plik

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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Banner of Fire

ISBN: 978-1-77111-193-5

Cover art by Martine Jardin

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Chapter One

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

n’t realize he was

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

But it persisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nuts is this?”

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

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

“Hey gimme that!”

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

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

you!”

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

man-

part,” the first said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

god, as is clearly obvious.” Zohak

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

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

face had gone pale.

Waves of repulsive power throbbed in the air around
him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The people have been suffering from the most terrible

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

. “It is the duty of the ruler of this

land to see to the needs of the people.”

Zohak snorted, but Cunaxa continued. “I have had

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

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

those provincials talk! Dragons!”

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

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

“You three shall go to the Dragon Caves to either

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

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

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

him with dread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

time…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s a dream. Dreams…”

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

Atar nodded.

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

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

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

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

you that it seems that Prince Sugreeva is following us.

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

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

my men!”

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

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

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

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

“Thank the gods you are back, Bulliwuf.”

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

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

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

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

The wolf was gr

inning. “Oh well, we can capture one and

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

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

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

Atar sighed. He could hear Sugreeva’s thin voice

composing.

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

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

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

Sugreeva the mighty, he is very tidy

With spirits high, and danger near

Sugreeva rides without a fear

Bravely, bravely, charging forth today

Bravely, bravely he shows his men the way

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

He rides his mighty stallion to

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

clone, sloan.”

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

“What the hell?” General Tiridates said.

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

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

to think we’d ride forever.”

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

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

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

said to Heslin.

Heslin gaped.

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

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

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

As Atar mounted Ishria, the tilting, wobbly structure
Su

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

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

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

here.”

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

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

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

Atar stared at him blankly, and looked at Heslin.

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

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

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

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

Sugre

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bulliwuf smiled at Sugreeva’s torrent of questions, but

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

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

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

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

father gave him a quelling look.

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

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

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

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

efinitely there.”

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

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

insistent whine.

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

asked Atar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Atar was so full and so satisfied. He grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

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

Kava thought his little girl certain

ly didn’t feel like she was

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

up again.

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

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

“Nonsense!” He roared.

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

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

Husband!”

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

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

r complete their lessons.”

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

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

Lesa said, squeezing his neck.

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

They moved down the main street together.

* * * *

The land became rockier as Atar and the soldiers
progressed.

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

side.

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

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

”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zoha

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

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

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

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

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

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

hrough Atar’s daze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

sending the fires a

round her to dancing. “The werewolf

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

shouldered king has taken the credit.”

Chapter Three

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

Bravely, Bravely, they scurried off to bed!

Across the way, across the land”

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

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

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

Atar tried not to grind his teeth.

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

“Six have left us,” General Monases said.

“How dare you ignore the royal command?” Sugreeva

squeaked at Atar, who continued to ignore him.

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

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

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

“Sugreeva the Mighty, with his little friend

Thundered down the mountain, fleeing in the end-

”

Atar cursed in Paralatae as Sugreeva’s singing cut into

his thoughts. Sugreeva nodded acknowledgement and
continued.

“They camped that night under the moon,

Hoping Sugreeva would plan for them soon.

Sugreeva lifted his face to the rain

The hero was suffering lots of pain

He dashed hair out of his eyes,

Um, eyes? Let’s see, pies, size, uh…”

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

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

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

Bulliwuf’s ears pricked. The enormous wolf stretched his

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

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

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

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

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

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

the armies, I expect,” General Monases said.

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

good?”

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

with him.

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

You…can’t

just…stop

him!”

Sugreeva

ordered

imperiously. His face reflected his alarm. Atar swung into

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

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

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

isn’t getting any longer.”

Sit down, oh Atar.

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

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

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

friend?” Atar sat down heavily.

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

happily.

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

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

You have a responsibility, Bulliwuf said.

“Responsibility? What responsibility? To them? They

would like nothing better than to see…”

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

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

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

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

Zohak approached Hergor’s old throne. The candles

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

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

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

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

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

His court.

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

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

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

His footsteps rang on the stone as he ascended the
stair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

backed away.

Chapter Five

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

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

be composed of one third this year’s harvest

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

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

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

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

Princess Sophene the Sharp heard of Zohak’s return

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they weren’t that well to do.

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

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

The mother choked back a

sob. “It’ll come to no good.

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

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

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

Chapter Six

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

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

to the palace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

looking at Atar.

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

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

Atar nodded slowly. Mage! Atar called.

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

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

Atar paused to give Heslin time to translate. “Good

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

That had been several days ago.

Now he rode along in the midday heat.

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

The person’s horse reared as the big wolf came

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

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

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

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

Kartir had materialized out of

the shadows of Sophene’s

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

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

“Dear God!” Sugreeva squeaked urging his horse

for

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sugreeva said.

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

Atar said.

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

General Tiridates said, echoing Atar.

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

you. It would truly be a pleasure.”

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

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

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

and were standing together as the soldiers set up.

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

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

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

ugreeva’s jaw dropped.

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

Sugreeva asked.

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

and Sugreeva glared at one another.

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

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

Zohak smiled and advanced on the six.

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

breathed. “Oh damn!”

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

he didn’t kill them by devouring their brains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s…”

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

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

shook his head, moaning.

“No! No!”

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

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

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

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

Chapter Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you should come with me, Bulliwuf.”

Bulliwuf looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

was confident that Ezad would follow along soon enough.

