwuf laughed.
“What?”
“Oh, I just imagined you as a bear turd.”
Atar smacked him across his broad back, but he was

happy. “What bothers me is that we might waste the rest of
the summer roaming, and then be delayed until the next
season. I’ll go mad if that happens.”

“The best thing is to forge ahead. We might find what we

need in the next town,” Bulliwuf said.

Mounting Ishria the Stormy in one graceful leap, they

continued along the deer path they had been following the
day before. Bulliwuf took his wolf form. He could converse
with Atar by mind-speak, but he always seemed lost in
thought lately.

The slanting pink light of dawn bathed the path ahead in

a  heavenly  glow. Early birds  hailed  the  morning,  and  Atar
breathed in the scent of fresh earth, reveling in his freedom
and  his  very  existence.  In  one  hand,  he  carried  the  great
mace  of  Colaxais.  Its  gleaming  metal  points  caught  the
morning light as Atar shifted it in his hands. Although it was
morning, it was hot. Midsummer cicadas whirred insistently
in  the  trees  above  as  Ishria  traveled  easily  over  the  land.
Ishria,  like  Atar,  had  come  from  the  Paralatae  Tribe,  the

Burned Dreams

fiercest barbarians ever to roam the grassy plains of Scythia.
They were renowned for their horses, but the rest of their
lifestyle was shrouded in mystery to outsiders.

The miles passed, and Atar could feel his excitement for

his  new  life  mounting.  The  beauty  and  tranquility  were
unmarred by any sign of worry. In fact, he had even ceased
to  cover  his  trail,  should  anyone  wish  to  follow  him.  He
didn’t think the risk was a big one, particularly since he was
a  Scythian.  His  trail  would  nearly  be  impossible  to  follow.
Hell, one would have to be a Scythian himself to track him!

Atar sighed and pulled Ishria to a stop by a little stream.

Life was going to be great, particularly since he had planned
it. He was going to be the master of his own destiny, and live
out  the  simple  life  he  desired.  He  would  fish  all  day,  and
spend  nights  hunting  the  big,  virtually  untouched  stock  of
game  in  the  wild  lands  with  Bulliwuf.  What  a  life!  He
dunked his head in the water for a drink.

* * * *

Unseen, the great boar steadily watched the laughing young
man. His golden feet sank deeply into the soft leafy ground.
The man began to move again, and the boar followed after a
moment. The tracks the beast left behind him were easily the
size of a dinner plate.

* * * *

But that was not the only being watching the young man. In
the Realm of Fire, she watched him through a luminescent
square of color. Around her, the soft flames licked the floor.
She was a creature of ancient magic, of infinite age. A
goddess. She watched her favorite, no longer bored.

KB Forrest

Chapter Three

he light of the day was dimming into gray dusk. The
shadowy forms that raced along the deer path would

soon be almost invisible. The leader pulled his dark horse to
a  stop,  and  dismounted  with  fluid,  Scythian  grace.  He
walked  over  to  the  spot  under  the  tree  that had  caught  his
eye. Pushing back the deep cowl that partially obscured his
features,  Zohak  stooped  to  study  the  ground  carefully.  He
reached  out  a  hand  and  picked  up  one  white  feather,
holding it out. He let it fall from his hands. It floated gently
to the grass, spinning gracefully.

Zohak felt his face twitch with disgust as he heard Ezad

the  Insane  wheeze  with  excitement.  The  assassin  spy  was
probably  one  of  the  most  talented  of  his  kind,  but  Zohak
could not help but be disgusted by him. Seeing those glazed
eyes  and  those  unnatural  three  fingered  hands  invariably
turned  Zohak’s  stomach.  Dahaka  the  Sly  had  employed
Ezad the Insane for many years, but for some reason Zohak
had never been able to ascertain, the strange little man had
turned on his master. Zohak had found him wandering the
castle by night like a thief and had put him to work.

Zohak glanced at Ezad and his other men and remounted,

spurring  his  swift  Paralatae  horse  down  the  path  now  in
deep  shadow.  The  sooner  they  caught  him,  the  sooner  he
could  get  back  to  the  castle.  He  hated  leaving  his

Burned Dreams

promiscuous  wife    alone,  but  that  was  an  old  problem  to
which he had gotten quite accustomed. The thing that irked
him  the  most  was  the  fact  that  all  the  time  he  spent  away
from  the  castle  was  time  he  could  have  spent  monitoring
secret deals between high lords, planning blackmail, and all
the other things he needed to do before he seized the throne.
It was his by birth, but that was still a secret.

He would bide his time. He spurred his horse as the

purpose  of  his  mission  slapped  him  in  the  face  again.  He
was  tracking  the  blasted  Idiot,  to  haul  him  back  for  a
position  he  could  have  used! He  could  have  choked  on  his
anger when he realized what the prince intended him to do.
Would  he  never  be  rid  of  the  cursed  idiot?  It  seemed  that
their lives were somehow inextricably bound. But when the
Prince Sugreeva made up his mind, there was no changing
it.  His  only  other  option  would  be  to  defy  his  order,  and
upon  further  deliberation,  Zohak  had  decided  to  keep  the
Prince’s good faith. He would use this turn of events to his
favor, and kill the Firestarter after he was done.

KB Forrest

Chapter Four

he shepherd boy called out to the stray goat again.

“God damn it!” he muttered as he scrambled over the

steep  stony  ground.  He  had  fallen  asleep  again,  and  the
damn  he-goat  had  driven  the  young  male  off  again.  His
mother  had  absolutely  forbidden  him  to  go  anywhere  near
the Dragon Caves, no matter what, but what did she know?
He  wasn’t  about  to  suffer  a  beating  from  his  father  just
because of his mother’s superstitions.

Dragons! Right, talk about an old wives’ tale. Besides, he

would face a hundred dragons to get his goat back. The
drought had gone on for too long, making grazing poor. He
had suffered through too many hungry nights to let precious
meat get away from him.

His heart leapt as he saw the pale shape of the young goat

ahead. He called to it, and then banged his stick against the
rocks.  The  clatter  he  created  bounced  off  the  rocks  and
echoed into silence. The boy snarled with irritation that the
goat refused to come. It didn’t even turn to face him, but at
least he had found it. He was glad of that. He kept his eyes
on  the  ground  for  a  while,  avoiding  rocks  so  as  to  travel
more swiftly. He glanced up, out of breath, but exhilarated.
He stopped, uncertain. The white shape of the goat had not
moved.  All  the  boy  could  see  was  the  goat’s  back.  It  was
unnatural for it to be so still. He hadn’t noticed that from the
distance he was at before. It was almost a little scary.

Burned Dreams

Don’t be a chicken shit, he told himself, scorning his

momentary  cowardice.  He  darted  forward  again,  watching
his feet to avoid the sharp rocks. He glanced up from time to
time.  When  he  was  a  few  yards  away  from  the  goat,  he
stopped. The unmistakable coppery odor of blood filled the
air, but there was also a reek of something else.

“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!” the boy said. “Now I’ll get a

beating like I’ve never imagined!”

The boy was so engrossed in regret that he did not hear

the  shuffle  behind  him.  An  enormous  exhalation  of  breath
warmed  his  back,  blowing  his  hair  over  his shoulders.  The
boy froze, utterly paralyzed. The chilling stories his mother
had  told  him  all  through  his  childhood  came  back  to  him.
Her  admonition  to  stay  away  from  these  caves  no  longer
seemed shrewish to him.

He turned around. He screamed wordlessly, voicing the

terror that the enormous creature before him evoked.

The scream was cut off abruptly. The boy’s blood

splashed down onto the stones, mixing with the goat’s
blood, and pooling around the lad’s lifeless body.

A contented rumble vibrated in the air for a moment.

* * * *

The  richly  dressed  royal  council  was  silent.  The  usual
rustling  of  fans  and  low  murmurs  had  ceased  altogether.
Two  hundred  eyes  watched  in  utter  stillness  as  the  high
general  delivered  his  report.  Even  Rutvana  the  Loud,
Hergor’s  second  wife,  the  mother  of  Prince  Sugreeva,  did
not stir.

“We have reports that the Horde is at the very gates of the

city, and have been there for quite some time now.” General
Tavos, High General of the Three Armies announced. “And,
Your Majesty, the next country in the Horde’s immediate
path is ours. If we do not send reinforcements, we can expect

KB Forrest

attacks on our frontier towns within about two months.”

“Can you give us some idea of how many are attacking

the city? Did you take any kind of inventory of the supplies
we will need?” Queen Cunaxa asked, glowering at the
general.

Tavos’ answers seemed to be lost on Emperor Hergor. He

gave his high general a bleary-eyed stare and held his head
as  if  he  were  nursing  a  terrible  hangover.  “Why  did  I
appoint  such  a  coward  as  my  general?”  Hergor  asked  the
general assembly, his great gut expanding with a sigh. They
laughed obediently, but the sound was painfully contrived.
Tavos turned a shade paler. Hergor sighed gustily. He had
appointed Tavos, after all,  because he was such a coward. It
was said that a thief knows the ways of a thief best. A thief
would know how to protect his goods from another thief. In
that way, Hergor knew that Tavos the Coward would sense
how to protect him from assassins, his constant bane. Hergor
was  a  despot,  but  more  importantly,  he  had  also  betrayed
the  one  who  had  put  him  in  power,  Dahaka  the  Sly.
Although  some  said  that  Dahaka  was  dead,  Hergor  knew
better. The sly wizard could not be killed.

Meruzanes the Trickster, the Emperor’s Vizier, leaned

close to the Emperor and whispered for some time. Hergor’s
brow  furrowed  as  he  tried  to  make  sense  of  the  Vizier’s
words.  The  council  watched  in  tense  silence  as  this  took
place. The hissing sound of the Vizier’s oily voice licked into
the stillness.

“Where is that worthless son of mine?” Hergor asked at

last,  looking  around  as  if  he  hadn’t  known  Sugreeva  was
seated  on  the  dais  next  to  Rutvana  the  Loud,  the  prince’s
mother.  The  Prince  froze  and  hunkered  down  in  his  chair.
Rutvana looked at her son with scorn, and turned her head
away from him.

“Sugreeva!” Hergor growled.
The prince stood, smoothing his frilly aqua shirt, and

Burned Dreams

patting his stiff blonde curls into place. He walked to stand
next to General Tavos and faced his father.

“I appoint you High General, do you understand? Let’s

see that expensive education of yours put to work!”

Tears welled in Sugreeva’s eyes. “Uh…but Father!”
“Oh shut up! You whine like a puppy with a gut full of

shit.”

The council laughed again, and a crystalline tear fell from

Sugreeva’s  eye.  Sugreeva  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling.
Hergor  imagined  that  his  son  was  caught  up  in  thinking
about  how  noble  he  looked,  with  a  tear  streaking  his
handsome  face.  The  great  prince  facing  his  horrible  father,  all

alone, but determined. His clean-cut features just barely showing
the pain. Ah, what a fop, Hergor thought. The milksop was
probably going to call the court poet to compose a song
about this day.

Sugreeva cleared his throat. “Dearest Father, I am not

going.  It  is  disrespectful  to  the  crown  that  people  should
expect  me  to  personally  do  such  trivial  work.  It  is  not  a
matter of whether or not I will wed Princess Sophene of the
Massagetae. That is a given. And yes, putting my expensive
education  to  work,  I  have  thought  of  a  better  plan.  I  have
summoned  a  man  to  lead  the  armies  for  me.  As  prince,  I
have  the  power  to  delegate  authority,  and  I have  done  just
that.” Sugreeva straightened and appeared more confident.

Hergor’s scowl deepened as his son blathered on. The

Vizier leaned in closer to Hergor and whispered.

“What a coward you are!” Hergor said with obvious

disgust. “So who is it that you presume to appoint?”

Sugreeva huffed. “I am going to make the Firestarter do

it!”

Shocked exclamations bounced off the high ceiling of the

chamber. Cunaxa the Pure sat up straighter in her seat.
Hergor watched her with suspicion.

The fact that the mysterious Scythian was known

Burned Dreams

Chapter Five

tar rode into the town at dawn. As usual, he attracted a
great many stares, but he was certain that the news of

his being the Firestarter could not have possibly reached this
far.

“I should have taken off my tiger skin before I reached

town,” he said miserably. There was no help for that now.
“Bulliwuf, you must look very strange to them as well.
Damn!”

He rode down the wide main street of the town while the

people  gawked  shamelessly.  His  massive  mace  threw  back
the morning sunlight. Atar slowed Ishria and stopped before
a line of tethered horses. He tied Ishria and walked along the
string  of  shops.  He  was  very  disconcerted  by  the  way  the
people stared. It made him self-conscious. Walking along the
street became a difficult task.

Trying not to hunch his shoulders, Atar stopped in front

of a fur shop. He walked inside, Bulliwuf close on his heels.
An odd smell, like something three days dead, hit him as he
entered. It overpowered the smell of the animal skins. The
owner of the fur shop looked up from his desk.

He opened his mouth, and then kept it open as he took in

his unusual customer. His eyes fell to Bulliwuf.

“There are no dogs allowed in my store,” the man

sneered. The filth caked on his teeth glinted in the
candlelight for a moment. The store owner’s hair was stringy

KB Forrest

with head grease, and Atar realized that the powerful body
odor that filled the room was issuing from the owner.

Atar smiled at the man, not understanding. The man rose

from his chair and shouted. “There are no dogs allowed! Get
the filthy creature out of my store!”

He glared at Bulliwuf, whose silver fur shone with

moonlight luster. The great wolf’s massive frame was
packed with iron hard muscles, well defined even under his
luxuriant fur. Bulliwuf made a wolf-grin at the man and sat
down. Atar gave the shopkeeper an odd look, wondering
what the man was shouting about.

He turned his back to the man and began to paw through

the  merchandise  enthusiastically.  He  wasn’t  skilled  at
tanning hides, a task that fell to the Paralatae women, but he
now  wished  he  had  watched.  He  would  need  something
really  warm  for  the  winter,  and  although  he  killed  many
animals  for  food,  the  hides  he  saved  were  always  too  stiff.
Perhaps he could watch to see how it was done. He had seen
the women use ashes from the fire, mixing them with water.

* * * *

On the edge of town, a woman turned her head sharply,
pausing in her garden work to stare at the second group of
riders. The figures were shrouded in deep cloaks, and they
moved with the grace and intensity of hunters.

Zohak turned onto the wide main street. From under his

hood, he scanned the people watching him. His gaze flicked
to a line of horses tethered before the shops.

He tensed as he saw the distinctive blue roan tied at the

end of the line. He held up a hand to halt his men. The
townspeople watched with interest as Zohak turned to them.

“He’s here. This may be our only chance. We will

surround the first shop. I will go in, and see if he’s there. If
he’s not, we move on to the next shop. Understand?”

Burned Dreams

The hunters nodded, silent.

* * * *

Atar held up a large sheepskin. The fleece was yellow, and it
still  smelled  strongly  of  sheep.  He  put  this  one  aside,  and
continued  to  dig,  shoving  a  pile  of  rabbit  skins  to  the  floor
without  noticing.  The  owner  roared.  Atar  looked  over  at
him, concerned.

“Out! Out! Out of my shop, you filthy outlander! Look!

Your  giant  dog  just  raised  his  leg  and  peed  on  my  shoes!”
The  owner  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  gesturing  at
Bulliwuf’s  present  to  the  man.  “I  say  out!”  The  owner
shoved his door open.

Atar glanced at Bulliwuf, and shrugged. “I guess we

should leave. I wonder what’s wrong with the poor fellow.”
Atar sauntered past the shopkeeper.

Phew! Bulliwuf exclaimed as he forcefully shoved his nose

into the man’s crotch and snuffled deeply.

The shopkeeper screamed, and Bulliwuf darted out,

smiling wolfishly.

“What an unusual specimen! Such a ripe odor! Like a

twelve-day dead cow!”

Atar glanced over to see why the man had screamed, but

all he saw was the door slam. Atar frowned and looked
around. The townspeople had gathered outside their houses
to watch. Atar frowned harder.

A horse stamped near him. He froze as he saw the

mounted  black-clad  figures  clustered  around  the  store  next
to  the  one  he  was  outside  of.  Another  hooded  figure
emerged  from  the  shop  as  he  watched.  The  head  turned
slowly, but from beneath the hood, Atar detected the glint of
eyes.  They  held  each  other’s  gaze  for  an  instant,  and  the
hairs rose on the back of Atar’s neck. The creature let out an
unearthly howl and ran at Atar. The other hunters turned to

KB Forrest

see him.

Atar debated for a fraction of a second, swinging his mace

down  from  his  shoulder.  He  howled  his  own  chilling  cry
and  ran  at  them.  His  attackers  were  so  surprised  that  they
fell  back  a  step.  Atar  ran  past  the  horsemen,  hearing
Bulliwuf  snarl.  His  path was  blocked  by  the  hooded  figure
on  foot.  Atar’s  mace  locked  with  the  figure’s  sword.  The
clash  of  weapons  and  the  screams  of  the  hunters  filled  the
air. The townspeople dove for cover.

“My leg! My leg is gone!” one of the hunters screamed in

a voice made inhuman by pain.

Bulliwuf launched himself at one of the horsemen, his

powerful muscles hurling him into the air. The man’s throat
was  torn  open  before  he  had  time  to  raise  his  weapon.
Bulliwuf  brought  him  down  as  the  life  gurgled  out  of  him
and  turned  on  the  hunter  behind  him,  baring  his  bloody
fangs.  He  launched  himself  at  the  man’s  sword  arm,
severing it with a vicious snap of his teeth.

Atar bared his own teeth, amazed by the strength of his

opponent.  The  man  kicked  Atar’s  shins,  sending  keen  pain
through  him  and  knocking  him  off  balance.  Atar  rolled
desperately away in the dusty ground. A sword came down
toward his head, and his opponent was on him again. Atar
only had enough time to block the blow. He broke away and
leapt to his feet, eyes wild with battle fury. He snarled and
attacked again, heaving his heavy mace in a blow that would
have  decapitated  the  man,  if  the  hunter  hadn’t  dropped  to
his knees. Atar felt more than heard the attacker behind him.

“Stop,” someone screamed.
Atar darted aside, realizing as he did so, that there were

too many to fight. And they were all mounted. Atar dashed
through the horsemen until they gathered their wits.

“After him!” Zohak bellowed, picking himself off the

ground.

Something hit Atar from behind. He stumbled to his

Burned Dreams

knees as they descended upon him. Hands seized him. With
foolhardy bravery and unbelievable strength, he wrested his
limbs  out  of  their  grasp  and  scrambled  under  and  around
the  legs  of  the  horses  surrounding  him.  His  move  was  so
sudden and quick that the hunters spent an  awful moment
of confusion before Zohak screamed.

“You fucking idiots!”
Atar saw Ishria standing not too far away. The horsemen

were  just  barely  turning  around,  trying  to  make  their
mounts obey them, but Zohak was upon him. He darted out
after  Atar,  and  raced  after  him  down  the  main  street.  His
fingers  grazed  Atar’s  shoulder  as  he  reached  out,  but  Atar
shot ahead of him. Atar had always been faster than Zohak.
Zohak  quickened  his  pace,  but  Atar  pulled  ahead,  hearing
the horsemen thunder down the street behind him, gaining
with every second.

Atar stumbled as he reached Ishria, and fumbled as he

tried  to  untie  him.  His  shaking  hands  slipped,  and  slipped
again.  The  hunters  were  a  few  feet  away.  Atar  leapt  onto
Ishria’s  back  and  turned  him  easily.  His  mace  locked  with
another  man’s  sword,  and  he  tore  himself  away  as  Ishria
bolted. As the hunter attacked again, the world was blurring
by with the speed of the horses. Atar disengaged and swung
his mace with all the force he could muster. The hunter was
unseated and Atar was sprayed with his blood. Atar heard
his  screams  as  his  comrades  mercilessly  rode  their  horses
over him. Atar urged Ishria faster as the forest around them
thickened, branches slapping at his face.

Atar narrowed his eyes and hunched over Ishria’s

whipping mane. Bulliwuf’s flitting silver form guided them
through  the  forest.  Suddenly  Atar  felt  himself  rising  up  in
his saddle. He glanced down for a fraction of a second, and
saw  a  stream  rushing  by  twelve  feet  beneath  him.  Ishria’s
hooves  hit  the  bank  on  the  opposite  side,  and  dug  into  the
soft mud, propelling them onward. Atar caught his breath.

Burned Dreams

Chapter Six

ire!” Captain Vermais shouted. The screams of agony,
the moans of the wounded, and the insistent pounding

of  the  battering  ram  mingled  together  in  the  nightmarish
reality  the  Massagetae  were  facing.  Their  arrows  rained
down  on  the  Horde,  but  even  before  the  piercing  screams
had  died,  the  next  wave  of  attackers  came,  swarming  over
the bodies of their fallen comrades with all the sensitivity of
ants.

King Mena closed his eyes and wiped the perspiration

from  his  brow,  leaving  a  sooty  trail.  His  weariness  was
beyond anything he had ever experienced. Never before had
the weight of responsibility lain so heavily on his shoulders.
He opened his eyes again and looked out at the endless sea
of  barbarians  surrounding  his  beautiful  city.  He  felt  fear
clutch  at  his  bowels.  The  certain  knowledge  of  imminent
death made a wave of nausea rise up within him.

“Your Majesty,” Captain Vermais was talking to him.
King Mena turned, his brow furrowed, the cut on his

cheek stinging as sweat trickled into it.

“Your Majesty, we—Mithra save us, we are running out

of  arrows,”  the  captain  said  in  an  urgent  undertone.  His
voice shook, and the king knew he was imagining what the
ruthless barbarians would do to his young daughter if they
failed  to  protect  the  city.  The  king  was  also  afraid  for  his
own  dear  daughter.  The  pounding  of  the  battering  ram

“F

KB Forrest

boomed insistently over his words. “And the food, my
men—how can we fight if we are weak from hunger?”

The king said nothing. He turned away from Captain

Vermais’  bloodshot,  desperate  eyes,  and  watched  a
procession  of  children  carrying  water  to  the  boilers.  A
soldier lay dying quietly with his back propped against the
wall.  A  pool  of  his  blood  stretched  out  into  one  of  the
children’s  path,  and  King  Mena  watched  as  tiny  bloody
footprints were formed.

He took in a great shuddering breath, wishing the

terrifying pounding would stop. They would give up after more

boiling water was thrown at them, surely they would give up soon.

“Your Majesty! The princess! We must get Sophene to

safety.” The captain shook his king’s shoulder in
desperation. “Listen, Your Majesty…”

King Mena shook off Captain Vermais’ hands and held

up his own, shaking his head. He could not, despite decades
of training, keep the fear out of his voice. “What exactly do
you suggest we do? We are surrounded, and even if we
could get her safely out, what would there be for her? She
has been raised to be a queen. She would never abandon her
people.”

“But there must be something we can do!” Vermais said.
King Mena turned his back, so Vermais would not see the

tears  of  vexation  that  poured  over  his  cheeks.  If  only  the
boom  of  the  battering  ram would  stop,  he  could  collect  his
thoughts. A volley of flaming arrows arced over the wall.

* * * *

Princess  Sophene  the  Sharp  rushed  over  to put  out  the  fire
that  was  beginning  to  catch  on  the  side  of  a  wooden
building. She pulled the flaming arrow out of the side of the
wall  with  hands  bruised  and  blistered  from  unaccustomed
manual labor. She stomped the flames out, and turned back

Burned Dreams

to the task at hand.

Strands of Sophene’s red hair had escaped from her coif

to brush the back of the Himalayan cat that was draped over
her shoulders with its claws dug into the fabric of her gown.
Kartir sniffed his mistress’ ear, laying his own tiny ears back
in fury, his claws digging deeper into the fabric of Sophene’s
gown. Kartir was a true Persian cat, with a pedigree to rival
Sophene’s. His flat face, brilliant blue eyes, and long cloudy
hair were a miracle of the breeding with which the Persian
mages amused themselves. He was a cat with magic and he
communicated through mind-speak.

Kartir rumbled a warning as he felt his mistress sway on

her feet. Sophene ignored the imperious command, as she
wove around the wounded, but knew she would drop in her
tracks soon enough.

“I would stop, but who could rest with such a noise!”

Sophene  said  to  her  cat.  She  conveyed  her  fear  of  the
booming  battering  ram.  “You,  begin  giving  water  to  these
wounded.  Can  someone  get  clean  bandages?  You  there,
fetch the newly wounded.” Sophene’s throat was sore by the
time she was done giving orders. She represented order and
sanity  to  her  people,  and  for  this  reason  she  stood  tall  and
walked with sureness in her step. As the sun rose in the sky,
Sophene finally decided to get some rest.

As she walked toward the barracks, she passed by a

mother and her children. The three were clustered around a
man who lay dying.

She turned away from the plea in their eyes, knowing full

well the fate that awaited them all, if reinforcements did not
come soon. She felt her own tears well in her green eyes as a
foreshadowing of pain crossed her thoughts. If only
someone could help them. If only Emperor Hergor would
send his army…

* * * *

KB Forrest

Atar  threw  himself  down  on  the  soft  grassy  floor  of  the
glade, and Bulliwuf settled in close beside him. The sky still
held the light of the sun, but it had set, casting the shapes of
the  trees  in  silhouette.  The  billowy  clouds  reflected  the
golden  brightness  of  the  sun,  and  their  beauty  was
emphasized by the darkness below.

“That was one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever

seen!” Atar said, lacing his fingers together behind his head
to watch the stars come out.

Ishria nickered a few feet away.
“Did you hear that?” Atar asked sitting up.
Atar tried to see into the dark trees, but his night vision

was shot from looking at the bright sky. Atar was confident
that they had lost their pursuers, but now he second-guessed
his judgment. But that was absurd, of course. No one could
follow the trail he had left. Only a Scythian…

The hairs rose on the back of Atar’s neck, and Bulliwuf’s

muscles tightened as they realized that the creatures of the
night had fallen silent.

There was no battle cry to warn them. The dark figures

hurtled  out  of  the  foliage,  racing  toward  them  soundlessly.
Atar felt a weight thrown over him, and struggled violently
against  it,  wondering  where  the  hell  he  had  put  his  mace.
Ishria’s terrified whinny rang in his ears. Panic seized Atar.
Bulliwuf  snarled  and  attacked  one  of  the  men,  ripping  his
throat out with his deadly fangs. He soon saw however, that
they  were  overwhelmed.  “Go,  Bulliwuf,  go  now!”  Atar
screamed  and  the  great  wolf  darted  off  into  the  trees.  Atar
flailed until he was so tangled he could barely move.

He screamed in impotent fury, then felt a blinding pain

on the back of his head that made bright sparks dance in the
blackness behind his lids. He slid into unconsciousness
soundlessly.

Burned Dreams

Chapter Seven

tar came to a consciousness of sorts as his head banged
forcefully against Ishria’s flank. He moaned. His whole

body  ached  and  he  was  suddenly  aware  that  he  had  been
slung  over  Ishria’s  back  like  a  sack  of  potatoes.  How  the
attackers had accomplished such a feat was beyond Atar, as
Ishria  was  violently  aggressive  with  people  other  than
himself. Perhaps it was that the horse knew of his master’s
peril.  His  arms  and  legs  were  bound  painfully  tight,  and  a
foul  tasting  length  of  leather  secured  his  mouth.  Atar
moaned again, fighting the nauseating pain in the back of his
head. He tried to turn his head to see who had captured him.

He saw nothing but the swiftly trotting legs of horses,

illuminated by the soft glow of morning. The motion of the
ground swiftly passing by made him sick to his stomach. He
closed his eyes. He could hear his attackers murmuring in a
foreign language. Fear drained his strength.

He woke suddenly as he was thrown off his horse

roughly. He howled with pain. What possible purpose could
these  people  have?  Atar  could  not  see  their  faces,  but
suddenly he heard a voice that chilled him to the bone and
caused  a  shudder  of  fear  to  run  up  his  spine.  The  figure
dismounted  with  the  grace  of  a  Scythian,  and  suddenly
Atar’s fears were confirmed. The figure drew back his hood
as  he  strode  toward  Atar,  and  the  young  man  scrambled
backward,  eyes  wide.  In  his  hands,  Zohak  carried  Atar’s

KB Forrest

tiger skin cape, his dagger, and his mace.

The other men were preparing camp, and all but one was

engaged  in  setting  up  tents.  This  odd  little  man  timidly
approached  Zohak.  “Master?”  the  creature  mewled
stretching out a three-fingered hand.

Zohak snarled and swung Atar’s mace at the little man.

Ezad the Insane danced out of the way with the quickness of
the  wind.  He  moaned  and  wheezed  pitifully,  but  Zohak
ignored  him.  He  tossed  Atar’s  prized  possessions  down
carelessly  and  crossed  his  burly  arms  over  his  chest.  For  a
full minute, he just stared malevolently at Atar. His glorious
brown  hair  shone  in  the  fire  that  was  now  lit,  but  his
handsome features were set in a mask of pure hatred.

“I just can’t seem to get rid of you, idiot,” Zohak said.

Then his lips curved in a chilling smile. “But that’s a
condition I will remedy soon enough.”

Atar stared wordlessly at Zohak. He seemed to be larger

than  a  god,  standing  there  in  the  flickering  firelight.  Atar
was  unnerved  by  Zohak’s  intense  scrutiny.  Zohak  took  a
step  closer  and  stared  into  Atar’s  face  searching  for
something. Finally, he turned, and Atar let out the breath he
had been holding unconsciously.

What the hell is going on? It seems that this party of men came

out here hunting for me. But why? What could I have to do with

anything? Perhaps Zohak has come after me for revenge. But it
seems more likely that Zohak would have wanted to see the last of

me.

After all, heading for the Wild Lands, he might as well be

dead for all that he would affect Zohak’s life. That thought
gave  him  a  pang.  How  his  heart  yearned  to  be  out  there,
riding free toward the beautiful lake that he knew must exist
somewhere.  He  remembered  with  chagrin  the  way  he  had
carelessly  left  his  trail, believing  that  he  was  perfectly  safe.
How wrong he had been. He hoped Bulliwuf was uninjured,
and thanked the god Ahuramazda that his dear mentor had

Burned Dreams

the good sense to run. He’s my only hope now.

Atar watched the men settle in around the fire and saw

with  hunger  in  his  eyes  the  food  they  pulled  out  of  their
packs.  One  man  came  at  Atar  with  his  dagger  in  his  hand,
and for a second or two, Atar thought it was all over. But the
man just cut Atar’s gag and tossed him a few strips of jerky
and a canteen. Realizing that they intended on keeping him
alive, at least for a while, Atar devoured the food. He took a
long drink and scanned the trees for any sign of Bulliwuf. Of
course, he would hang well back.

After he swallowed the last of his jerky, he watched the

men  around  the  flickering  fire.  There  was  almost  no
conversation  among  them.  Atar  almost  wished  they  would
talk, if only to banish the surreal atmosphere. He wondered
if  there  was  any  way  to  escape.  The  bonds  that  held  him
were stout and painful. But if he didn’t get out, what then?
What horrors did Zohak have planned? Indeed, there must
have  been  a  compelling  reason  for  Zohak  to  trail  after  him
this  far.  Atar’s fears darted  around  in  his  mind  ceaselessly,
turning over and over until they became dreams.

* * * *

The light of the flames danced in the small black eyes of the
great boar as he watched the young man fall into an
exhausted sleep. The boar was conscious of the wolf, but the
carnivore was well back from where he was, and posed no
threat. The massive creature stood perfectly still, waiting.

* * * *

Soon the other men turned in to sleep, all except Zohak, who
took the first watch. Zohak sat cross-legged, staring into the
fire, remembering his father. An expression that was
halfway between bitter victory and grief passed over his

KB Forrest

face. Dahaka the Sly was ancient history as far as Zohak was
concerned.  His  eyes  wandered  over  to  the  Idiot.  A  horse
stamped the ground nearby, nickering softly. He wondered
what it was that had made Anacharsis choose the idiot as his
successor. The kid was a halfwit, certainly no fit Firestarter.
He was hopping off into the wilderness like a wild animal.
Hell,  the  Idiot  hadn’t  even  tried  to  use  his  exalted  position
and  power  to  free  himself.  But  there  must  have  been
something he wanted. What secret depths did the Idiot hide
behind those eyes?

A loud crack interrupted Zohak’s reverie. He sat perfectly

still. The  thundering  silence  belied  the  noise  that  had  most
definitely  reached  Zohak’s  ears.  He  waited  with  his  heart
pounding. Perhaps he had merely heard the fire crackle, and
had  mistaken  it  for  something  else.  The  horse  that  had
stamped  the  ground  now  whinnied.  Zohak  took  a  long
breath. He was too jumpy.

A deep, very deep, grunt cut through the silence of the

night.

Zohak silently gathered his feet beneath him. He had not

imagined that. But as the silence stretched out, Zohak began
to wonder if he should wake the others. He was their leader.
He did not want to seem foolish.

His eyes scanned the darkness, and the hair on the back of

his neck rose. Whatever the hell the creature was, it had to
be  just  beyond  the  circle  of  firelight.  And  it  was  definitely
there.  With  a  shaking  hand,  he  reached  out  to  wake  his
comrades.  He  gasped  as  brush  crackled  alarmingly,  and
deeper  grunts  issued  from  the  darkness.  The  creature  was
moving around just outside the circle of light.

The others were now all awake, swords drawn and at the

ready. They faced the night crouching with their backs to the
fire. The only one who still slept was the Firestarter. The
men looked at each other, terror writ clear across their
features. Silence reigned. Sweat trickled down Zohak’s shirt.

Burned Dreams

The creature moved again, and the men could see the bushes
tremble as whatever it was brushed past them.

The sound of the heavy breathing and occasional grunts

let the men know just how big this creature was. Ezad the
Insane began a high keening wail of fear.

“Shut him up! Shut him up!” Zohak whispered fiercely.
The man nearest Ezad clapped a hand over his mouth.

They were wondering what the hell the creature was waiting
for. Hours passed in this fashion.

* * * *

The  next  morning,  Zohak  kicked  Atar  awake  in  the  gray
predawn  hours.  Atar  looked  around.  He  felt  the  fear  flood
back  into  his  being. He  still  felt  sore, but  he  was  no  longer
exhausted.  The  men  looked  haggard  and  wild  eyed.  Atar
wondered why. He could not help noticing the way the men
kept glancing back into the foliage. He ate the jerky that was
thrown at him with relish. The men were so anxious to be off
that  they  did  not  make  a  fire,  nor  spend  any  time  at  all
lingering.

The bonds securing Atar’s feet were cut, and he was

unceremoniously  hoisted  onto  Ishria.  His  feet  were  tied
together with a length of rope, securely strapping Atar to his
horse. As they bounced along, Atar tried to work the bonds
holding  his  wrists  free,  moving  with  the  single-minded
determination  of  someone  desperate  to  save  his  life.  The
terrain  began  to  change  from  mossy  woodland  to  green
pastures. He felt his stomach rumble painfully and guessed
that  it  must  be  well  after  noon.  Distantly  he  heard  the
mournful bleating of sheep, and made out their white forms
dotting the land. The sun was warm on his back, but he was
no closer to freeing himself than when he began. He fought
the desperation in his heart.

KB Forrest

* * * *

Up on a distant hill, five sheepherders were lounging after
lunch under one of the few trees that dotted the landscape.

“Wonder what they’re up to?” one casually said.
“No tellin’,” another replied.
There was a silence as the shepherds regarded the men on

horseback.

One of the shepherds scratched his dog’s ears. “I wonder

if they come from the capital. Did you hear that the
Massagetae are down to their last supplies?”

“Really? I heard they’ve been eating rats for a while.”
They laughed, and then one said, “I know the army is

supplied with weapons, at any rate. Kava the Blacksmith has
been working night and day. General Tavos is the coward
holding the whole thing up.”

“Yes, my friend! What cowards the lot of them are.

Honestly,  who  could  let  such  a  beautiful  city  fall  to  the
Horde?  And  fuck  it  if  my  kids  aren’t  starving  from  those
taxes. I simply refuse to pay nowadays. Imagine raising the
taxes after they take our young men!  When will enough be
enough?  I  mean  what  the  hell  do  they  expect  us  to  eat,
rocks?”

“Yeah, it would serve them right if those hootin’

barbarians  come  swarming  down  on  Hergor’s  kingdom.
What the hell is Prince Sugreeva waiting for? An engraved
invitation?  Queen  Cunaxa  has  been  pushing  the  armies  to
act  for  months,  ever  since  Terhool,  but  that  despot  doesn’t
pay attention. Honestly, what we need is an assassin and a
new leader.”

The words of the shepherds were drastic, but the

grumblings of the populace had turned to a roar of late. Such
inflammatory  talk  was  commonplace.  In  the  cities,  it  bred
riots  and  strikes.  In  the  country,  it  bred  complete
disobedience.

Burned Dreams

“We need a good leader. One without a paunch.”
“What the hell does that have to do with jack shit?”
“Hey,” another shepherd cut in, “did you hear about

Reedor’s brat?”

“No, what’s wrong with him, did he get drafted?”
“No,” the man said, with a funny expression, “he was too

young for that. He was killed. Or, at least that’s what they
supposed. His daddy found his goat herd all unguarded,
and the kid was nowhere in sight.”

“Shit, could he have run away?”
“Not a chance,” the man said. “You know, they were

grazing at the base of the Dragon Caves. The boy could have
wandered up there, you know.”

There was a general laugh of contempt until one man

said, “Come, now, you don’t think a dragon killed him? My
wife loves those old tales.”

“Well…we have been having a drought haven’t we? Do

you think such a drought is natural? Dragons cause drought.
Everyone knows that.”

The others were silent at this.
“Hey look! Mithra be praised!” one said suddenly.
There was an awed, breathless silence. “No,” one of the

shepherds said, “more like the God Verethragna the Boar be
praised!”

“Look! Look! Do you see the tusks?”
“The feet! Look at the monstrous hooves!”
The great boar was quite a distance away, but close

enough to chill the hearts of the shepherds. It was obviously
following  the  mounted  men.  The  shepherds looked  at  each
other as this sank in. They all knew the legends. Could  this
mean  what  they  thought  it  meant?  Was  this  the  great  Farr,
the Royal Boar apparition? But it only followed an emperor!
The  hulking  shape  disappeared  over  the  hill,  and  the
shepherds  rushed  to  examine  the  massive  hoof  prints.  For
the  next  two  hours,  the  shepherds  discussed  animatedly

KB Forrest

what they could remember about the band of men. That
night, they all talked to their wives, who then talked to their
friends, who talked to their husbands in turn.

* * * *

Zohak’s breath came out in a whoosh as he dismounted. He
looked  exhausted,  but  the  other  men  looked  worse.  They
were camped out in the open. The pastureland rolled out in
all  its  comforting  vastness  around  them.  The  men  set  up
camp  quickly  in  the  light  of  the  dying  sun,  and  wasted  no
time in starting a fire and handing out the rations. The only
delay came when the decision of who would take first watch
arose. They were all so tired that they nearly came to blows
over the decision. Finally, Zohak sternly ordered a villainous
looking man to take the first watch. Atar watched silently.

The man sat down with a thump, brows furrowed in

anger.  The  rest  of  the  men  settled  in  and  were  asleep  in
moments. The gentle sound of the breeze whistling over the
land  lulled  the  man  on  watch  until  his  eyes  became  heavy
and  it  took  every  ounce  of  strength  he  had  to  stay  awake.
His eyes drifted toward the dark land. The circle of firelight
stretched out quite a distance without trees to obscure it, but
eventually it too, was swallowed up by the infinite darkness
of the country night.

The man on watch spat on the ground and scratched his

balls,  still  sneering.  Suddenly  he  turned  his  head,  his  eye
attracted  by  movement  just  barely  perceived  out  of  the
corner  of  his  eye.  He  yawned,  still  searching,  but  not  yet
alarmed. He reached for his pack and quietly brought out a
small  flask  of  whiskey.  An  hour  passed,  and  the  whiskey
began to press insistently on his bladder. He heaved himself
to  his  feet,  and  walked  out  of  camp  and  into  the  night  to
relieve himself.

As he undid his belt, he heard a noise behind him. It was

Burned Dreams

a deep exhalation of air. Suddenly, his sleepiness was gone
as adrenaline pumped into his system. The remembered fear
of last night came hurtling at the man with the force of a
lightning bolt. He felt his mouth go dry. Slowly he turned to
face whatever horror awaited him.

Standing still, outlined against the light of the distant fire,

was  the  form  of  a  monster.  The  razor  sharp  guard  hairs
bristling on the creature’s back were haloed from the warm
light  beyond.  The  massive,  deadly  tusks  threw  back  the
firelight from their golden tips. The man felt hot urine soak
into his pants as shaking overtook him.

He let out a small, squeaking groan that did not penetrate

through the stillness of the night. He could not scream, he
could not move. His flask of whiskey fell to the ground out
of nerveless fingers.

The great boar lunged, and then he thundered off. A

moment later, the form of a great wolf stood over the body,
and then his moonlit, silver head lowered as he tore into the
still-warm flesh.

* * * *

Atar woke suddenly.

“What the fuck is going on? Eh?” Zohak roared. Dawn

was breaking gloriously over the land. Zohak was violently
kicking his men awake, fairly frothing at the mouth. “Which
one of you incompetent idiots fell asleep? Eh? Bastards!
Answer me! Now!”

The men blinked, and stared around. Zohak saw the

empty bed at the same time the others did. Nobody moved
for a second. Zohak tossed a nervous glance over his
shoulder.

“Listen, if Bayor wanted to desert us, he would have

taken his horse and his pack. And why would he leave after
we captured the Idiot and he had the promise of a great

KB Forrest

reward  from  Prince  Sugreeva  almost  in  his  hands?
Something  must  have  happened.”  Zohak  started  to  shout
orders.

“You, Ezad, search the outlying area,” Zohak said, with

an expansive gesture that took in all the land in sight. “You
others get ready, there will be no breaks today. We’ll eat in
the saddle.”

“But, Sir…”
Zohak quelled the man with a fierce stare. The men

hurried to obey.

Atar did not understand what was going on, but he was

almost finished eating his jerky when Ezad returned. In his
three fingered hand he carried the missing man’s whiskey
flask. It was splattered with blood.

Zohak paled.
“Let’s go, come on. Move damn it!” Zohak yelled at his

men in his nervousness.

The party rode hard for three more days, covering a huge

amount  of  land.  The  men,  except  for  Atar,  got  very  little
sleep.  They  rose  before  dawn  and  didn’t  stop  until  the
darkness  was  so  complete  the  horses  refused  to  move.  On
the evening of the fourth day, they caught the first sight of a
Persian  town.  Atar  looked  around  him  with  interest,
wondering if he could solicit help from any of the villagers.

The people came out of their houses to stare at the group

of  riders  with  their  strange  prisoner,  but  no  one  made  a
move  to  help  Atar.  For  all  they  knew,  he  could  be  a  killer
being  brought  to  justice.  They  rode  through  town  without
catching  sight  of  an  inn  of  any  kind.  Finally,  they  bedded
down  in  someone’s  barn,  grateful  to  have  four  stout  walls
around them to protect them against the horrors of the night.

A day later, they reached the outskirts of the great city

itself. From their vantage point, they had a magnificent view
of the city that stretched out into the distance. Atar took in a
long breath. He had been raised among the Paralatae

Burned Dreams

Scythians, the fierce barbarians who knew no city. Seeing the
graceful onion towers shrouded in morning mist among the
thousands  of  houses  and  buildings  filled  him  with  an
indescribable  feeling.  As  they  approached  the  city,  Atar
began to get really worried. How could Bulliwuf follow him
if  they  took  him  into  such  a  vast  place?  He  would  be  lost
forever.

He yanked violently at his bonds, heedless of stealth.

Zohak turned to see, and gave the young man a hard punch
in the jaw.

“Settle down, ass-wipe,” Zohak said in Scythian.
Atar began to sweat. He took in a deep breath and

gagged. What was that awful smell? They were passing
buildings and quickly entering into the crowded city.

Atar’s eyes darted around taking it all in, trying to

remember landmarks for when he would make his escape.

Now people pressed together in throngs in the streets,

only barely making way for the party of horses that was now
forced  to  travel  in  single  file.  The  noise  of  screaming
hawkers,  haggling  citizens,  donkeys  braying  in  complaint,
and  everyone  chattering  almost  overwhelmed  Atar.  They
passed a smith’s shop, and Atar gawked at sparks spraying
from his hammer. The yeasty smell of fresh bread made Atar
salivate,  but  they  passed  the  bakers  without  pausing.  A
group  of  uniformed  watchmen  at  a  street  intersection
nodded and saluted to Zohak. Atar gaped at a wagonload of
fruits.  As  he  watched,  two  young  boys  darted  out  from  an
alleyway and snatched up armfuls of goods before the poor
farmer  noticed.  Atar  took  note  of  the  direction  they  were
going, but he couldn’t seem to remember if they had turned
right or left the last time they had changed direction.

As they progressed into a merchant and residential area,

the buildings looked more respectable. The cobbled streets
made loud clacking sounds as the horses trotted along. Atar
was totally disoriented. The streets grew wider, and they

KB Forrest

passed by walled courtyards with the heady scent of flowers
drifting  over.  They  turned  another  corner,  and  suddenly
Atar’s  vision  was  filled  with  a  gorgeous  building.  The
sunlight shone on the ornate  onion dome  that crowned the
structure.  Two  turrets  flanked  the  great  structure.  It
appeared  to  be  a  temple  of  some  kind,  with  people
constantly  going  in  and  out.  The  huge  doors  were  thrown
open revealing an interior lit by buttery sunlight.

Atar tried to turn around in his saddle to look some more,

but Zohak cuffed him again.

“Stop gawking, moron,” Zohak said in Scythian.
They wound their way through more streets, into an

increasingly wealthy section of the city. They passed another
temple, and several huge buildings. The people they passed
were richly dressed in fine silks and jewels. Atar was trying
to see inside one of the buildings, but then he turned to face
front  again.  That’s  when  his  jaw  dropped.  Looming  above
him like a mountain was the most enormous building he had
ever  seen.  A  stout  stone  wall,  manned  by  a  small  army  of
palace  guards  stationed  about  every  one  hundred  yards,
surrounded the building. Atar realized that he had seen the
top of it from his first overview of the city, but who would
have  thought  that  it  could  be  so  large!  Every  available
surface was richly decorated. A gold tip that glowed  in the
sun topped the onion dome that was the central point of the
castle. The towers branching off the main building added to
the sheer majesty of the edifice.

Atar stared with the unbridled awe of someone totally

unfamiliar  with  civilization.  Except  for  his  few  days  at  the
Great  Fair  at  the  base  of  the  Caucasus  Mountains,  he  had
never been out of Scythia. He was a barbarian, a member of
the  Paralatae,  the  most  bloodthirsty  and  self-sufficient
people  ever  to  make  their  stand  here  on  earth.  Seeing  the
glory of the Persian Empire, really seeing civilization for the
first time, he was struck dumb.

Burned Dreams

* * * *

From a window above, a lovely dark haired woman stared
down  idly  at  the  courtyard.  Jahi  the  Lovely,  the  wife  of
Zohak,  frowned  with  displeasure  as  she  saw  her  husband
returning. She couldn’t make out his face from this distance,
but she recognized his horse. She glanced seductively at the
man occupying her bed.

“I’m afraid the fun is over for now, my love,” Jahi said in

heavily  accented  Pahlavi.  She  had  learned  a  smattering  of
the language in the weeks she’d been living at the castle with
her husband. The young man’s smile faded. He cursed softly
and got out of the bed. She turned to frown at the window,
lazily  drawing  on  some  clothes.  She  stopped.  The  gates
below were opening, and the sunlight caught the rich, long,
hair of the captive. Her lips parted. Could it be him? The last
time she had seen him, he was fighting in the boxing ring at
the  Great  Fair.  How  she  had  wanted  him!  How  she  still
wanted  him!  Hastily,  she  pinned  her  hair  up,  and  rushed
toward the council chamber.

* * * *

Atar watched the castle until he could crane his neck no
longer. They stopped before one of the massive gateways
and Zohak called up to the guards.

Atar gaped in shameless wonder. His awe overshadowed

his fear for the moment, but it was never far from his mind.
The gates swung open, and the party cantered in. Atar was
pulled  off  his  horse  roughly,  and  pushed  forward.  He
stumbled  gracelessly,  but  was  caught  by  the  two  men
holding  his  arms.  Zohak  regarded  him  for  a  moment,  and
then he turned to lead the party into the depths of the castle.
Atar  was  pulled  along,  and  he  suddenly  realized  that  he

KB Forrest

couldn’t possibly hope to escape such a formidable structure
as the castle. He snarled at the hunters holding him and set
his feet, using every ounce of upper body strength he had to
resist them. He struggled like the wild creature he was.

“Do I have to do everything myself?” Zohak asked. “You

there, push the little asshole from behind.”

Atar was thrown off balance by the violent shove that

nearly knocked the wind out of him. He was dragged a few
more feet before he began to struggle again.

“Oh Mithra’s nuts! Don’t be difficult, Idiot,” Zohak

sighed.

By the time they made it to the council chamber, Atar and

the  hunters  struggling  to  keep  hold  of  him  were  covered
with sweat. Atar’s head snapped up when they entered into
a  vast  chamber  filled  with  light  and  color.  His  wild  eyes
swept the room, taking in the large number of richly dressed
nobles, and the king seated in all his pomp and gluttony on
the raised dais.

He struggled with renewed ferocity, raising shocked

exclamations,  as  he was  dragged  forth ruthlessly.  Cunaxa’s
eyes  widened  with  surprise.  Prince  Sugreeva  rose  from  his
seat  on  the  dais,  flushing  a  deep  shade  of  red.  Queen
Rutvana  the  Loud,  his  mother,  rose  with  him,  disgust
twisting her mouth into an ugly shape.

Zohak bowed. “I have found him, Lord Sugreeva. I have

brought the Firestarter here as you requested, but as you can
see, he is a useless savage.”

Murmurs rippled through the high ceiling of the chamber.

Zohak scanned the crowd with narrow eyes. Sugreeva’s
mouth pulled into a grimace as he took in the hunters’ dusty
clothes.

Hergor laughed heartily and Atar glanced up at him,

amazed by his girth. Heslin, the most powerful Speaker
Mage in the Seven, tripped forward and began to stutter.

“Du…I…uh…”

Burned Dreams

Atar glanced at him, still straining at his captors. He

recognized the nervous man from the Banquet.

“Is this who you plan to use as you general, Your

Highness?” Meruzanes, the Vizier inquired in his oily voice.

Sugreeva opened his mouth, “Uh…”
“I can’t believe this!” Rutvana the Loud shrieked,

cracking her fan in two.

Sugreeva knit his brows and turned to her. “But, Mother,

he is the son of the Great Anacharsis! He killed the dragon
on the top of the mountain, he…”

“I don’t care if he is the son of Anacharsis. That doesn’t

make him royal, or even noble. I had no idea you planned on
using this…this…filthy barbarian as your general! It is an
abomination! A disgrace! Get him out of my castle at once! I
will not associate with such trash!”

Rutvana was very red in the face by the time she was

done. Atar noticed the way Meruzanes had turned away
from the emperor.

Sugreeva tossed the stiff curls out of his eyes and hooked

his hair behind his ear. “Mother, you forget yourself, I will
be king one day. I take orders from no one!”

Hergor bellowed out a raucous laugh. Atar was

mesmerized by the awful sound and by the  rippling  layers
of fat that jiggled with his laughter. Sugreeva turned to his
father,  as  if  offended  that  this  crass  man  had  marred  the
effect of his manly speech.

“Father!” Sugreeva hissed, but Meruzanes was already

whispering into Hergor’s ear.

Atar watched with interest. Heslin rolled his eyes in fear

and shifted around. As Heslin listened, Atar heard and
understood what they were saying through the mind of the
powerful Speaker Mage.

Queen Rutvana dislikes you, Firestarter, Heslin finally said

in his quavering mental voice. As before, Atar had to strain
to hear his faint words.

KB Forrest

Then tell her to let me go! I don’t want to be here either! Atar

roared mentally.

Heslin screamed and all heads turned to him. He was

clutching his ears and a small trail of blood snaked down
from one of them, and into his starched, white collar. Please,

most honored Firestarter, please speak quietly or I will not be able
to sustain my sanity.

Atar did not respond. He was glaring at the people on the

dais.  He  recognized  the  slight  man  with  the  pale  blonde
curls. He was the one who started the fight at the banquet by
threatening  the  beautiful  redhead.  Atar’s  eyes  suddenly
locked  with  Cunaxa’s.  He  stared,  puzzled  by  the  hope  and
unmistakable kindness in her eyes.

“I don’t believe this!” Rutvana the Loud shrieked.

“Sugreeva, my son, do you know nothing after all the years I
taught you? You would be mad to let such a fool as this lead
the  armies.  You  must  put  yourself  in  the  forefront  of  the
public  eye  and  take  the  glory  of  leading  the  armies.  You
propose  to  let  this  filthy  barbarian  head  your  armies?  You
are more of a coward than even your father! At least he led
his army.”

She stormed out of the council chamber. There was a brief

silence as Rutvana and her entourage filed out.

“I think you choose wisely, my son,” Hergor said,

nodding importantly. Sugreeva looked hopeful as he wrung
a silken handkerchief in his pale hands.

What do they want with me? Atar demanded of Heslin.
“What does he say?” Sugreeva asked in a shaky voice. “I

hope the barbarian stops making a fuss.”

“Um…well…he…that is…he wants to know what we

want of him.”

Cunaxa leaned forward.
“Tell him,” Sugreeva cleared his throat, and continued,

“That he has the honor of leading the armies of this empire
to battle the Horde.”

Burned Dreams

Atar glared at the washed out, pompous little man.

Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. The rich
sound of it filled the chamber.

“Smack him,” Sugreeva ordered in a voice shrill with

insulted pride.

One of the hunters punched Atar in the face. Atar

struggled wildly, murder in his eyes. Blood poured out of
his nose, making him look even more frightful.

“Enough of this!” Cunaxa ordered. She rose from her seat

and advanced on the struggling figures.

When Atar saw her coming, he stopped moving. He did

not want her to get hurt, and he felt an odd something as she
approached. She carried herself with more grace and dignity
than  any  of  the  others  on  the  dais.  It  inspired  in  him  a
profound  respect.  He  wondered  how  such  a  woman  could
be mixed up with such people as the fat man and the loud
woman. She looked born for the crown.

“Young man,” she said, in a quiet, authoritative voice, “no

one can force you to lead the armies.”

She raised a hand to cut off Sugreeva’s sputtering.
Heslin translated the words mentally, and the queen went

on. “But please, please, you must let me explain the
situation. The Horde is attacking the Massagetae. They are at
the city’s gates on the verge of plundering the city! Next,
they will come here. Now, I know that you have nothing to
do with this, but for the sake of your honor, please help us.”

“As if he could possibly understand the noble concept of

honor!” Sugreeva snorted. Cunaxa turned to glare at him.

Atar stared at the queen as Heslin nervously translated

her words.

“Think of the innocent people who will be killed if you do

not assist us! In leading the armies, you would be a hero to
them all!”

“Not really, it’s my glory that he’s fighting for,

remember?” Sugreeva whined petulantly.

Burned Dreams

Chapter Eight

unlight glinted off the swords and armor of the soldiers.
The city gates swung open and Atar, at the head of the

army,  winced  at  the  roar  of  the  crowd.  People  hung  from
windows,  and  packed  the  street  to  watch  the  great  armies
ride out gloriously under their new general. Atar’s head was
swimming. What had he done? He swallowed nervously as
the  crowd  showered  his  path  with  flower  petals  and
screamed  their  approval.  His  nerves  didn’t  show  to  the
appreciative  crowd.  They  saw  a  golden  savage,  clad  in  a
fierce  tiger  skin,  carrying  an  enormous  mace.  He  rode  his
famous  blue  stallion,  the  one  that  had  won  the  race  at  the
Great  Fair  despite  Zohak’s  treachery.  The  people  disliked
Zohak  as  they  disliked  the  entire  royal  house  with  the
exception  of  Cunaxa.  The  Firestarter,  being  unpolluted  by
politics,  struck  a  chord  with  the  crowd.  The  rumor  of  the
Great Royal Boar that had reached them from the provinces
also had an effect.

They gaped at the enormous silver wolf that loped by his

side, his mouth open in a pant, showing his wickedly sharp
teeth.  Atar  rode  Ishria  with  the  easy  grace  of  a  Paralatae
warrior  while  his  mind  reeled  with  the  folly  he  had  just
committed.  What  did  he  think  he  was  doing?  Around  him
the  crowd  cheered.  As  the  city  fell  behind  them,  Atar  was
overcome with amazement at his own stupidity.

But what else could he have done? The lovely Queen

KB Forrest

Cunaxa  had  pleaded  with  him.  She  was  convincing.  More
convincing  was  that  she  trusted  him,  ordering  that  he  be
freed from his bonds and fed. He hadn’t liked the part where
a  bunch  of  young  women  had  stripped  him  naked  and
bathed him. Well, maybe he liked it a little. But the food had
been incredible. The queen had allowed him to sleep under
the  stars  in  her  courtyard,  where  she’d  watched  him  all
night. When he demanded to see Bulliwuf, she’d told him to
call out with his mind. It had worked. Bulliwuf had come as
if by magic, and he also loved the queen, who pet him and
scratched his ears until he would fall to the ground in a fit of
groaning  pleasure.  He  knew  then  that  he’d  been  truly
captured, but only by Cunaxa’s beauty and grace.

Beside him, General Tavos and Heslin the Speaker Mage

rode. Heslin  was  blushing  and  bouncing  awkwardly in  the
saddle.  His  fine  green  robes  were  bunched  up  around  his
knees, and he was smiling idiotically at the crowd. General
Tavos  the  Coward  was  frowning  with  envy,  but  he  was
relieved to have someone else to blame in case of failure, and
he was certainly not anxious to face the Horde as the head of
the army.

* * * *

The  two  figures  watched  the  procession  winding  through
the  streets.  Sugreeva  turned  away  and  walked  to  a  low
couch, pouring himself some fine wine. Zohak continued to
stare out the window.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sugreeva demanded. “We

should be celebrating! Come. Let us make arrangements for
my marriage to Princess Sophene the Sharp. She will have to
come to me now, I…”

“I think you are missing something, Your Highness,”

Zohak cut in. “You must have figured out what this means.”

“Oh, what are you talking about? You can be such a wet

Burned Dreams

blanket! Come and have some wine.”

Zohak turned to look at the indolent prince relining on

the couch. “I think this is dangerous. I had no idea the crowd
would react this way,” Zohak said quietly. Of course he had
known, and he had planned for it. He proceeded cautiously.

“I agree with your brilliant decision to have the barbarian

lead the armies, but I think we need to plan things out a little
further.”

Sugreeva sat up, wrinkling his smooth brow. “Why?”
“It is just too dangerous. Can you hear that crowd? They

hail him like they hail your royal self. If he is successful, as I
think he will be with the war, then how much more will they
love him?”

Zohak paused to let the threat sink in. “Can you imagine

their reaction if they saw him riding through the streets
victorious?”

“But…my God!”
“Yes, now you see.”
“No! No, you must…This cannot be allowed! What to

do?”

“Do not worry, Your Majesty, think about this. If we used

him to fight, but arranged things so that he never returned,
you would gain all the glory of the victory. The mob would
have no one but you to shower with praise. In fact, since he
will be dead, you can take his place, and ride gloriously
through the streets when the army has returned! Think of
the songs they would sing about you!”

“Yes! Yes! That’s right! I am so glad I thought of it!

Arrange for it at once!” Sugreeva said, smiling as if he were
imagining himself mounted on his grey destrier with the
adoring crowd screaming their admiration. “I will wear my
golden breastplate to bring out the gold in my hair. But then
again, if I wear black, my hair would stand out nicely. The
only problem with the black outfit is that it makes my eyes
look too grey. Which do you think is better, Zohak?”

KB Forrest

“Of course, Your Excellency, the black is the best for your

hair. You can use a blue helmet to bring out the color of your
eyes, but back to the business of the Idiot, I mean the
Firestarter…General Tavos and I can most certainly come to
an agreement. He has been most amiable in the past, and he
is the type of man who would be on the lookout for his best
interests. I will arrange things at once.”

“So the black…hmm. Save the blue horse. The

Firestarter’s horse. His blue will surely bring out my eyes,
don’t you think?”

Zohak left the room in disgust as Sugreeva began pawing

through his wardrobe. The first part of his plan had been set
into motion. Now all he would have to do was steps two and
three.  Step  two  would  be  taking  care  of  Hergor,  and  step
three  would  be  taking  care  of  this  milksop,  Sugreeva.  He
would  then  declare  his  secret.  The  secret  he’d  been
suppressing—that he was the true heir to the throne. Zohak
began to hum cheerfully as he walked down to his dungeon
chamber to prepare.

Burned Dreams

Chapter Nine

tar put his head in his hands. He was seated behind a
low table in his tent. The sounds of the soldiers outside

beginning to retire for the night filtered in through the thin
canvas of the tent. He could clearly hear Heslin the Speaker
Mage complaining in a quavering voice. It grated on Atar’s
nerves.

Atar groaned and sat up in his seat, blocking out the

noise.  He  glanced  down  at  the  scrolls  scattered  over  his
desk.  He  shoved  the  meaningless  things  aside  and  riffled
through the mess  until he found the map  he sought. In  his
head, he reviewed what he knew.

The Horde, by Tavos’ account, was at the gates of the city,

surrounding  it.  Even  with  reinforcements,  the  attackers
outnumbered them at least two to one, possibly more. Atar
chewed on his lip and regarded the sky. To the consternation
of  the  soldiers  setting  up  his  tent,  he  had  ordered  them  to
leave the roof off. He hated to be deprived of the stars.

On his map was a small diagram of the city, illustrating

the  situation.  Clustered  around  the  main  gate  on  the  north
side  was  most  of  the  Horde.  He  had  to  draw  them  away
from  there,  and  then  he  would  attack  from  the  south.  This
would  give  the  Massagetae  a  chance  to  catch  their  breaths
and tend to the wounded. Hastily, Atar began to outline his
plan of attack. The moon rose higher, and he finally decided
he was done. When he closed his eyes that  night, his mind

KB Forrest

kept  working  until  he  felt  Bulliwuf’s  strong  arm  pull  him
close.  The  stars  twinkled  above  them  as  Atar  slid  into
Bulliwuf’s  kiss.  Soundlessly  they  passed  eager  hands  over
each other’s bodies, their desire building as they held back,
savoring the few hours they had alone. Bulliwuf was hungry
for  Atar’s  body.  He  could  feel  it  as  the  werewolf’s  breath
caught  when  he  began  to  lick  his  neck.  Unable  to  contain
himself,  Bulliwuf  pushed  hard  into  him,  and  he  had  to
suppress  a  cry  of  pleasure.  The  stars  above  exploded  into
comets as their pleasure crested.

The dawn light woke him and Bulliwuf stirred beside

him. Atar stared up at the sky, trying to remember where he
was. It all came crashing back suddenly, and he leapt out of
bed.

Atar shook his head in agitation. Outside he heard Heslin

whining. Hastily, almost frantically, he began to pack up.
Bulliwuf left the tent with his tail and nose in the air, deeply
insulted at being shoved off the bed after he had pleasured
Atar for most of the night.

Atar shoved the scrolls on the table into a box, all save the

map. When he was done, he strode out of the tent with his
map. Outside, he spotted General Tavos, Heslin the Speaker,
and  two  other  lower  ranking  Generals  by  the  names  of
Monases  and  Tiridates.  They  were  seated  around  a  fire
watching  some  evil  looking  mush  bubble in  a  pot  over  the
fire. They looked up when he came.

Heslin, translate my words exactly to the generals. Here is my

plan. We attack the moment we arrive. As I estimate it, that will be
mid-morning, so our troops will be rested and fed. I have the

strategy outlined here. You see the path we will take. Notice that

we are attacking from the south to distract them from the main
gate.

Atar stopped abruptly as Heslin made an awful gurgling

sound in his throat. What the hell is wrong with you? Atar
asked in concern.

Burned Dreams

Heslin shook his head in consternation. My Lord, most

respected honored Firestarter…I…uh…it’s just that, I don’t think

we can make those kinds of plans. I’ll have to send a messenger to

his Highness Sugreeva to get clearance for that. You can’t just go
and make plans without permission.

Atar blinked. Suddenly, he was filled with disgust as

Heslin’s true cowardly nature dawned upon him. Just
translate, Atar said, trying not to let his annoyance bleed into
his mental tone, but maintaining the air of authority.

By the time Heslin had finished translating, the three

generals were  pouring  over  the  map  and  nodding.  General
Tavos  kept  saying,  “A  direct  attack  is  very  unwise,  very,
very unwise. I have experience in such things, but I suppose
the campaign is out of my capable hands.”

A wheezing made the men around the fire turn. Atar saw

a slight figure totter toward them. His three fingered hands
were clutched tightly around a scroll. He rolled his eyes for a
moment,  and  then  fixed  them  with  blinding  clarity  on
General  Tavos.  In  an  almost  sane  voice,  Ezad  the  Insane
said,  “A  message  from  Zohak  to  you,  General  Tavos  my
Lord.”  He  wheezed  at  the  end  of  his  speech,  ruining  the
effect. Tavos’ eyes darted around guiltily. General Monases
and Tiridates looked at Tavos narrowly, but Atar continued
to eat the jerky he had pulled from a bag near the fire. Tavos
left the circle of firelight and withdrew to his own tent. Atar
regarded the three-fingered man with interest.

Mage, tell him to eat. Atar said in his mental voice.
As always, Heslin was startled, but he bit his nails and

did what he was told.

Ezad the Insane cocked his head at Atar.

“You…would…feed Ezad? Feed him with food? Ezad?”

Atar did not understand the question, but he nodded and

smiled. Ask him what he does. Is he just a messenger?

Ezad twitched when the question was translated. He

drooled for a minute, gazing into the fire. Finally he said,

KB Forrest

“Ezad look for things. Many things that the shadows only
know. The shadow…Ezad’s shadow. Ezad…talks with the
shadows for the secrets of…secrets….”

Heslin looked nervous. Lord Firestarter, I do not think you

should talk with him. He’s just plain mad. Would you listen to the
ravings of an idiot?

Atar gave Heslin a heated glare. I was once considered an

idiot. Just shut up and translate.

Fine. He says he talks with the shadows for secrets. I can’t make

out the rest of his babble.

Atar looked more closely at Ezad. As he watched, a vivid

clarity came into his eyes again and was gone. The memory
was tantalizing his brain. Suddenly he remembered. After he
had fought the undead King Colaxais, the specter had told
him to trust the friend of his enemy. Was this lackey of
Zohak the man the first High King of Scythia had spoken of?
He felt certain it was.

Ask him if he will help me. Ask him to talk to the shadows that

are in the Horde.

But, Sir, I can’t just…I mean you should ask for clearance from

Prince Sugreeva before…

If you repeat that idiotic litany one more time, I’ll tear your

balls off and feed them to my wolf.

Bulliwuf smacked his lips in approval.
Heslin did as he was told, biting his nails as he talked.
Ezad was gone when Atar looked up again.

As the sun broke over the mountains, Atar turned in his

saddle.  The  soldiers  stretched  out  into  the  distance,  all
marching  in  even  regiments.  The  famous  Persian  Calvary
rode  with  grace  under  the  ancient,  still  bright  banner.  The
marching  drums  throbbed  into  the  atmosphere,  making
gooseflesh  rise  on  his  arms.  In  that  moment,  he  felt  the
power  of  the  force  he  led.  He  felt  the  power  that  he  alone
commanded in this bright sunshine. The glittering uniforms

Burned Dreams

and sword handles, the polished Persian long bows, the
scent of horses all added to a fever in the air.

In the distance, barely discernible, a hulking shape trotted

forward.  Its  great  golden  tusks  shone  in  the  sun  as  it  sped
along with its head held high. The soldiers noticed the prints
it  left  behind.  Had  that  rumor  that  reached  their  ears  been
true?  Well,  apparently,  the  evidence  was  clearly  visible  to
them.  They  walked  behind  their  barbarian  general  with  a
stronger,  surer  step,  the  rumor  circulating  like  mad,  the
cloven footprints ever marching forward.

They marched on for several days without incident. The

days began to blur together for Atar, as his mind was utterly
occupied with the upcoming battle. Heslin taught him a few
words  of  the  Mongol  dialect  as  they  traveled  over  the  vast
land.  Phrases  of  the  dialect,  possible  tactics,  possible
repercussions,  and  different  backup  plans  kept  swirling
through his mind.

The grey light of dawn was just touching the sky as the

soldiers  scurried  about  the  camp.  There  was  tension  in  the
air as they wolfed down their breakfasts. They all knew that
they  might  die  today.  They  were  willing  to  make  the
ultimate  sacrifice  for  their  countries,  and  this  nobility  of
character  was  what  kept  them  going  even  in  face  of  mind-
numbing fear.

As the sky grew light, they drew ever closer to the great

city  of  the  Massagetae.  The  thunder  of  the  hooves  and  feet
sent an ominous rumble through the land. Shivers shook the
mush  in  the  cook  pots  of  the  Horde.  Several  of  the
barbarians  raised  their  matted  heads  to  look  around.  The
rumble grew louder and louder, causing consternation in the
camp  of  the  Horde.  The  Massagetae  rushed  to  the  south
gate, scarcely daring to hope. The Horde began to  stir, and
nervously  mount  their  horses.  They  too  gathered  at  the
south side of the city, feeling cold fear.

For an instant, outlined in the sun, an enormous boar

KB Forrest

appeared on the crest of a hill. It lowered its massive tusks
and  charged,  just  as  the  bright  banner  rose  up  above  the
same rise in the land. The great armies of Persia rode in their
fierce  thundering  glory  straight  at  the  Horde,  howling  like
demons.  One  cry  in  particular,  one  piercing  ululating
Paralatae  cry,  shot  above  the  rest  and  drove  fear  into  their
hearts.  The  Massagetae  cheered  from  atop  the  gates  of  the
city,  throwing  hats  into  the  air  as  the  swords  clashed
together with terrible force. Screams of agony twisted out of
the cacophony of sound.

Atar beheaded a Mongol with a mighty swipe of his

mace.  Blood  spattered  his  tiger  skin  and  naked  chest  as  he
roared  and  attacked  again.  His  eyes  were  glazed  with  the
red  haze  of  battle  fury.  His  movements  were  the  quick
darting strikes of a predatory wild animal. Years of practice
had honed his skill to deadly precision. Iron muscles pulled
the  great  mace  of  Colaxais,  whistling  through  the  air.
Bulliwuf  attacked  two  Mongols,  ripping  their  throats  out
with  savage  snarls,  blood  glistening  from  his  teeth.  The
superstitious  Mongols  began  to  scream  at  the  sight  of  the
great wolf. They knew well the tales of the wolf-men of the
Black Forest. The battle raged with the consuming fury of a
roaring fire. A great beast among them eviscerated a group
of Mongols with one swipe of his tusks. Blood glistened on
the  golden  surface  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  apparition
was gone.

The soldiers of Persia were brave and honorable men, but

something  about  the  savage  fury  of  their  barbarian  leader
brought  them  to  new  heights  of  courage.  His  wild
fearlessness  was  infectious,  and  the  men  fought  like  they
had never fought before.

In the midst of the battle, Atar stopped and raised his

mace,  bellowing.  Turning,  he  fled  from  the  fight,  and  the
other  soldiers,  taking  his  lead,  followed  as  they  had  been
ordered.  The  infantry  disengaged  and  pelted  after  the

Burned Dreams

cavalry. The Massagetae screamed in confusion and dismay,
while  the  Horde  whooped  with  joy.  They  began  to  pursue
the  fleeing  cowards,  many  throwing  their  shields  down  to
run faster at the retreating figures.

Suddenly, the Persian archers turned in their saddles. It

was an old Paralatae trick. As their horses bounced beneath
them at full speed, they drew back their bows and fired.
Throughout history, this technique that the Persians learned
from the Scythians would be remembered. The Horde never
saw it coming.

They screamed with surprise. Their comrades fell to the

earth  all  around  them,  but  some  still  did  not  understand
until the army turned around again and attacked. The fear of
seeing  that  shining  banner  rippling  in  the  sun  above  the
army was driven deep into the hearts of the Horde.

They fell back under the onslaught, confused and

vulnerable. They broke under the charge and fled,
abandoning their weapons. The Persians raised their bloody
swords in victory, and were answered by a cry from the far
off gates of the city. The war was far from over, though. The
Horde was still between the Persian army and the city, but
for now, they could rejoice.

Atar and his army fell back.

* * * *

The  flames  burned  white  hot  with  the  heat  of  her  passion.
She ran her tongue along the rim of her bottom lip. What a
darling  he  was,  the  goddess  thought,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the
blood spattered little figure. Her favorite was turning out to
be  more  than  she  expected  any  mortal  could  be.  But,
considering his untapped power…

KB Forrest

Chapter Ten

rincess Sophene the Sharp danced as madly as her
people on the battlements. Kartir yowled in protest,

digging his claws deeper into the fabric of Sophene’s shirt.
There was almost nothing to feast upon or to drink, but the
people were drunk on the joy of still being alive. Wild music
swirled in the air like the breeze.

Great bonfires roared in the open places, and people

laughed and screamed with joy. They were saved! Sophene’s
bright  smile  did  not  reach  her  eyes,  however.  With  the
people  laughing  in  the  streets,  she  finally  secreted  herself
away into her own room in the castle. The trilling of a sweet
flute  floated  through  her  open  windows.  The  diaphanous
curtains  lifted  on  a  warm  summer  breeze.  Moonlight
illuminated  part  of  her  room,  but  Sophene  sat  in  shadow.
Kartir  purred  consolingly  on  her  lap.  Sophene  drew  great
comfort from the warmth and softness of her faithful cat.

Tears rolled down her cheeks silently. She tried to push

the horror of her situation away from her mind, but it hit her
suddenly. She would have to leave all that she loved, all that
she  believed  in,  to  be  the  wife  of  a  weak  minded,  vain,
utterly  disgusting  man. But  she  would  do it  with  her  head
held  high  when  the  time  came.  She  would  do  it  for  her
country, because she was a woman of her word.

Wiping the tears away, Sophene silently held Kartir close.

Burned Dreams

* * * *

The  streets  of  Persia  were  as  alive  as  the  streets  of  the
Massagetae.  The  same  moon  shone  down  on  the  wild
revelers,  but  here  the  mead  flowed  freely.  The  Firestarter
was on everyone’s lips. His feats of bravery were expanded
upon. His tactics were told to wide-eyed children and half-
drunk men seated in bars. They told the rumor of the boar as
well. The soldiers’ sightings of the footprints were told and
retold. Thoughts of the awful drought were pushed aside in
favor of the victory.

Sugreeva’s fist came down on the stone table in Zohak’s

dungeon study.

“Ouch!” Sugreeva said, shaking his hand as he sucked in

his breath. “What are we going to do?” Sugreeva whined
pathetically as he cradled his hand.

Zohak did not turn away from the dark water of the pool.

He hated the sight of Sugreeva in his hair settings, wearing
the ridiculous lavender slippers that he favored.

“There is nothing to worry about, My Lord. As you know,

the mob is ever fickle. They can howl for one at dawn, and
then  change  their  affections  by  evening.  It  is  all  about
manipulations,  you  see.  I  foresaw  their  revelry,  and  I  have
planned  for  it  accordingly.  When  you  ride  through  the
streets  on  that  savage’s  stead,  they  will  have  another  to
worship. He will be forgotten.”

“But what about all this talk? What do they mean about

seeing the footprints of the Farr, the great boar of royalty?
That’s foolishness…it’s…dangerous.”

Zohak pressed his lips together. He had not counted on

that. What possessed people to make up such foolish yarns?
It would even interfere with his own plans.

“Soon, My Lord. Soon, he will not be a problem. I sent out

my most capable messenger yesterday. There will be no
Firestarter to worry about after tomorrow.”

KB Forrest

* * * *

Later that evening, Atar finally sat down heavily. It had been
an utterly exhausting day. Heslin had bitten his nails down
to  the  quick.  He  tossed  his  head  nervously,  and  fidgeted
maddeningly.  The  other  generals  ate  their  mush  in  quiet
amazement. The feeling in the camp was that the Firestarter
was one hell of a general.

Mage. Hey, wake up!
Heslin was slumped over, but he snorted when Atar’s

mental voice thundered at him. Y-yes, Lord Firestarter?

Tell the Generals that I will outline a plan tomorrow.
Atar got up, and Bulliwuf followed him to his tent.

“Bulliwuf,  the  Horde  is  in  disarray.  The  battle  today  was
unquestionably a victory, but now we have to fear how the
Horde will react. If I were their general, I would storm the
city this very night, so  that I could defend myself from the
walls of the battlements. But then again…”

Instead of answering, Bulliwuf sprang up. Ezad the

Insane had materialized in his tent. He glided into the circle
of light from Atar’s candle.

Mage! Atar bellowed in his mental voice. He heard a

squeal far off, and then a shuffling as Heslin scuttled toward
his tent.

Yes! I…
Shut up and translate, Atar said curtly with his eyes still on

Ezad.

“I come back…Ezad look…Ezad…” he broke off to look

into the dancing light of the candle. “The Horde is where
you told Ezad to go. I search long…Ezad see a fire…and…”

This is ridiculous! He’s insane, the mage began.

Shut up and translate.
“Ezad hear the talk of shadows. There is a legend…of

them…the wild one, they say, the one who kills with the fire

Burned Dreams

of a tiger, it is said that he will kill the…him. They scream-
AHHHH! AHHH! He has come! The one who will kill him.
They run, they are afraid.”

Atar sat back and regarded the stars. He had no reason to

trust the wild ravings of this man. But something inside him
told him that the weaving, bleary-eyed man before him
knew more than an ordinary man.

Feed him. Tell him I am very pleased with his report.
Ezad gurgled with pleasure and clapped his three-

fingered hands together with a dull sound as Heslin lead
him out of the tent.

“That was strange,” Bulliwuf said from the shadows.
“What did you think?”
Bulliwuf stretched out. “The crazy man seems sincere.”
Atar went out to the fire where Tiridates and Monases

were still seated. Heslin had retired, so Atar called for him.

When the mage came, looking harried and hollow eyed,

Atar began.

There’s been a change of plans. We will attack tomorrow at

dawn, before they can regroup. General Monases, you and General

Tiridates will take half the forces to the flank, here, tonight. Get a

few hours sleep if you can, once you’re in position. General Tavos

and I will attack as we did yesterday. Use your judgment, and
attack at the appropriate time. I plan to pulverize them tomorrow

and have done with it.

Outside the camp, the Farr grunted, pausing for a

moment to gaze at the camp before it continued to circle.

KB Forrest

Chapter Eleven

tar surveyed his forces, praying to the god Ahuramazda
that he had not made a mistake by separating his army.

The rain drizzled down insistently, but this did not dampen
the spirits of the men. In fact, they considered it to be good
fortune,  since  it  would  doubtlessly  discourage  the  Horde.
Besides,  the  drought  had  been  so  pernicious  that  the  rain
seemed  like  a  sign  from  the  gods.  Hopefully  more  would
follow.  Atar  closed  his  mind  to  doubt  and  focused  on  his
actions.  Wheeling  Ishria  aside,  he  urged  him  into  a  canter.
The wind was cold against Atar’s bare chest, but he scarcely
noticed.

The army moved out behind him like one massive living

creature.  Swords  and  bows  gleamed.  The  humming  of
imminent  battle  energized  the  soldiers.  The  massive
footprints  that  ringed  the  camp  burned  in  the  memories  of
the soldiers. As the soldiers looked at Atar, he felt that they
were filling themselves with the same wild frenzy that had
overcome them all yesterday.

As they came into view, a wild shout rose up from the

walls  of  the  city. His  army  answered  with  a  roar  that  fired
the blood. It came from thousands of throats. This gave it a
resonance, a power that was indescribable. Atar watched the
Horde,  waiting  for  them  beneath  the  city.  Even  from  this
distance,  they  looked  nervous.  The  Persian  army  was  a
frightful  sight,  riding  out  of  the  fog,  the  bright  banner

Burned Dreams

shining with eerie clarity even in the obscuring mist.

Atar thanked his lucky stars for the mist, for it would be

quite impossible for the Horde to tell that the army was now
divided. They swooped down on the Horde, and the ringing
clash of weapons shot through the morning air. Further and
further back they drove the dispirited enemy. The fury of the
attack amazed the Horde, and from high on the city walls,
Sophene and her father King Mena watched with delight as
their tormentors of the past few weeks slowly gave ground.

The archers on the walls of the city took aim with their

few remaining arrows and let them fly. A howl arose, and a
wild panicked shout infected the Horde like a racing fire.
One Mongol broke and ran surreptitiously, but Atar cut him
down as he fled. Another took the example of his comrade.
The Mongol general bellowed threats, but more ran away.

A veritable flock of Mongols fled then, swarming across

the land like flying rats.

A resonating shout from the other half of the Persian

army signaled that the battle had been joined once again.
The disorganized, panicked Horde fought for their very
lives. They believed that another Persian army had come to
finish them. The Massagetae howled, knowing the battle was
now won.

Atar raised his mace and let loose his piercing battle cry.

With a feeling of satisfaction, he wiped the sweat and blood
from his brow. He turned to smile with ferocious triumph at
General  Tavos,  who  had  come  up  next  to  him.  Atar  was
looking into the man’s eyes. The flicker of fear was the only
warning Atar had. Before Atar could figure out the meaning
of  Tavos’  fear,  they  were  upon  him.  A  band  of  about  ten
traitorous men surrounded him, and from behind, a forceful
blow to the head knocked him off Ishria’s back. He let out a
small  scream  of  surprise  and  disbelief,  but  the  noise  of  the
raging battle swallowed the sound.

As darkness filled his vision, Atar’s last vestiges of

Burned Dreams

Chapter Twelve

tar started awake. The pain that throbbed through his
body made thinking difficult, but he desperately

cleared his head. He was in the center of a muddy clearing.
Rough  animal  skin  tents  surrounded  him.  He  heard  the
garbled,  foreign  sound  of  the  Mongol  speech  coming  from
somewhere  behind  him.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant,
and then snapped them open when he heard the heavy tread
of a man’s foot slop against the earth. The knife in his hands
was what Atar saw first. The Mongol advanced.

* * * *

Ezad the insane sat huddled in an alleyway of the city of the
Massagetae.  Persian  soldiers  danced  with  the  grateful
townspeople  of  the  city  by  the  light  of  the  great  fires.  The
flutes  and  tambourines were  not  enough  to  drive Ezad  out
into  the  torchlight.  He  was  frustrated  with  his  insanity  for
once.  For  the  first  time  since  the  comforting  mist  had
clouded his brain, he truly fought against it. The man’s smile
kept coming back. Zohak…the letter…what did it all mean?
The  frustrating  thing  about  it  was  that  Ezad  knew  that  he
knew these answers. In a lifetime long ago, he would have
known exactly what to do.

Ezad staggered to his feet. Weaving, he made his way into

the bright streets. He found himself seated in the back of a
bar. He shook his head, wheezing, afraid, but forgetting why

KB Forrest

he felt that way.

He heard men’s voices raised in song. A cheerful barmaid

joined in the bawdy tune, slapping mugs on the table. The
ever-present undercurrent of conversation hummed through
the room.

“What a tragedy! Such a bright flame.”
The woman by his side sniffed into her handkerchief.

“They never even found his body. Did you see him fighting?
There was such a power to the Golden Savage. I guess that is
why the soldiers talk so about him.”

“Yes, yes. He will never be forgotten.”
A hush fell over the room as a young couple entered the

bar. The young man carried a lute. A soldier at a table with
his comrades called out to them, “Can you play us the new
ballad, young one?”

The man nodded, picking at his instrument. The girl took

a sip of heavily watered wine. Ezad was swept away by the
haunting  melody  that  filled  the  room.  The  girl  lifted  her
sweet voice and sang like an angel. The words were melodic
and  lyrical,  weaving  in  and  around  the  melody,  driving
Ezad to his feet. The song told of Atar’s ride into the Great
Fair,  his  race  with  Ishria,  the  fight  with  the  dragon  on  the
mountain.  It  told  of  the  bravery  he  displayed  on  the
battlefield,  how  the  Horde  turned,  the  indomitable  Horde,
turned  and  ran  when  Atar  came  riding  over  the  hill  with
Ahuramazda’s grace, and Mithra’s valor.

His death heightened the drama of the story, and the lack

of  a  body  added  to  the  mystery.  His  great  blue  horse  was
found  alone,  standing  forlornly  on  the  deserted  battlefield,
scanning the corpses for sign of his master. Ezad waited, still
standing for the melody to continue. The glow of candles in
sconces  flickered  over  the  musicians.  Ezad  gurgled,  and
tottered forward, desperation in his eyes.

“No!” he shouted.
People turned to look at the madman, and then looked

Burned Dreams

away. Ezad took a deep breath. His vision cleared. In a
moment of perfect lucidity he said, “He…the Firestarter…he
was betrayed.”

“What nonsense is this?” one of the soldiers at the table

roared.

“I know. I delivered the message from Zohak to General

Tavos. Do not…do not doubt me. I…I was just doing my job.
I had no idea he was such a hero.”

Ezad’s eyes glazed over, and he was lost to insanity once

again. The musicians looked at each other, already thinking
about the verse they would add to the ballad. The room
erupted in talk, and Ezad slunk out the door.

The whisper of treachery had been started. It was a

whisper that would turn into a roar.

* * * *

The crystal glasses clinked with a musical little chime.
Sugreeva raised the wine to his lips, and laughed again.

“That was too easy! I am so glad to be rid of the

Firestarter. What a brilliant plan. Just brilliant!”

He jumped up and spun around Zohak’s dismal dungeon

apartments. His fine robes billowed out around him and he
threw his head back in delight.

“Now it’s certain that I shall ride through the streets. Do

you think I should take a chariot, or just my horse? I’d hate
to just stand for so long, but…”

Zohak cleared his throat. Sugreeva didn’t take the hint.

He  waited  for  five  minutes,  saying  nothing,  taking  deep
breaths  to  control  the  black  fury  that  threatened  to  come
boiling  to  the  surface.  That  damned  ballad  kept  ringing
through his head. He thought it might drive him mad, that
is,  if  Sugreeva  didn’t  carry  him  off  first.  He  was  unsettled
and anxious ever since he had heard that whisper from one
of his agents. How the hell could the mob have discovered

KB Forrest

his message to Tavos? Were they just shooting in the dark?
He pondered that for a moment, consoling himself with the
certain knowledge that even if the nasty rumor circulated as
high as the castle, no one could do a damned thing about it.
There was no proof, and he had more important things to
think about. Finally, Zohak cut into the chatter as Sugreeva
paused for breath.

“Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but something of the

gravest importance has just occurred to me.”

“Huh?”
Zohak cleared his throat and endeavored to look sincere.

This  was  treacherous  going,  but  he  hadn’t  misjudged
Sugreeva  so  far.  “I  believe  we  need  to  take  action.  The
people are quite worked up about all this. I think that your
grand  procession  through  the  streets  will  be  a  wonderful
addition  to  securing  your  power  and  popularity,  but  I
believe  some  things  need  to  be  taken  care  of  first.
Your…ah…father.  Well,  as  you  know,  he  is  a  most
unreasonable man.”

“Ugh! Tell me about it,” Sugreeva said, a hot flush

appearing across his cheeks. “I can’t believe the way that
awful man laughed at me in front of the royal council.”

“I tell you, after your stunning victory over the Horde, the

people  will  love  you.”  Zohak  paused,  not  mentioning
anything  about  the  drought  and  the  dragon  rumors.
Speculation  about  the  Dragon  Caves  was  running  wild
through the populace. The silly superstitious people actually
believed  that  the  drought  could  not  be  the  work  of  nature.
The child-like provincials of the countryside were the worst.
Some  of  them  claimed  to  have  actually  seen  the  Water-
Hoarding  Dragon.  Zohak  turned  his  attention  back  to  the
conversation. “Such a tremendous victory sure would be one
hell of a way to start a reign.” Zohak sighed wistfully.

Sugreeva’s eyes took on a familiar sheen. “Yes…yes, I

agree.”

Burned Dreams

There was a silence in the room for a moment.
Sugreeva said, “You mentioned action that we should

take. Do I read you correctly?”

Zohak smiled and nodded, wetting the tips of his fingers

in  the  dark  water  of  the  pool  next  to  him.  “Imagine  the
power  you  would  wield.  That  old  man  is  really  quite  a
nuisance.  He  has  done  nothing  but  insult  you  and
undermine Your Majesty for as long as you’ve been alive.”

Sugreeva nodded, smiling, a far off look in his eyes.
“Imagine the coronation! Imagine the ladies in their finery

staring up at the dais, with you on the throne. The servants
would jump for real when you called. Think about it. That
awful father of yours would be gone for good. You could
rule in peace, you could finally discover your own power!”

Sugreeva laughed with delight, “Yes gone, for good.” He

looked up at Zohak, “What should I do?”

“I’ve got it all worked out, Your Highness.” Zohak

withdrew a black bag from his breast pocket. “When you go
to  have  tea  with  him  this  afternoon,  drop  a  pinch  into  his
tea.  No  more  than  this,  do  you  understand?  He  will  feel
slightly  ill.  Tomorrow,  you  will  put  in  a  tad  bit  more,  and
the next day, a slight bit more. You must do this gradually,
or that horrid vizier of his, Meruzanes, will suspect poison.”

Zohak was pleased to see Sugreeva’s shining eyes fixed

on him intently.

“So do you think an entirely new wardrobe would be the

best? As the emperor, I mean. You see, I have been insulted
so many times while wearing these outfits. What if
somebody remembers that when they see these clothes? Oh
no, that would never do. Do you think a particular color
scheme would be best? Or should it be random, depending
on my mood?”

Zohak covered his face with one hand. “You will

remember what I said, won’t you, Your Highness? It is of
utmost importance.”

KB Forrest

Chapter Thirteen

tar shuffled back, biting down hard, quelling the panic.
The man with the knife cut his gag and his bonds. Atar

rubbed  his  wrists  and  ankles,  breathing  hard.  The  ground
was muddy from the recent rain. Adrenaline surged through
his  system.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  but  fell  to  his  knees,
splashing in the mud. Laughter made him snap his head up.
His  feet  were  still  asleep  from  the  tight  bonds,  and  as  he
massaged his feet with hands that were almost as numb, he
grit his teeth against the million needle sharp points of pain.

The Mongols were assembling on the edge of the clearing,

chattering with each other, yowling catcalls at Atar. His eyes
darted around as more people gathered. What the hell…

The thought dissolved into mindless fear as the crowd

parted.  Lumbering  down  the  path  was  the  largest,  most
powerful  man  Atar  had  ever  seen.  He  must  have
outweighed Melik, the old Scythian chieftain by a hundred
pounds.  His  girth  rivaled  the  fat  Persian  king’s  belly,  but
unlike  him,  the  Mongol’s  arms  were  corded  with  powerful
muscles.  The  fingers  of  his  ham-like  hands  were  twice  as
thick as Atar’s. His feet sank deeply into the wet earth.

Atar swallowed and got to his wobbly feet. The crowd

laughed as he swayed and mocked him, falling against each
other in a parody of Atar’s bumbling motion. But Atar was
beyond caring. His heart beat fast as the Mongol chieftain
raised his fists and roared. Atar saw the cruelty glinting in

Burned Dreams

his eyes and divined his intent. He turned a shade paler, and
stomped the life into his feet with the desperation of a
madman. Mud spattered his lower legs and sprayed up all
around him.

The crowd jeered, hopping and flailing as Atar flailed.

The chieftain said something that was beyond Atar’s limited
knowledge of the language, and the crowd roared with near
hysterical laughter. Cold sweat trickled down Atar’s frame.
He dashed it out of his eyes, as the monster before him took
a ponderous step forward.

The chief lunged with a quickness Atar had not imagined

possible.  He was  like  a  great  lizard  striking with  terrifying
speed.  Atar  screamed  as  he  felt  the  man’s  powerful  hands
squeeze  his  shoulders.  He  was  lifted  into  the  air  with  the
ease  a  father  might  lift  his  infant  son.  The  ground  spun
beneath  him  as  he  heard  the  crowd  roar,  and  then  pain
jarred his entire body. He was slammed against the muddy
ground with a splash. He arched his back, mouth twisted in
a silent scream of agony.

He opened one eye and saw a great foot come hurtling at

his face. Displaying his eerie quickness, he dodged the blow,
feeling  the  whoosh  of  air  slide  past  his  ear.  He  scrambled
backward, but the big man was upon him before he realized
it.  He  seized  Atar’s  forearm,  wrenching  it  behind  his  back,
and  pushing  Atar  down.  Atar  felt  the  pressure  on  his
shoulder increase, until he finally understood that the chief
meant to pull his arm right off! He swung his free hand up
and clawed at whatever he could get his hands on.

His fingers hooked on a string and Atar pulled, as his

shoulder popped painfully. He felt the string give way, and
then amazingly, the grip on his arm loosened. The crowd
grew utterly still. In his hands, Atar held an amulet dangling
from a string. He backed away from the large man, dropping
the amulet as the man howled like a wounded thing.

He felt paralyzed with fear. As in a nightmare, he saw the

KB Forrest

great fist come hurtling at his head again. At the last second,
he  recalled  himself  and  darted  back.  A  wave  of  dizziness
overcame  him.  The  Mongol  struck  again,  and  the  blow
threw  Atar  spinning  to  the  ground.  Atar  felt  his  stomach
contract spasmodically. He retched in the mud, but he raised
his  red  rimmed  eyes  to  glare  up  at  the  ever  advancing
chieftain.

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was going to die. The

knowledge sent his will to live rising within him like a tidal
wave.  He  rose,  fighting  the  nausea  that  was  reawakening.
The  chieftain  lunged  and  threw  another  punch  that  Atar
ducked,  and  he  stumbled  back.  Taking  another  deliberate
step  back,  he  launched  himself,  turning  into  the  air,  and
landing  a  devastating  flying  kick  to  the  chief’s  gut.  He  felt
his foot sink in and bounce back. It surprised Atar so much
that  he  fell  in  landing.  The  stunned  expression  on  his  face
sent them all into great fits of mirth.

Rising panic cleared his thoughts. How the hell was he to

fight such a one as this?

They circled and predictably, the chief lunged again. Atar

dropped  with  easy  grace  and  using  the  momentum  of  his
body  and  that  of  the  chief,  he  tackled  the  monster’s  thick
legs. For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough force, but
he felt the massive form giving way, sliding in the mud, and
toppling  like  a  great  colossus.  He  fell,  his  blubber  in  an
ecstasy of motion. The chieftain bolted upright, struggling to
get his feet under him. Atar’s powerful arm locked around
his neck.

The big man roared, standing to his full height, and lifting

Atar as he lifted himself. His face turned purple then blue, as
he struggled wildly to get Atar off. Atar held on for dear life,
clutching the man’s windpipe as hard as he could. The chief
staggered and sank to his knees. Then he toppled forward,
his eyes glazed in death.

Atar was dazed, and dangerously exhausted. The eerie

Burned Dreams

lack of sound around him made his ears ring.

A wild howling shout rose up all of a sudden, and the

entire tribe took up the cry, raising their fists and rushing
toward him. Atar gasped, trying to strike out against them,
but they were all around him, overwhelming him.

* * * *

The Goddess in her realm of fire laughed and laughed. She
was amused beyond her expectations.

* * * *

The  afternoon  light  streamed  in,  and  warmed  the  intricate
tiled floor with its radiance. Sugreeva waited impatiently for
the tea to come. He was in the Emperor’s chambers with his
mother,  Rutvana  the  Loud,  Meruzanes  the  Vizier,  and  his
old  man  the  Emperor.  He  listened  to  his  mother  chattering
away  about  the  upcoming  ball,  until  he  too,  began  to
consider what to wear to the event.

He had a very smart red outfit that made his shoulders

look wide and powerful, but he was afraid the color might
be  too  loud  for  early  summer.  He  almost  forgot  about  the
little  black  bag  burning  in  his  pocket.  The  tea  came,  and
conversation droned on.

“Emperor Hergor!” A faint shout made them turn their

heads.  The  emperor  and  Meruzanes  walked  over  to  the
balcony. Sugreeva glanced at his mother, but she was busy
with  a  filing  stone,  flattening  her  nails.  He  took  a  precious
second to frown with disgust. He hated the way she did that.
He liked his nails to be rounded.

He casually extracted the bag and dumped the entire

contents into Hergor’s teacup. The powder sank, but it
displaced the tea, causing the level to rise considerably.
Sugreeva frowned. You’d think that Zohak would be a little more

KB Forrest

careful. Honestly, it was so hard to get competent servants, he
thought, placing the bag into his pocket again.

The Emperor came back to the table with his Vizier and

took a drink of his tea. He grimaced, and then his large head
fell  back.  Meruzanes  leapt  up,  and  his  eyes  flicked
suspiciously toward the emperor’s tea and then at Rutvana
and  Sugreeva.  Rutvana’s  brow  was  crinkled  with
concentration.

“Your Highness!” he screamed. “Servant! Drink this tea!”

Meruzanes held out the cup to a young man.

The man took it with a trembling hand. He took a small

sip and fell to the floor convulsing.

Meruzanes looked at the queen, and then at Sugreeva.

“Who did this?”

“Did what?” They both answered at once.
“The Emperor’s tea was poisoned!”

Burned Dreams

Chapter Fourteen

s Atar sucked in breath for a scream, rough hands
knocked the wind out of him. They seized him and

lifted  his  muddy,  sore,  and  aching  body  into  the  air.  He
glanced  wildly  about  him,  struggling  with  what  little
strength he had left. They were going to stone him. He was
going  to  die.  The  excited  shouting  reverberated  in  the  air.
Desperately,  Atar  tried  to  think.  The  crowd  carried  him  as
his heart beat with fear.

They set him down before a large tent and stepped back.

For an instant, he saw his tiger skin and mace in the open
door of the tent before he turned fully to face the crowd.

Atar waited for the first stone to fly, knees bent, arms

curled defensively. The stones didn’t come. It was then that
he noticed they were smiling at him. A girl sidled up to him,
but stepped back as a man came to the front of the crowd.

He began to talk to Atar in a reverent, excited voice. Atar

looked at the crowd and his jaw dropped. The word the man
kept repeating was the Mongol word for chief – that much,
he remembered.

Atar cleared his throat. Forming Paralatae words were

difficult enough for him, but Mongol words were nearly
impossible.

“Did you say, chief?”
The crowd nodded and someone whooped. The man

before Atar beamed at him and held out the amulet that Atar

KB Forrest

had ripped off the chieftain’s neck. Atar felt a flood of relief,
and thoughtlessly let the man tie the amulet around his
neck. The meaning of his predicament came home suddenly.
He couldn’t be chief! He didn’t want to be chief. He took a
deep breath and a plan occurred to him. He darted into the
tent to retrieve his mace and his tiger skin.

“I can’t,” Atar said firmly, when he emerged a moment

later. “I’ll appoint you in my stead,” Atar said, pointing at
the man in the forefront.

They laughed.
Atar smiled uncertainly. “I…uh…I really mean it. You

will be chief. Come on, make way.”

Atar gestured that they should move aside. Obediently,

they  parted.  As  he  passed,  they  touched  his  shoulders  and
arms. He hurried along, disconcerted. He paused, trying to
figure out the quickest way out of camp. He chose a random
direction and started out. He glanced behind him. They were
following him. He shooed them away, certain that if he did
not  leave  soon,  their  mood  would  turn  murderous  once
again. Hurrying along, he reached the outskirts of camp and
bolted.  A  shout  rang  out,  and  in  a  swarm  they  were  upon
him.

He shook off their hands, swinging his mace to keep them

away. “I am leaving now!” Atar insisted in broken Mongol.
The man Atar had appointed as chief stepped forward again.

“No!”
“What do you mean no? I’m chief!”
They nodded at this, relieved that he finally understood.

Chieftains tended to be a bit dull. His behavior was
reassuring to them.

“You are chieftain.”
Atar shook his head. “I don’t want to be! I already said,

you will rule in my stead.”

They shook their heads sadly, the man said, “You have to

be chief. You have no choice. The gods have chosen you.”

Burned Dreams

Atar looked around at the implacable faces. This law had

probably  been  around  for  centuries.  How  was  he  going  to
escape? He thanked Mithra that he was the  fastest warrior,
even among the legendary Paralatae warriors. But now was
not the time.

“Okay. Let’s eat, if it’s going to be like that.”
The Mongols cheered.

Atar woke up at dawn. Although he had retired early,

most of the tribe had stayed up to revel. The old chief’s tent,
his now, he supposed, looked awful to him. Not that Atar
was particular about his accommodations, but the smell of
the monster man still lingered with a potency that triggered
his gag reflex.

He wouldn’t have slept a wink if he hadn’t been so

exhausted from the battle, then the taxing, almost fatal fight
with  the  chief.  During  the  night,  he  had  put  the  pieces
together.  Zohak’s  message  to  Tavos.  Tavos’  fear  and
nervousness.  Then  that  final  confirmation  when  Tavos  and
his  lackeys  had  attacked  him.  Atar  was  well  loved  by  the
soldiers,  even  though  he  had  only  been  in  command  for  a
short time, but Tavos had been there for years. Of course, he
would have followers who would assist him in his treachery.

They must have left him for dead, but then the Horde

picked him up. They obviously wanted him to battle the
chief. They wanted to pay him back for what he’d done.
Now he was really in a fix.

The anger burned in his heart. The need to return to

Persia sent a wild frenzy through him. The gall of wrenching
him from his life, then thrusting him onto the battlefield was
bad enough. He had taken charge, because he believed it to
be his duty to protect the innocents who would have died at
the hands of the Horde. But then those treacherous people
wanted to kill him when his usefulness was over! He had
been discarded like a used rag. Fury blazed in his eyes.

KB Forrest

Cautiously he peered out of his tent. The camp looked

quiet. Atar took a sip of water from the canteen by his bed.
He hooked this to his belt as he strode out. The few people
huddled  around  the  cook  fires  greeted  him  as  he  passed.
When  he  got  to  the  edge  of  camp,  his  heart  sank.  About
fifteen  or  twenty  men  were  gathered  there  talking,  but  he
couldn’t  turn  back  now.  They  had  spotted  him.  He  smiled
and  approached.  A  pit  had  been  dug.  Several  men  were
urinating into this. Atar followed suit, but as he finished, he
drew a little distance away from them. He swung his mace
over his shoulder, and looked across the horizon. The wind
caressed  his  face.  Before  they  knew  what  was  happening,
Atar was off like an arrow shot from a Persian long bow.

There was a shout of surprise, then Atar heard the

pursuit. He couldn’t hope to fight. His only hope lay in the
speed  he  had  won  from  years  of  hard  travel.  He  felt  the
landscape  blur  as  he  fairly  flew  over  the  land,  but  heavy
breathing  close  behind  him  galvanized  him  into  greater
speed. He couldn’t resist tossing a glance over his shoulder.
A  dip  in  the  land  caught  his  foot  and  sent  him  sprawling
into the muddy earth. They were on him instantly.

He threw one man off with unnatural strength, and

struggled  out  of  a  second  man’s  grip,  aided  by  the  muddy
water that slicked his form. He swung his mace at the circle
of men that surrounded him, charging into their ranks with
the same battle fury he had tasted yesterday, but he felt he
couldn’t hurt them. They weren’t trying to kill him. He dove
for the small opening he had made, knocking men down. A
yank on his ankle sent him sprawling painfully. He felt the
press of restraining hands on his back. He kicked ruthlessly
at the man who was holding his ankle, and he felt the grip
give.  Sliding  on  his  belly,  taking  advantage  of  the  wet
ground,  he  scrambled  under  the  strong  hands  that
attempted to hold him.

He got to his knees then surged to his feet with spooky

KB Forrest

Chapter Fifteen

he air was still and stuffy in the Emperor’s dim
bedchamber. No breeze disturbed the single lamp that

flickered  a  yellow  light  over  the  ghastly  scene.  The  painful
wheezing of Emperor Hergor sawed through the air, setting
the  watcher’s  teeth  on  edge.  Meruzanes  hovered  over  the
king  anxiously.  If  Hergor  died,  the  Vizier  would  lose  his
position.

Silently, Sugreeva slipped out of the chamber. He

breathed a gusty sigh of relief when the heavy door swung
shut behind him. At least he could breathe out here! When
he let himself into Zohak’s chamber in the depths of the
castle, he found him pacing. Zohak glared at the Prince as he
settled into the couch and poured himself some wine.

“Do…do you realize what you have done?” Zohak asked

in a tightly controlled voice.

“What do you mean?” Sugreeva asked, sensing the anger

in Zohak’s voice. Nervously, he twisted his hair in his
fingers, then patted it down delicately.

“I am referring to the fact that you…” Zohak stopped

talking abruptly. He had his back turned to Sugreeva. He
was staring at the dark water of the pool. “You killed the
Emperor,” Zohak said in a flat voice.

“Yes, isn’t it marvelous? I can’t wait for my coronation.

I’ll make you my Vizier, my friend…”

“You killed the emperor!” Zohak roared, blasting

Burned Dreams

Sugreeva  with  the  full  intensity  of  his  stare.  His  words
echoed off the stone walls of the dark chamber. “Don’t you
understand? You fool! How could you do such a thing? You
were supposed to give him a pinch, and then a pinch more
each  day  to  make  it  look  like  a  natural  sickness!  You  must
have dumped the whole damned thing in there.”

Distantly they heard the keening sound of mourners.

Zohak froze. “He’s dead.”

“But I don’t understand. Isn’t this what we wanted?”

Sugreeva’s face was pale.

“What you did puts us into considerable trouble. That

damn Vizier of his is as sharp as a razor. If he suspects us,
it’s all over. How could you be so phenomenally stupid?
You gave him too much, you fool! You blithering idiot! Now
everyone knows!”

As the light of understanding came into Sugreeva’s eyes,

they filled with tears. A great hiccupping sob tore through
his chest. “I don’t remember you telling me to use just a bit.
You should have been more clear.” His words came in nasal
sobs as snot ran down his royal face.

Zohak turned away in utter disgust.

* * * *

In the Great Hall, Cunaxa sat alone on the dais. The Hall was
packed with citizens waiting their chance to be heard by the
queen.

“If Rumain did not maintain his fence, he really can’t

complain when his neighbor puts up his own fence.
Regardless of property lines, the fact is…”

Cunaxa stopped talking as shouts and disturbance in the

back of the chamber interrupted her.

“Let me through, please I beg you!”
The man elbowing his way through the crowd wore the

unmistakable costume of a shepherd.

KB Forrest

“Let him pass,” Cunaxa said.
The man knelt before the dais, gasping for air. “Your

Majesty, I…I…saw it! I saw it with my own eyes! It was…I
have never beheld a sight of such horror!”

“Good sir, please explain.”
The people in the great hall watched with rapt attention.
“The Dragon! It was the Dragon of the Caves! I saw it

with my own eyes! I came upon its lair by accident. One of
my sheep broke away from the herd and went straight into
the mountain. It was eerie. It was almost like the beast was
being called. So I went after it. I came upon the dragon as it
struck my sheep down! The Drought Dragon does exist! I
tell you, this is no yarn! I saw this yesterday!”

The citizens were silent for a moment, then they

exploded. Queen Cunaxa sat back on the throne, deep in
thought. She knew when she was being told a lie, and this
was not a lie.

* * * *

Meruzanes  the  Vizier  lay  in  his  bed,  his  thoughts  turning
endlessly.  The  Emperor  was  dead.  His  enemies  would  be
closing in upon him soon if he did not thrust himself into the
public eye. The delightful savage woman lay pressed against
him. As he looked at Jahi, Zohak’s wife, he felt his thoughts
focus. He had immediately spotted the rise in the level of the
tea.  He  had  no  doubt  that  foul  play  was  involved  in  the
death of the Emperor. But who had planted the poison?

Servants were constantly coming in and out of the

Emperor’s  chambers.  One  of  them  could  have  easily  been
bribed.  He  had  to  conduct  in-depth  interviews  with
everyone who had been working on that side of the wing. If
he could establish who had poisoned the Emperor he might
save  his  high  position  in  the  court.  In  fact,  he  might  just
gather  enough  evidence  to  get  rid  of  one  of  his  many

Burned Dreams

enemies. Perhaps he could establish a conspiracy theory and
bring them all down.

His thoughts were interrupted as Jahi stirred and sat up.

Her  disheveled  hair  and  sleepy  eyes  sent  a  thrill  of  hot
passion  through  his  blood.  He  had  never  been  quite  as
moved  by  another  woman.  He  supposed  her  ruthless
selfishness  was  what  really  drew  him.  Whatever  it  was,  he
was determined to keep this woman.

He seized her wrist and attempted to draw her close. For

the first time, she resisted, yanking her wrist free with
surprising strength. She made a disgusted face.

He sat up. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t look at him again. Her face was suffused with

an odd dreamy expression. A hideous foreboding filled him,
followed closely by jealousy.

“Is it someone else? Huh? Answer me?” He gripped her

with bony fingers and shook her.

She smiled, but did not look at him.
“Who!” he raged, his breath coming in ragged pants. “I’ll

destroy him!”

Jahi laughed. “No, no. You can’t touch him, my friend. He

has nothing whatever to do with politics. There’s no way
you could drag the Firestarter into your foul world.” She
laughed again then added, “I’ve wanted him for so long.”

Suddenly Meruzanes knew who would suffer because of

the death of the emperor. He would destroy the nasty
barbarian and strengthen his position at the same time.

* * * *

Atar rejoiced as the sound of the cries faded behind him. He
hit the stream running, counting on the current to wash his
footprints  away.  By  noon,  Atar  was  confident  that  no  one
could  still  be  on  his  trail.  He  collapsed  under  an  oak  tree,
and uncorked the canteen.

KB Forrest

A rustle in the brush made him turn his head.
“Atar!” Bulliwuf shouted, emerging. He took Atar into his

arms and swung him around easily.

“Where’s Ishria?” Atar finally asked.
“He is with the Massagetae.”
Then he broadcast Atar his anger mentally, and flashed a

picture of Tavos closing in on him. He wanted revenge.

Bulliwuf instantly returned to his wolf form. That man will

pay for what he did!

The sun was setting as they crossed the open gates of the

city  of  the  Massagetae.  The  tiger  skin  hid  the  exhausted
slump  of  his  shoulders.  As  before,  entering  a  city  hit  him
with  a  barrage  of  sensations  totally  foreign  to  him.  The
evening streets were full of people, all trying to repair some
of the damages the ravages of war had brought.

Atar looked around at all this. What am I going to do now?

We have no money.

A woman turned her head sharply to stare at the startling

figure crossing the gates. She turned to her friend, “Was that
a ghost? Do you think…”

The other woman shook her head, “I don’t know. Let’s

tell Enee!”

Bulliwuf turned around suddenly as a shout went up

from the crowd. People were pointing and hollering at him.
To Atar’s consternation, they rushed at him. Someone was
shaking his hand, and all about him, the Massagetae shouted
questions.

“Let’s take him to the castle!” someone shouted.
Atar was swept away by the crowd.

* * * *

Princess Sophene the Sharp sat on the dais next to her father
with a face of stone. The sunlight was just dying outside, just
as her heart had died. She knew that her father grieved for

Burned Dreams

her  more  intensely  than  she  grieved  for  herself.  He  bitterly
regretted his helplessness, and was mute with horror that he
could  do  nothing  to  save  her.  The  ambassador  from  Persia
was  reading  the  finalized  agreement  sealing  the  marriage
between Prince Sugreeva and Princess Sophene.

Sophene felt the tight muscles in her face relax minutely

as  Kartir  purred.  Desperately  she  willed  the  session  to  be
over, yet she wanted to savor every moment of this  time. It
would  be  her  last  night  in  her  homeland.  Her  chambers
looked  stark  and  forbidding.  The  boxes  piled  in  the  corner
would  be  all  that  would  remain  of  her  life  here.  Her  face
remained  impassive,  utterly  expressionless, but  the  light  in
her eyes was dying.

The sound of the street outside had been growing louder

for  some  time  now.  The  people  were  singing,  Sophene
realized. It was that popular ballad about the Firestarter. She
had  told  her  father  about  what  she  saw  on  the  battlefield,
but she was surprised to learn that he had already heard of
it. In fact, the entire city seemed to know. General Tavos had
disappeared.

The doors of the chamber were thrown open. The captain

of the guards came rushing in, his face was deeply flushed.

“Forgive my interruption,” the large man said

breathlessly as he knelt respectfully, “but I have news of the
utmost importance. General Atar is alive! According to the
people outside, he just walked through the gates!”

“What nonsense is this?” King Mena asked. “If you relied

on the public word, one would have to believe that the first
man, Gayomard, rose from the dead at least a dozen times.”

The council laughed softly, turning to murmur to each

other.

“Your Majesty, he’s outside!” the captain said.
The laughter stopped abruptly. “Well, come, come, let

him in!” King Mena said just as a tall form strode through
the doors. At his side was the unmistakable form of the huge

KB Forrest

silver wolf. The apparition of a bird of prey on the figure’s
shoulder turned his head for a moment, and then the fierce
outline of its profile disappeared.

* * * *

Atar paused for an instant. He was angry.

“Mage!” Atar shouted mercilessly.
Heslin whimpered in his seat a few rows back and came

stumbling into the large aisle that separated the two sections
of the council.

Don’t…
Ask them to tell me where Tavos is, he said quietly.
Uh, I think…well, I guess I should ask Prince Sugreeva if it is

okay to do that.

Atar advanced on the speaker mage. Twisting his green

robe with his fists, Atar hoisted him into the air, snarling like
a wild beast. He looked straight into the man’s eyes while
poor Heslin flailed like a fish out of water.

“What’s going on?” Sophene cried, rising from her throne.
Atar threw the mage down. Translate, he commanded.
Heslin  gasped  choking.  “He…wants  to  know  where

Tavos is.”

“Tell him that the traitor has fled the country, and we are

doing all that we can to apprehend the criminal. If he ever
sets foot in this kingdom, he is as good as dead.”

As Atar listened to this, it looked as though the anger was

draining out of him. His stomach rumbled loudly, and he
looked about the room. His eyes widened ever so slightly as
he looked at Princess Sophene. He looked down at his mud
caked, filthy body.

The king arose. “Order a feast to be served! At once!

Speaker Mage, will you invite the Firestarter to my
chamber?”

Burned Dreams

The king and the princess escorted Atar to the king’s

private  study. Heslin  trailed  behind  them, glancing  back  at
the  Persian  ambassador.  To  Atar’s  annoyance,  Bulliwuf
walked  beside  the  redhead,  rather  than  by  him.  But  Atar
supposed  that  he  would  have  done  the  same  if  he  were  in
Bulliwuf’s place.

The chamber they entered was perfumed with exotic

incense.  Atar  stood  awkwardly,  watching  them  settle  into
couches.  Bulliwuf  leapt  lightly  onto  Sophene’s  couch
without  hesitation.  Kartir  poked  his  head  out  from  behind
Sophene’s hair and growled.

Atar laughed.
Sophene jumped.
The great wolf stood, knocking over the low table in the

center  of  the  room.  The  crash  of  breaking  glass  and  the
muted  boom  of  the  table  falling  hard  onto  the  intricate
carpet  brought  servants  rushing  to  the  door.  Atar  groaned
and covered his face.

King Mena bellowed with laughter.
Sophene said in mind-speak, that’s really quite enough, big

wolf! What a spectacle you have made of yourself!

Atar was startled by the voice that cut into his thoughts.

You…you…speak with the mind? Like me? Atar said stupidly,
gazing at her.

“Let’s settle down and talk!” King Mena ordered,

unaware of their mental exchange. Atar gingerly perched on
one of the couches, afraid to break anything else. Bulliwuf
climbed up after Atar and put his head on his lap. Kartir did
not respond to his mistress. He sat on the couch, lashing his
tail, eyes fixed on Bulliwuf.

“Now, tell us everything! What happened? How did you

get away from the Horde?”

“Uh…well, I just sort of ran away. But let me begin at the

beginning” Atar added hastily, realizing how stupid he
sounded. He blushed when he looked back at the redhead.

KB Forrest

He wished he knew her name, but he felt too shy to ask, this
late in the conversation. He told them the whole story,
broadcasting some of his memories, like the hulking figure
of the Mongol chief advancing, and the narrow escape from
the tribe.

They were speechless when he was done.
A servant came in and announced dinner. As they entered

the dining chamber, Sophene ordered another chair for
Bulliwuf. Atar looked around with dismay. The last time he
had eaten in a place like this, he had ended up running for
his life. But he sat obediently when the others did.

As King Mena told Atar’s story, Atar watched the

Princess. Why are you so sad?

Sophene looked up. This is my last night here in my

homeland.

Why?

I am to be married to the Prince Sugreeva of Persia.

Why?
That’s what I agreed to. The treaty I signed said that in

exchange for Sugreeva leading the armies of his empire in our

defense I would marry him.

Atar broadcast his confusion and rising anger. I guess I

must be dense, he said at last. Who is this Sugreeva?

Sophene broadcast his image to Atar. Atar nearly choked.

Him! The one who insulted you at the banquet! I don’t believe it!

He couldn’t lead a tame ox. I was the one who led the armies! But
why did you have to sign away your freedom? Wouldn’t they have

come to your aid in any case?

No, Sophene said.
Atar shook his head, confused and disturbed. He could

see why she was sad, but he couldn’t think of a way to fix
her problem. He could only broadcast his sympathy.

* * * *

Burned Dreams

Sophene tore her eyes away from his. A thought, a totally
inappropriate thought, leapt into her mind. What a pity he
isn’t a prince.

* * * *

The  walls  of  the  city  were  falling  behind  Atar  as  the  sun
rose. In his absence, Ishria had been pampered in the royal
stables, but as always, the stallion was glad to be in the open
once  more.  The  rolling  hills  met  the  brightening  sky  in  the
distance as Atar urged Ishria a little faster.

He needed to talk to dear old Zohak the traitor…his

brother.

* * * *

Princess Sophene wept openly as the city she loved finally
disappeared from view. She plodded along in abject misery,
not noticing the beauty of the morning. The sun was well up
by the time her caravan had made it through the crowds that
watched the princess leave.

The carriage in front of her stopped and she reined in her

horse. She waited for a moment then decided to see what
had caused the delay. She guided her horse to the front of
the caravan where she saw a crowd of servants staring at the
ground.

“Your Majesty!” one exclaimed, coming over to her. “The

Royal Farr. The giant royal boar! It has been here!”

She dismounted and looked at the deep cloven footprints

that dwindled into the distance. Then she noticed what the
others  had  missed.  Bending  over,  she  examined  the  half-
obscured hoof prints of a lone horse. She would bet money
that  if  she  searched  a  little  harder,  she  would  see  the  paw
prints of a huge wolf as well.

She was greatly shaken. Could it be that the barbarian

Burned Dreams

Chapter Sixteen

he anger had been brewing inside of him for days. Each
time he closed his eyes under the stars, he dreamed of

fire. Each morning he woke before the sun, and was on his
way. He ate little, relying on Bulliwuf to bring him food at
the  end  of  the  day.  He  was  sustained  by  his  anger.  He
traveled  fast  through  forests  and  open  meadows.  He
avoided  the  small  towns  he  crossed,  but  he  did  not  escape
their notice. He was hard to miss.

By the time the city of Persia came into view, he was mute

with  wordless  fury.  His  every  waking  thought  was  of
revenge.  The  people  began  to  spot  him,  and  news  of  his
return to life spread like fire. Soon the streets were teeming
with  people  who  poured  out  of  their  houses  to  watch  the
living legend ride through the city.

He looked at no one as he rode past. His narrowed eyes

were fixed on the castle. The only display of the fiery rage
inside him was the tightness around his mouth.

He barely noticed the people staring in shock.

* * * *

The Great hall was packed with nobles. Everyone was silent
as Meruzanes finished speaking.

“The irrefutable testimony of these ten servants here,

coupled with the testimony of General Tavos, provide a
solid case. When the Firestarter’s notorious ambition is taken

KB Forrest

into account, one can clearly see that it was the Firestarter
who poisoned Emperor Hergor. Doubtless, he would have
come charging back to Persia to seize the throne if he hadn’t
been killed in battle. Public opinion runs high in favor of the
general. It was easy to see how he coerced one of the citizens
to slip the poison into the Emperor’s tea. But justice will be
served! No barbarian will come in here and make a mockery
of this great land!”

Loud applause filled the chamber.
Zohak stood up and waited for quiet.
The chamber stilled. In perfect unaccented Persian, he

said, “The death of the Great Emperor has been resolved.
But now the time has come for someone to step into his
place. Sugreeva the Fair has lived in this castle his entire life.
He has been in your minds the rightful and only successor.”

The silence in the room was deafening.
“But, as you know, when Emperor Hergor took over this

land, Queen Cunaxa had a son by Dahaka, her husband.”

Gasps and shouts rang in the chamber. They stilled when

Zohak raised his hand in a kingly gesture of silence.
Sugreeva’s jaw was gaping.

“As you all know, I came home with Sugreeva when he

returned from the Great Fair. Before that time I was living
among the Paralatae with Devayani, my nursemaid. She
posed as my mother in the tribe of the Paralatae. Devayani
was my father’s servant.”

He paused and they waited breathlessly. Sugreeva

struggled to form words, and his brow creased with worry.

“But, I did not always live among the Paralatae. Until the

age of thirteen, I was living in this very castle. Queen
Cunaxa is my mother, Dahaka was my father, and I am the
rightful King of Persia.”

Pandemonium.

* * * *

Burned Dreams

Atar charged through the open gates of the  castle. He rode
past  the  shocked  stableman  who  waited  to  take  his  horse.
With  Bulliwuf  loping  by  his  side,  he  surged  through  the
castle.  Ishria’s  hooves  echoed  like  thunder  on  the  stone
floors. This was the only warning they had.

The doors of the great hall burst open. Atar had returned.
He heard someone scream. His gaze shot straight to

Zohak. Baring his teeth and snarling like a wild animal, Atar
thundered at Zohak, swinging his mace over his head.

“Protect the new Emperor!” Meruzanes roared. “Hergor’s

murderer has returned to kill the new Lord of Persia!”

From the corner of his eye, Atar saw the swarm of red

shapes come running at him from both sides. Ishria reared,
his deadly hooves striking out, but there were too many of
them, and in the confines of a building, the horse panicked.
Bucking in anger, Ishria threw Atar, who rolled and began to
swing his deadly mace. Headless corpses surrounded him in
a red circle. He heard the rumble of Bulliwuf’s vicious
snarls, and the screaming of soldiers having limbs torn from
their bodies filled the air.

“Go! Bulliwuf, go! We are outnumbered,” he managed to

scream.

Zohak was swinging his mace now, and Atar struck out.

Their maces clanged with a metallic scream, but the soldiers
behind them were already moving.

“No!” Cunaxa shouted above the noise of battle.
They watched as the Firestarter went down. A huge net

was  thrown  over  the  mêlée.  The  soldiers  descended  upon
the  figures,  beating  Atar  with  clubs.  Ishria’s  hoof  beats
echoed down a corridor as he ran, led by Bulliwuf.

Cunaxa put her hands to her head. Everyone was

screaming at once.

Sugreeva jumped off the dais and ran to confront Zohak.
In all the excitement with the Firestarter, the Council had

KB Forrest

not been able to process his shocking pronouncement.
Meruzanes had taken advantage of this to call the guards to
attack.

“You are not my friend! How could you fake like that?

Using me to put yourself in the public eye! You have no
proof whatsoever of your claim!” Sugreeva was in tears, but
he appeared enraged. “You are not the emperor! I am!”

Zohak threw back his head and laughed. He turned to

Cunaxa. “Mother dear, tell the court who I am.”

Cunaxa stared at the son she never wanted to have. She

had been forced into the marriage with Dahaka, the
powerful wizard, but her heart had always belonged to
another. “How could I possibly recognize you after so many
years? What you ask is impossible. I do not know you.”

For the first time, fear registered on Zohak’s face. His

mouth gaped open like a fish.

“Preposterous! I am the rightful king!”
“You are not!” Sugreeva wailed. “Mother! Queen Mother

Cunaxa! He’s an imposter! Tell them!”

Cunaxa rose to her feet. “There seems to be too much

confusion,  my  court.  We  shall  settle  this  all  quite  simply.
First,  let  us  touch  back  upon  Meruzanes’  pronouncement
about  the  Firestarter.  I  dislike  leaving  things  such  as  this
unsettled, and it certainly would be unresolved now that the
Firestarter  is  apparently  alive.  I  believe  we  should  hold  a
series of contests to clear everything up.”

The court murmured approval. Everyone loved a contest,

and in the case of a dispute over the throne, a contest was
the traditional way to decide. Sugreeva turned ashen. Zohak
snarled, making his hands into fists.

“If the Firestarter fails to pass the tests, he will be put to

death. If either Sugreeva or Zohak fails the test, then we will
know who the rightful king is. Let the gods decide on these
matters.”

Burned Dreams

Chapter Seventeen

tar opened his eyes to blackness and bone chilling cold.
A dripping noise plopped hypnotically somewhere

nearby. He didn’t move for a second. All was total darkness,
making  Atar  believe  for  one  awful  moment  that  sight  was
lost  to  him.  He  moaned  as  he  felt  the  pain  of  his  wounds
reawaken.

The ground beneath him was damp and smelled of mold.

Atar  began  to  shake.  He  was  absolutely  alone  in  utter
blackness.  He  heard  an  inhuman  moan  that  shook  with
mortal  terror.  He  tried  to  inhale,  but  the  ceiling  of  the  cell
seemed  to  press  down  upon  him.  He  was  afraid  to  move,
certain suddenly that he would feel the ceiling inches away.
Sweat broke out all over him as the image of himself trapped
and dying in the darkness burned into his brain.

Atar closed his eyes, then opened them. He sobbed with

terror  as  the  blackness  all  around  him  did  not  lift.  Like  a
wild  creature,  Atar  had  never  spent  much  time  without
seeing  the  wide  Scythian  sky.  Because  of  this,  he  had
developed  a  terror  of  small  places.  Zohak,  of  course,  knew
this. He had deliberately put him here, Atar was sure. Atar
sucked in a huge breath. It felt like he had forgotten how to
breathe.  He  tried  to  focus  on  anything  at  all  but  the
oppressive stone walls around him.

Zohak. Yes, Zohak did this. He was sure. He wondered what

would become of him. Why did they not kill him outright?

KB Forrest

Or perhaps that was what they planned to do. Maybe they
would just leave him here to go crazy in the dark.

Atar nearly lost control again. Tears rolled down his face.

He  stopped  breathing  for  moment,  listening.  The  sound
came  again,  barely  heard  above  the  dripping.  Atar  waited,
still unsure, but the sound of footsteps approaching his cell
came  closer.  A  barely  discernible  light  flickered,  and  then
grew stronger. The step was light, Atar realized, very unlike
the heavy tramp of booted feet.

Princess Sophene appeared like an angel, with Kartir

draped over her shoulders. Her eyes widened with shock as
she took in Atar, who was delighted with the light that
poured into his cell. The ceiling was not so low, after all. He
crawled toward her and she let out a cry.

My God! What have they done to you? Sophene asked,

grasping the desperate hands that clutched for hers. His grip
was painful, he knew, but she made no sign. He was
hanging on to his sanity, as he clung to her hand.

It…it isn’t that bad. The…the pain that is. I…this cell…I can

barely breathe.

Atar sent her a poignant picture of a clear Scythian sky,

with the sun shining on the wide open field.

I understand. My God! How could they have done this to you

after what you did for them? Do you know what they are saying
about you? I only arrived yesterday, but that evil Meruzanes says

that you murdered the Emperor. They think you hired someone to

do it while you were away fighting.

That’s ridiculous! Damn! Impossible! I…all I ever really

wanted to do was go deep into the Wild Lands with my friend.

How did I end up here, hopelessly snarled in political intrigue?

The dripping inside the cell punctuated the awful stillness

of the chamber.

Please, Atar said, tell me something, anything! What else is

going on up there?

Well, the whole city is in an uproar! The nobles are chattering

Burned Dreams

constantly! Zohak the barbarian, I think he’s from your tribe

right? Well, he claims that he is the lost prince. He says he was

thirteen when he was sent off to Scythia, but now he is back and
wants the throne. Public opinion is divided. Zohak has done some

pretty unpopular things, but Prince Sugreeva has done a lot worse.

Queen Cunaxa declared that they would compete against each

other to determine who the rightful heir is. Since the accusation
against you implies that you were attempting to seize the throne,

you are to compete with them. Queen Rutvana the Loud,

Sugreeva’s mother, is howling all around about her son competing
with barbarians. And…

What? Atar asked, anxiously.

Well, the rumor started a long time ago. But now, in the public

mind…well, let me start from the beginning. It seems that some

shepherds saw the Royal Farr trailing you when Zohak first
brought you to Persia. The soldiers saw it again, marching ahead

of you as you led the armies against the Horde. That ballad they

are singing about you…

Ballad!? What ballad? And what is this Farr you keep

mentioning?

Sophene seemed surprised. You…you…don’t know the

legends of the ancient kings? But then…no you wouldn’t know,
being raised in Scythia. The Royal Farr is a creature of myth, or so

I thought…it is said to be the clearest sign of royalty that one

could possibly see.

I see. And they said this thing has been following me? What

does it look like?

It is the great boar of course! With tusks and hooves of gold.
Atar grew very still, remembering. It had been one of the

most terrifying experiences of his life. He had been just
eleven years old, but he had seen such a creature only a few
feet from him when he had turned around abruptly in the
woods.

The public sees the contests as an affirmation of your eligibility

to the throne. The fact that you are competing with the two princes

KB Forrest

100

makes you look like a prince. Queen Cunaxa certainly is clever.

That is what Rutvana really objects to. The people of this land

would like nothing better than to see you on the throne, and she
knows it.

There was a pause and the awful dripping cut into his

thoughts. Atar felt panic and disbelief. He didn’t want to
rule. He looked into Sophene’s eyes.

You’ve seen it too, haven’t you! The beast, I mean. Atar

couldn’t help but return to the subject.

No, no, but I did see…footprints. It was following you to

Persia.

Atar felt a chill go up his spine. What could this mean?

But did any of this matter at a time like this? His mind
turned to the fate he awaited. It would have been easier to
just be put to death, but to have such a burden placed on his
performance in these contests was infinitely more horrible.

I am glad for you, at least, Atar said. This means you don’t

have to marry immediately, right?

Sophene was startled to realize that the details of her

predicament were fresh in the Firestarter’s mind. For now,

yes. But I’m wondering who it would be more horrible to marry.
Sugreeva is a revolting fop, and a bed wetter by all accounts, but

Zohak is evil and conniving. He is probably the most frightening
man I have ever met. I hope Sugreeva wins – then at least I can

manipulate him. Zohak does not look like the type who would be
susceptible.

Atar did not know what to say. I must go now, she said.

Atar looked at her with desperate eyes. I’ll leave the light for

you, but I must go. No one knows I’m here. I hope…I hope you

understand.

Her footsteps died gradually, leaving the drip as the only

sound in the dead silence. Yes, hurry.

Atar sighed, feeling the sweat break out over him again.

Somewhere nearby a rat scurried over stone, the tiny nails
scraping against the hard surface. He looked around the cell,

Burned Dreams

101

searching for the awful drip. A chiseled message in the wall
caught his eye. He couldn’t read, of course, but he went over
to the inscription. As his fingertips touched the rough stone,
an image of Anacharsis flashed into his mind. He drew back
hastily, knowing for a certainty that Anacharsis had written
on this very stone. But what madness was this? Who could
have been so devious, or so clever, as to force such a
powerful mage into prison? He wished he knew more about
his mysterious father. What truths lay hidden in the past?

* * * *

“No!  No!  Oh  the  gods!  Ah!”  Sugreeva  wailed  piteously  to
his  mother,  Rutvana.  “I  thought  he  was  my  friend!  I  can’t
believe it…” Sugreeva broke off to sob into the silk pillow.

“It’s ok, my little prince. Mama’s here,” Rutvana said in a

voice devoid of sympathy. Sugreeva sobbed all the harder.
“We need to think.”

“Mama!” Sugreeva wailed in a voice that went up and

down like a seesaw. “What am I going to do? What am I…”

Rutvana slapped his pink face with her ringed hand.

“Enough!” she shrieked above her son’s howl of pain.
“Enough! I have had it with your sniveling. You have got to
get hold of yourself, or you will lose the throne. Then where
will I be? Eh? Queen Mother of a deposed kinglet?”

Sugreeva mumbled incoherently, feeling true fear for the

first time in his sheltered life. He had truly been too innocent
to see Zohak’s conniving ways, but not so innocent that he
hesitated to kill his own father.

“She will doubtlessly choose archery for the first contest.

That is tradition, but I haven’t the slightest idea of the other
two. Damn! Damn! Damn! I will think of something!”

KB Forrest

102

Chapter Eighteen

tar was hauled out of his cell by two burly palace
guards. He refused to walk, making his body go limp.

The  guards  cursed  and  struck  him,  but  they  had  no  choice
but  to  drag  him  along.  They  seemed  to  travel  through  the
quiet  dungeons  forever.  Finally  Atar  began  to  hear  the
sounds  of  people  in  the  cells.  Zohak  must  have  put  him  in
the deepest, darkest cell, Atar realized.

When they emerged into the sunlight, Atar closed his eyes

against  the  powerful  glare.  They  dragged  him  out  into  the
street and threw him into a wagon with unnecessary force.
Every bruise in Atar’s body was jarred with the bouncing of
the wagon. He stared at the sky, grateful to see it after such a
long  time.  All  around  him,  the  noise  of  the  vibrant  city
assaulted his ears. He could not see where the guards were
taking him.

The wagon stopped eventually in Mithra’s field. The

guards hauled him out. They dragged him a few yards, and
then hurled him to the floor. Atar picked himself slowly off
the ground, as the wagon trundled off. The first thing he saw
was the throngs of lords and ladies, seated, as if at a party.
Meruzanes, Prince Sugreeva, Queen Cunaxa, Queen
Rutvana, and Princess Sophene were seated together under
an awning.

What he saw next made him almost scream for joy.

Bulliwuf, resplendent in princely garb, casually sat near

Burned Dreams

103

Sophene. He wore the clothes of a prince of Germania. Atar
knew  this  as  Bulliwuf  sent  him  a  mental  image.  The  rich
blue  velvet  of  his  tunic  contrasted  marvelously  with  the
silver  of  his  shirt.  His  long  silvery  hair  shone.  A  few  stray
ringlets decorated his handsome, broad forehead. The crown
he wore was studded with sapphires that shone in the sun,
bringing out the blue of his icy eyes. He wore a slight smile
on his face. The court announcer called out the names of the
royal party one by one. When he came to Bulliwuf, he called
out, “His Royal Highness Prince Bulliwuf of Germania, who
is visiting the country on behalf of the King of Germania, is
also in attendance.”

They were at the center of a vast horseshoe that was made

up of the watchers. Anyone who was anyone had come to
witness the contest that would determine the next king.

Atar stood alone in the center of this. Turning away from

the  crowd,  he  saw  the  horizon  stretching  out  into  the
distance.  He  was  in  a  great  clearing  marked  with  the
footprints  of  thousands  of  soldiers.  Mithra’s  field  was  the
traditional  training  ground  for  the  new  recruits  to  the
Persian Army.

Twelve enormous axes were driven into the ground in a

straight  line  before  Atar.  They  were  placed  about  a  yard
apart, and in the center of each axe was a hole. The murmur
of  the  crowd  behind  him  made  Atar  turn  around.  Zohak
stepped  forward,  the  light  wind  catching  his  long  hair  and
making  his  cape  flair  out  slightly.  He  removed  his  cape
gracefully, and strode out on the field, bow in hand. Zohak’s
immaculate armor threw back the sun, and brought out red
highlights in his dark hair. His handsome face was cool and
composed. Next to this glory, Atar looked like a naked, dirty
savage. But he was beyond caring about such things.

The onlookers turned to Sugreeva expectantly, but

murmurs of shocked disapproval rippled through the crowd
as Anusawan, a famous archer, stepped out from the crowd,

KB Forrest

104

and stood next to Zohak.

“What is the meaning of this?” Meruzanes’ irate voice cut

above the mill of general conversations.

There was a pause, and then Queen Rutvana turned to

sneer at Meruzanes. “The Prince Sugreeva is above such
petty contests. He does not feel the need to compete himself,
since the throne is rightfully his.”

Meruzanes gaped at such boldfaced cowardice. The eager

gossips strained to catch every word. Queen Cunaxa
frowned, but Meruzanes jumped to his feet.

“Impossible! We are not judging Anusawan’s eligibility

for the throne! He is the best archer in Persia, no doubt…”

“Be silent, Vizier!” Rutvana ordered.
“Yes, I agree,” Queen Cunaxa said quietly. Silence fell at

her surprising words. They waited for more, but Cunaxa
said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Atar.

“I don’t believe this absolute cowardice! What is to

become of us if…”

“Oh shut up!” Rutvana said.
Atar stood watching, feeling his nerves quiver painfully

as the seconds rolled by.

“Get out of the goddamned way, Idiot,” Zohak said in

Paralatae.

Atar jumped and moved away from the axes. Anusawan

stepped forward. He drew an arrow from his quiver, and
hooked it on the string. There wasn’t a sound as Anusawan
squinted at the axes. He moved to the left then took a step to
the right, scrutinizing the impossible task before him.

He drew back the bowstring, and held it for a heart-

stopping moment. He released the arrow.

Whip, whip, whip, CRAACK!
The arrow whizzed past the first three axes, but cracked

against the fourth. A shout rang up from  the watchers, but
Sugreeva’s  wail  of  vexation  rang  out  above  them  all.  He
began to sob uncontrollably.

Burned Dreams

105

“Stop that at once!” Rutvana hissed at her son.
Sugreeva did not stop. Two guards escorted the

distraught young man off the field. Zohak’s smile slipped as
he next approached the axes. He drew out his arrow and
studied the axes with intense concentration. Finally, he drew
back the bowstring, and let fly.

Whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip—CRACK!
The crowd cheered and Zohak turned to bow and preen

at the audience. He stepped off the field, leaving Atar alone.
A guard approached him, handing him one arrow and an
army issue bow.

Atar took a deep breath. He glanced briefly at Bulliwuf,

and saw his friend’s eyes twinkle. He walked over to the
axes and peered into the holes. Then he drew back the
bowstring, and let fly.

Whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip, whip,

whip, whip.

Not a sound from the crowd. Atar turned and they

erupted into raucous conversation. The arrow had passed
cleanly through the twelve axes.

Meruzanes shouted orders and the guards advanced on

him again. They hauled him off to his wagon before Queen
Cunaxa  could  make  herself  heard.  Atar  smiled  as  Bulliwuf
howled a wolfish howl of victory. People backed away from
him  as  he  appeared  to  shine  in  the  light  of  the  sun.  Atar
thought  his  lover  looked  like  the  moon,  who  in  his  bold
splendor, dared to challenge the sun at high noon.

KB Forrest

106

Chapter Nineteen

he crash of glass broke the silence of Zohak’s chamber.
Zohak let out a wordless roar of animal rage. He stalked

up and down his room, biting his fist so hard that blood ran
down his knuckles.

“This is fine. I can deal with this,” Zohak muttered to

himself. “I will simply win the other two tests. Perfect.
Fucking perfect.”

But his anger did not recede. The idiot had bested him yet

again. Maybe it was time to do something about the Idiot.
Perhaps a dab of poison?

* * * *

“Mama!” Sugreeva wailed, “I thought you said he was the
best! I thought…”

“Shut up!” Rutvana shouted.
“But…”
“Damn it! I cannot think when you whine! We are in deep

shit. I don’t even know what the next contest will be! How
can we arrange things if I don’t know?”

“You mean I’m going to have to compete! Eeek!”

Sugreeva squeaked in terror. “Why don’t we ask the
Germanic prince to help us? He looks so strong!”

Rutvana turned away from her weeping offspring with

disgust. “We’ll see about that. He may not want to get

Burned Dreams

107

involved.”

* * * *

In a different part of the castle, Queen Cunaxa sat in
shadow, absorbed in speculation.

* * * *

Down in the dungeons, the guard pushed the cart over the
uneven  stone,  muttering  about  the  inconvenience  of  it  all.
There was only one pot of the vile mush left in the cart. On
the  edge  of  the  pot  was  an  inconspicuous  little  yellow  tag.
The guard finally reached Atar’s cell, and shoved the mush
inside.  Atar  sat  up  and  scrambled  forward,  the  painful
hunger inside him demanding relief.

Gourmet mush, he thought. Atar had raised the mush pot

to his mouth and then he stopped. The hair on the back of
his neck rose.

Foxglove.
It was unmistakable to Atar’s trained senses. Atar silently

and  fervently  thanked  Bulliwuf  for  his  years  of  patient
training.  If  Atar  had  missed  the  faint,  almost  undetectable
scent,  he  would  have  –  well,  he  would  have  died.  Atar
emptied the bowl in a corner of the cell, over a pile of poop,
and  put  the  empty  bowl  back  through  the  bars.  Let  his
poisoner figure that out.

The hunger in him was so acute that it made him

nauseated.  He  listened  to  the  rattle  of  the  food  cart  fade.
Atar  crouched  in  the  absolute  blackness  of  the  cell,  utterly
still.

A wave a terror hit him. He forced himself to calm down,

to picture a serene Scythian forest. This was not a prison cell.
This was a forest. He shut his eyes. If he opened his eyes, he
would see the sun-dappled ground. He was shaking, he

KB Forrest

108

knew. He could feel sweat rolling down his back, but he did
not move or make a sound.

He calmed himself down by clearing his mind of all

thought. After an hour, he could feel the muscles in his legs
and back knotting. The pain gave him something to focus
on. With the patience of a predator, he waited.

Another hour passed.
His quiet breathing was barely perceptible above the

monotonous  drip.  Atar’s  hair  was  soaked  with  sweat.  A
drop hung from the end of his nose, trembling with the beat
of  Atar’s  heart.  The  scuttle  of  a  rat  was  loud  in  the  nearly
silent  cell.  Atar  waited.  The  creature  shuffled  the  air,
attracted  to  the  mush  Atar  had  dumped  there.  It  was
nearing. Atar tensed. It was inside his cell.

It paused. Atar guessed it was only four feet away. Some

sense was warning the rat not to approach. Atar held his
breath, his keen ears straining to hear. The rat advanced.

Atar pounced with the liquid speed of a predator. He

howled  with  delight  as  his  hands  closed  around  the
squirming  rat.  He  dispatched  the  creature  neatly  and
clutched it close in victory. Someone was laughing insanely,
and  he  had  a  horrible  suspicion  that  it  was  him,  since  the
other prisoners were out of earshot.

He exhaled, the laughter trailed off. Now what? He was

glad he couldn’t see the creature. Even though hunger
squeezed his stomach, he couldn’t help grimacing at the
stench of the fur. He bit into the rat, tearing off the hide. He
was thankful to have anything at all. He thought of Bulliwuf,
and tried to imagine himself as a great wolf. It was not the
only rat he finished before the night was over.

On the dawn of the following day, Atar woke to the rattle

of the guards’ keys. He lay still for a moment, peering at
them through his lashes.

“I expect he’s dead,” one of the guards said.
They peered at him a moment, then swung the door open.

Burned Dreams

109

As they stepped inside, Atar sprang to his feet, knocking the
two guards over. The echoes of their screams chased him
down the corridor.

His fleet feet carried him easily down the corridor. By this

time,  he  was  in  the  populated  section  of  the  dungeons.
Dimly  he  heard  the  other  prisoners  howling  as  he  bolted
past.  He  came  to  a  fork  in  the  corridor  and  stopped.  The
heavy tramp of his pursuers reminded him he had to move.
Fear gripped him, and he ran forward, choosing his way at
random.

He tossed a triumphant glance behind him and ran

headlong  into  a  company  of  soldiers.  They were  upon  him
before  he  knew  what  was  happening. He  struggled wildly,
maddened  by  his  taste  of  freedom.  He  caught  one  of  the
guards  with  his  fist.  Ruthlessly,  they  subdued  him  with
vicious blows.

“Stop!” one of the first two guards shouted breathlessly.

The two guards came running over, totally winded.

“Got away from you, did he?” the others laughed. The

first two guards gave their comrades black looks and seized
Atar none too gently. They dragged Atar upwards.

When the guards finally threw him down this time, filthy

and  aching,  he  was  in  the  Great  Hall.  Sunlight  poured
through  the  huge  windows,  glittering  on  gems  and  gold
threaded  lace.  He  looked  around  him.  The  nobles  were
assembled like yesterday. Zohak put his hand to his throat,
unable to hide his consternation and surprise. The guard had
told  him  that  the  Idiot’s  food  bowl  had  been  empty.  How
could he be alive? Zohak thought with a touch of desperation.
Things were not going as planned.

Atar picked himself off the ground once more, and glared

at everyone. Sugreeva’s face was buried in his hands. Upon
the throne dais, Queen Cunaxa, Queen Rutvana, Sophene,
and Meruzanes the Vizier sat. Bulliwuf sat on a lower guest
platform, smiling wolfishly. Atar’s eyes rested on Sophene

KB Forrest

110

for a moment then shifted to Queen Cunaxa as she rose.

The court murmured as she went to the wall behind the

dais. No one knew what the next test would be. Cunaxa had
kept silent so that Rutvana could not find Sugreeva another
replacement.  Queen  Cunaxa  reached  for  a  black,  plain
looking long bow that rested on metal supports driven into
the  wall.  Prince  Sugreeva  uncovered  his  face  and  watched
the Queen. Atar noticed that he looked very pale around his
normally shell pink mouth.

The bow was unstrung and the heavy string dangled

from one end.

“This is the bow of King Siyavush,” Queen Cunaxa

declared  in  ringing  tones  that  carried  over  the  murmurs  of
the court. “There has been no one in the two hundred years
since  his  death  who  has  been  strong  enough  to  string  his
mighty  bow.  If  either  of  you  is  to  be  King,  let  Mithra  lend
you his strength.”

A smack punctuated the end of her speech.
“My God!” a gentlemen in the front row exclaimed. Half

the assembled audience rose to their feet, as Prince Sugreeva
fell in a dead faint on the floor. Atar knelt to help the prince,
but  he  was  not  welcomed.  Guards  came  rushing  over,  and
Prince  Sugreeva  was  gently  carried  out  of  the  great  hall.
There  was  a  great  rustling  of  silk  and  satin  as  the  people
resumed their seats.

Zohak burst out laughing rudely, his rich baritone rolling

over  the  heads  of  the  spectators  and  catching  on.  Ladies
snickered  behind  their  fans,  and  gentlemen  chuckled  and
whispered to each other in muted undertones.

Zohak, looking as immaculate as before, stepped up to

Cunaxa.

“Thank you Mother,” he said to her casually, smiling in a

way that was somehow obscene. He appeared undaunted by
the task before him.

Cunaxa resumed her seat and Zohak turned to smile at

Burned Dreams

111

the  court,  holding  the  bow  lightly.  “Ladies and  gentlemen,
as  you  know,  for  all  of  my  adult  life,  I  have  lived  with
savages.  But  even  among  such  people,  my  strength  was
renowned.  I  was  honored  as  the  fiercest  warrior  among
them.  I  was  second  only  to  the  chief,  and  before  long,  I
became  chief.  But  I  left  the  tribe  easily,  for  I  knew  my
destiny called elsewhere. Now I am here before you…”

A lone, imperiously slow clapping interrupted Zohak’s

speech. “Why doesn’t the little prince dispense with the
speech and string the bow? In my country, men who have
much to say are considered cowards.” Bulliwuf smiled, but
his eyes were chilling.

“How dare you? You are only a visitor! My guest!”

Zohak’s voice almost squeaked as he stared furiously.

“I believe I am the guest of the queen, for you are not the

emperor. As you have only boasted of your claim, how dare
you speak to me like that? I am of royal blood. You only
claim to be so. Show us what you are made of, little man.”
Bulliwuf had so enraged Zohak that his eyes were red and
his face distorted into an ugly mask.

Snickers followed.
Zohak turned back to face the dais. He placed his left foot

over the bow, trapping it with his shins. Reaching down, he
grabbed the end of the string with his right hand. With his
left hand, he pressed down on the bow, expecting it to bend
beneath the inexorable pressure of his arm and back.

Zohak stopped pushing and readjusted his grip. He

pressed down on the bow again and did not let up for five
entire  minutes.  The  veins  in  his  forehead  stood  out,  and
trickles  of  sweat  dripped  past  his  eyes.  Zohak  put  the  bow
down and stripped off his arm guards, letting them clatter to
the  ground.  He  took  up  the  bow  once  again,  and  heaved
mightily.  Finally,  the  bow  moved  visibly.  He  moved  it
another fraction of an inch, but his face was turning dark red
from the strain.

KB Forrest

112

Zohak let go, and put the bow down again. He stripped

off his breastplate and the rest of the armor on his chest. His
shirt  was  pasted  to  his  body  with  sweat.  The  worry  in  his
eyes  was  unmistakable.  As  he  bent  to  his  task  again,  the
court  could  see  his  muscles  straining  and  quivering.  His
powerful  hand  gripped  the  bow.  It  began  to  bend.  People
rose  to  their  feet  to  get  a  better  look.  Zohak  was  shaking
with the effort. The string was only three inches away from
the end of the bow.

Snap! A chorus of “Oohs” went up from the watchers as

the bowstring snapped out of his hands.

“Fetch me some wine,” he demanded, wiping the sweat

from his brow. A servant hurried over. An hour later, Zohak
threw the bow against the steps of the dais. “He won’t be
able to do any better!” Zohak’s eyes were bulging with fury
as he glared at Atar. The audience murmured as he reached
to touch his leg. Zohak’s left shin was scraped raw from the
bow pressing against it.

Bulliwuf laughed in a rich, deep voice. Zohak raised a fist

at him and Bulliwuf teased him by waving at him to dare
approach. Zohak did not.

Sugreeva was back on the dais. He brightened when he

saw this exchange.

“I want the Silver Prince to pull it in my stead,” he

announced. He looked imploringly at Bulliwuf.

“I can indeed do this quite easily, but I am not vying for

the throne of Persia. I have my father’s kingdom to deal
with. I do apologize,” Bulliwuf said.

Zohak turned to him with trembling lips drawn back, but

Bulliwuf smiled graciously.

Atar did not need a translator to tell him what to do. He

had grown heartily bored long before the bow clattered
against the stairs. Zohak folded his shaking arms against his
broad chest and smiled malevolently at Atar.

Atar walked over to the bow, his naked chest shining in

Burned Dreams

113

the  sun,  despite  the  filth  that  covered  him.  He  stooped  to
retrieve the bow. The silence in the chamber was absolute. A
worried  frown  crossed  Zohak’s  face.  Atar  positioned  the
bow,  grabbing  the  dangling  string.  He  pushed  the  bow
down  with  his left  hand,  and  to  his  surprise,  the  bow  bent
easily, as Bulliwuf had predicted.

“Look! Look! He’s strung it!”
Atar looped the string over the opposite end of the bow,

and lifted his leg out of the way. He smiled up at Queen
Cunaxa and at Sophene, who sat gaping with the rest of the
court. One of the guards slipped away to tell the waiting
crowds the new development.

“This is ridiculous!” Zohak shouted. “Mother! Why must

you put me through such silly games? I am done with this
nonsense!”

The court looked at him and turned to each other.
“Take him back to the dungeons!” Meruzanes the Vizier

shrieked furiously.

Bulliwuf’s amused chuckle rumbled over the court.

KB Forrest

114

Chapter Twenty

ugreeva lay curled up in his bed, snoring lightly. Rutvana
opened the door to his bedroom and slammed it shut,

causing Sugreeva to start awake.

“What do you mean by this? What a display! You’ve

really stepped on your little dick this time, brat! We are the
laughing stock of the Empire!”

Sugreeva sat up in bed, looking dazed. “What? Mother,

you…you just woke me up! You barged into my chamber!”
Sugreeva  lay  his  head  back  down.  Rutvana  seethed,
watching  her  son’s  shell  pink  mouth  curve  in  a  contented
smile.

She walked over to his dressing table and picked up the

washbasin.

“Eeeahhh!” Sugreeva shot out of bed, his soaking wet

clothes clinging to his slim form and flattening his hair into
dispirited rat tails. “Mama! Eeeek! Oooh-ukk!” Sugreeva
shrieked while shaking his hands, holding them away from
his body helplessly. “What the hell?”

“Listen to me, brat!” Rutvana practically screamed, her

face  turning  bright  red.  “We  are  this  close—this  close  to
losing everything that I have worked for! I am not going to
stand by and watch you piss your power and my influence
away!  You  will  have  one  last  chance.  You  have  done
miserably, you little shit, on the first two trials, but that will
not  matter  if  you  pass  this  last  one.  Why?  Well,  it

Burned Dreams

115

overshadows both of them in difficulty. Shut up!
Just…just…ok, all you have to do is follow the Firestarter,
okay? Sound simple enough?”

“Umm…follow him…where?”
“To the Dragon Caves.”
“What? That’s in the mountains! Ooooh! My feet get very

cold, I really can’t. What if we meet a dragon? No, no, no…”

“Uukk! Buffoon! Foolish whelp! You will lose everything!

Do you want to spend the rest of your days begging in the
streets of some provincial town on the frontier? Do you want
to become a farmer, and till the fields from dawn until well
after dusk? How will your little tootsies feel then? Get off
your ass, child, do this for your future glory! I am destined
to be the mother of a mighty emperor!”

Sugreeva’s

brow

was

crinkled

thought.

“And…and…all I have to do is follow the Firestarter? I
mean…okay, okay.”

* * * *

Zohak  sat  in  total  darkness.  The  only  sound  that  broke  the
absolute silence of his subterranean chamber was the trickle
of  water  into  the  natural  basin  by  the  wall.  Zohak’s  very
world  was  shattering.  His  every  waking  thought  for  years
had been of the day when he would declare his right to the
throne. It was what had sustained him, and had given him
strength through the deep, unforgiving cold of the Scythian
nights. It had given him the courage to ask for Jahi’s hand in
marriage. It had given him something to  think about when
Jahi began to see other men. There was nothing he could do
to stop her, but he kept his sanity, all because of his dream.

It was his shining ambition that thrilled him and kept him

awake at night. It filled his dreams and his heart with hope.
The troubles of the present paled to insignificance when his
fantasy danced in his brain. From the day he had left the

KB Forrest

116

castle,  on  that  warm  summer  night,  he  had  thought  of
nothing but his future. It was his by right. He was the only
son  of  Queen  Cunaxa  and  Dahaka.  But  he remembered  his
father.  Dahaka  had  warned  him.  “You  fool!”  Dahaka  had
hissed  at  him.  “That  one  you  call  the  Idiot  is  the  son  of
Queen Cunaxa and my brother! He, too, is of royal blood!”

Zohak tried to blink away the vision. He saw himself on

the throne, the lords and ladies bowing with awed respect.
They  would  dance  in  the  great  hall,  the  hall  where  he  had
first met Devayani when he was a toddler. The bright fabrics
would  be  swirling,  and  Zohak  would  take  a  lady’s  hand,
while her jealous husband watched, and he would lead her
out  into  the  garden.  The  scent  of  jasmine,  the  faint  music
from the dance would float on the air.

He would look down at the lady, relishing the sweep of

her lashes and the sweet curve of her lips. She would raise
her eyes to his, and they would be filled with promise of so
much  more.  But,  suddenly  he  remembered  another  pair  of
eyes.  He  remembered,  too,  the  laughing,  mocking  Prince
Bulliwuf.  He  would  kill  that  man,  too.  Zohak  clenched  his
fist  so  tightly  that  his  nails  bit  into  his  palm.  Hot  blood
splashed against his knee.

The goddamned Idiot. He had defiled every precious

moment of Zohak’s life, and now the creature was weaseling
his way into Zohak’s fantasies. The wretched ballad!
Everywhere he went, he heard it.

The footprints marched ahead into the distance of the dawn

Glory, glory, glory, a sign to Atar
The king to be attacked that day, tore the Horde asunder

Marching, ever fearsomely, roaring like the thunder

High the shouts were raised that day, high the cries of battle
The Firestarter swooped that day, gave the Horde a rattle

Fires raised into the night, burning for his glory

Songs were sung across the night, telling all the story
Zohak let the haunting ballad into his brain for a moment.

Burned Dreams

117

He  didn’t  believe  the  drivel  in  that  god-awful  ditty.  He
knew  he  was  the  rightful  king.  He  was  on  his  feet.  His
determination  to  have  his  dream  made  him  step  forward
into  the  darkness.  From  the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  his
passion  called  out  to  the  darkness.  The  hot  blood  from  his
injured hand soaked into the stone floor of his chamber. The
blood—his  blood,  was  laced  with  ancient  magic,  and  the
blood of monarchs stretching back to Gayomard himself.

His entire body vibrated with his passionate anger, and

with the power that he unconsciously summoned in himself.
He held his hands over the pool of water that he knew was
there, despite the darkness. His blood dripped into the
liquid, drop by drop.

* * * *

The Goddess looked up from the luminescent square she
had been watching. She was being summoned. She laughed,
long and low.

* * * *

Zohak had a vague idea that he should wash his hands, but
he was so preoccupied with his fury and his need that he
just stood there for a moment.

He put his hands into the cool water, then snatched them

out, cradling his scalded hands. A bubbling that sounded
like water in a rolling boil filled the chamber. Zohak stepped
back from the basin of water as steam hit his face. He felt a
hot flash of fear shake his soul. What is going on, he thought,
turning away, stumbling in the general direction of his room
in search of a lamp. The air became thicker, and thicker, as
the steam rolled off the basin.

An odd, deep sound froze him. He turned. The steam was

illuminated into bright clouds of light. The brilliant source of

KB Forrest

118

the  light  came  from  within  the  pool.  Zohak  felt  his  knees
shaking, and he backed away from it. The backs of his thighs
hit  a  wall  and  Zohak  watched,  transfixed  as  the  water
frothed  over  the  sides  of  the  natural  basin.  The  air  in  the
chamber  felt  heavy  with  an  undeniable  oily  power.  Zohak
tossed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes.

“Oh the gods, oh no!” Zohak breathed as the steam above

the  pool  began  to  coalesce  into  a  figure.  Two  dark  eyes
opened. They were deeper than the darkest night, standing
out  obscenely  against  the  luminescent  steam.  There  was
something  infinitely  vile  and  unclean  about  the  presence
before him. Zohak tried to draw back further, and he heard
the creature laugh again silently.

The Goddess had arrived.
The dark eyes transfixed Zohak. He was frightened as he

had  never  been  before. He  screamed  as  he felt  the  creature
reach  out  to  his  mind.  Then  it  was  there,  within  his  soul,
whispering.  Zohak  stopped  shaking.  For  a  moment,  he
stopped  breathing.  He  stared  into  the  darkness  of  the
demon’s  eyes.  He  was  aware  of  a  rich,  painfully  sensual
power.  Sweat  rolled  off  him,  but  the  humid  air  of  the
chamber  no  longer  seemed  awful  to  him.  He  didn’t  hear
anything. The words the demon spoke were pure feeling.

“This could be yours, this is yours. Yours, yours! You are

the rightful king, sweet Zohak, dearest Zohak. This is your
destiny. Your destiny is to rule.”

“Yes,” Zohak laughed, filled with the rich power of the

creature. “Yes! Yes!”

The goddess floated slowly forward, her outline barely

perceptible. “Do you want this power, this rich, unending
sea of pleasure? Do you want to be a god walking gloriously
among men? Do you want the world at your feet? You can
have this. This power.”

“Yes, yes, I want it more than anything, I am the rightful

King. It is my right to live my dreams in this life!”

Burned Dreams

119

“More than anything? You want this with all the passion

of  your  soul?  You  are  very  much  your  father’s  son!”  the
Goddess  laughed  silently.  Zohak  felt  the  delighted,
somehow  vicious  vibrations  of  the  laugh  with  his  soul.
Before he could consider that, his senses were overwhelmed
once  more  with  his  power.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  saw  a
shining drop of water trembling in his hands. He looked up
and out across a vast sea.

“My God!” Zohak breathed.
“Who is your God?” the Goddess laughed.
The vision was gone abruptly, but the aching power of it

made Zohak’s head throb and his soul shake with the need
to dive into the ocean. If one drop felt like this…

“Do you want this?”
“Yes! Yes!” Zohak screamed.
The Goddess was inches away now. Zohak was surprised

to feel the deep fear struggle violently to the surface. He
thrust his hands out, warding her away, his face a mask of
fear, but it was too late. He couldn’t move.

She bent her head and kissed his right shoulder with

unseen lips. Tiny fangs pierced his skin. They were scalding
hot, like fire. Zohak shuddered with pleasure. She kissed his
left shoulder, tiny fangs again piercing his skin. Zohak felt
the most wondrous waves of power shoot through him. He
felt like a god!

Then Zohak screamed and screamed. He fell to his knees,

screaming. And all the while, his head rang with the sharp,
measured  sound  of  iron  striking  iron.  The  sound  rolled
through  him,  tearing  at  him,  tearing  at  his  sanity  like  a
raging  river.  The  awful  clanging  mingled  with  his  pain,
producing  a  fear  inside  him  unlike  any  he  had  ever
experienced. He screamed until the blood dripped out of his
mouth and nose. He felt the most awful sense of shame and
violation  that  he  had  ever  known.  The  pain  persisted  like
fire,  with  unbearable  intensity.  The  Goddess  behind  him

KB Forrest

120

laughed. The thick air was foul with the scent of rotting
corpses and vile things.

“What have you done? What have you done?” Zohak

screamed  at  the  presence,  hating  it  with  all  the  intensity  of
his  pain.  He  could  not  hear  his  own  words  for  the  awful
clanging  in  his  head.  The  measured  tones  fell  with
inexorable  precision.  Zohak  fell  to  the  floor,  clutching  his
shoulders as more unbearable pain centralized there. Under
the palms of his hands, he felt his shoulders swelling. He felt
something smooth push against the palms of his hands.

“What…what’s happening to me? What? Ahh!”
Zohak screamed again, but his voice was horrible to hear.

The  weak,  rasping  croak  was  a  parody  of  his  normal  clear
voice. He took his hands away, but he could feel the things
growing.  A  hungry  hissing  filled  the  chamber,  and  the
clanging  died  away.  Zohak  strained  to  hear  it,  but  the
hissing was now dominant.

“No! No!” Zohak sobbed, wishing this were a dream.
The chamber was in blackness again. Zohak stumbled

over  to  his  room,  and  fumbled  for  the  lamp.  He  somehow
got  the  thing  lit.  Blinded  by  tears,  he  blundered  into  his
bedroom. The light from the lamp seemed to be swallowed
up  by  the  utter  darkness  around  him.  He  froze  before  the
mirror, shaking his head in denial. Through his tears, he saw
the  sleek  black  shapes  weaving  in  the  air  above  his  head.
Their  scales  glinted  in  the  yellow  light  as  they  undulated
ceaselessly in a way that was sensual, but at the same time
unspeakably horrible.

The one on his right shoulder dipped and flicked his

damp  hair  with  its  red,  forked  tongue.  The  copper  eyes  of
both  snakes  regarded  Zohak  with  steady  malevolent
intelligence through the mirror. Zohak reached up, and saw
himself  touch  one  of  the  snakes.  He  felt  the  smooth  dry
scales  under  his  fingers.  He  screamed,  and  lost
consciousness.

Burned Dreams

121

When he woke, he felt something warm slither against his

neck and burrow into his long hair. He could feel  the silky
texture  of  his  own  hair.  He  could  feel  how  good  it  felt  to
slide  through  it.  Then  he  remembered,  he  remembered
everything.  He  moaned  and  finally  mewling  in  terror,  he
began  to  light  candles.  He  could  feel  the  snakes  watching
him.  He  could  even  feel  their  contemptuous  amusement.
They slid against his cheeks. They embraced his neck. One of
them angled in front of his face, so that he was forced to look
into its demonic eyes.

When the room was lit like a torch, Zohak sat before the

mirror. He drew his dagger and grabbed one of the snakes.
His hand suddenly let go of the dagger. His fingers refused
to obey him. He picked up the weapon and tried again with
the same result. He fell to the floor, rolling and writhing. His
screams rent the air until he was exhausted.

We are part of you now, Zohak. Do not try to escape. You asked

for this. We will use you and your body as we wish, but in return,
you will be the greatest emperor the world has known. Surrender

to our sweet will, Zohak, and defeat your enemies.

A strange feeling of calm filled his mind. The waving

snakes were hypnotically moving back and forth. Zohak felt
peaceful suddenly. He finally realized that the snakes were
there for good. His life would never be the same.

As he raised the dagger to his heart, he felt a flood of his

new  power  course  through  him.  It  took  him  by  surprise,
being  on  the  brink  of  utter  despair.  It  was  such  a  flood  of
sweet, tainted power that he forgot the horror of the snakes
for  a  moment.  What  could  a  person  like  him  do  with  such
power? Zohak shivered in delight. The snakes waved in the
air encouragingly.

About the Author

KB  Forrest  has  researched  ancient  Indo-European  history
and  folklore  for  several  years,  and  brings  to  this  novel  his
story-telling  flair  and  the  accurate  details  today’s  readers
demand.  He  is  skilled  in  animal  husbandry,  primitive
survival skills, and horsemanship. These talents allow him to
imbue the story with realistic elements.

KB lives on a farm in Northern Mississippi with his

faithful dogs. He raises Brahman cattle and a large variety of
birds. When not writing, he paints in oils and watercolors.