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

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

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

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

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

She was hungry.

He could feed her.

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

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

elf. It wasn’t right that he let

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

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

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

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

his deer was Api’s gift to the hungry and

he would be an ungrateful fool not to accept.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

squeaked.

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

Atar turned and blushed as he looked over at Bulliwuf.

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

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

“How far did you two carry that beast?”

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Eight

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

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

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

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

He opened the door.

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

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

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

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

already given my children.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lesa!

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

“No! No!”

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

“Papa! Papa! Save me Papa!”

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

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

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

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

The soldiers tramped off.

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

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

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

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

Blackness above a nonexistent world.

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

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

The silence. The profound, utter lack of sound.

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

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

smith’s hammer?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zohak heard the latch snick open. “Out here,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zohak asked.

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

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

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

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

Meruzanes sat very still.

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

having some v

ery disturbing dreams.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zohak nodded slowly.

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

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

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

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

But still, I

can’t imagine that they could hold anything

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

Meruzanes smiled nervously, “O-of course, Your

Majesty,” he said, backing away.

Chapter Nine

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

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

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

that,” the blue eyed shepherd said.

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

shepherd with the black beard said.

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

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

The youngest shepherd gaped and the others were
silent.

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

“No, no! Wrong again.”

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

bar.”

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

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

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

Now his tears fell. Suspicions grew.

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

unmarried people?” the youngest shepherd began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tou

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

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

Crack!

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

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

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

“The footprints marched ahead into the distance of the

dawn,

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

”

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

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

uh something - asunder

Marching, ever fearsomely, roaring like the thunder-

”

“Like the thunder. How descriptive. It catches His

Majesty’s virility wonderfully,” Heslin said.

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

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

battle

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

“Fires raised into the night, burning for his glory

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

”

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

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

“Thank the gods,” Heslin said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

those trees?”

The urgency in General Monas

es’ voice snapped

everyone to attention.

They all stopped.

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

saddle.

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

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

follow a simple order,” Sugreeva said.

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

soldiers said timidly.

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

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

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

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

“Stop!” Lesa screamed as Zohak advanced.

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

do that, my little love?”

Tears streamed down Lesa’s smooth, round cheeks.

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

stop you,” she said, hiccupping with fear.

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

“S-stop me?” Zohak mocked. “How?”

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

sobbed, shaking now as her instincts warned her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa!”

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

Zohak couldn’t contain the small smile twitching about

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence in the chamber was absolute.

Hissssss.

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

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

“The third suggestion,” Meruzanes said as Zohak tossed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A proclamation! How novel,” Zohak said.

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

documents of the Empire such as King Rustam

’s

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

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

people to come to this Grand Council. Even

if they don’t

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

“Uh…at once your Highness.”

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

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

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

my damn captain won’t give me

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

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

seated at a table behind the soldier.

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

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

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

“I have no money,” the barmaid said.

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

a job.”

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

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

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

Chapter Ten

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

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

Damn!

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

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

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

“We’ve found him.”

“Don’t let him get away again.”

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

the amulet he holds even now?”

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

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

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

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

“Lesa?” Kava whispered.

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

from her eyes.

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

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

Clang, clang, clang.

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

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

Waiting to be set ablaze.

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

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

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

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

“Satisfaction?” Kava roared, his booming voice turning

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

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

show you what I think of my satisfaction!”

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

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

“Fucking bureaucrats!” Kava seized the crier with his

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

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

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

moaned.

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

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

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

“You eat,” the woman said.

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

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

“Eat.”

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

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

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

lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sugreeva. Atar wheezed on the floor.

He wasn’t going to put up with this.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bulliwuf?”

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

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

“Beerta marry you,” she said.

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

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

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

adding to Sugreeva’s panic.

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

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

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

“A most honored Prince,” Heslin added.

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

hungry eyes back to Sugreeva.

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

you say to her?”

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

“What? What?” Sugreeva demanded hysterically.

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

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

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

His roar mingled with Sugreeva’s squeak of terror.

“Tell her I am already married,” Sugreeva said

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

“Honored Princess, the Prince wishes to inform you that

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

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

Beer

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

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

have him. It’s fine by me.”

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

“What are you talking about?” Sugreeva demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

improper. Most unseemly for…”

“Oh!” Sugreeva wailed.

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

warm.”

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

said.

“I get cloak and priest,” Beerta said.

Atar roared.

100

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

101

Chapter Eleven

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

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

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

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

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

es. “Do go on,” Zohak said.

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

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

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

mself. Raising his hand regally he said, “You

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

102

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

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

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

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

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

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

grievance?”

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

103

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

“Against whom?” Zohak asked.

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

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

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

ties to this world now. And my youngest son

– I was

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

Silence.

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

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

disbelief.

104

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

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

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

said.

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

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

The blacksmith shook his head.

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

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

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

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

while.”

The blacksmith shook his head.

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

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

105

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

“The Proclamation of Emperor’s Magnanimous Deeds:

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

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

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

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

Clang, clang, clang.

106

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

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

“Have you cowards been so blinded with awe and fear

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

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

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

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

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

Zohak was shaking.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

It was all he could hear now.

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

me some wine.”

107

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

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

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

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

ice?”

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

“Do you want freedom?”

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

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

nearest man.

108

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

wall.

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

“Captain? Captain, what did you say?”

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

of Evi

l,” Kava shouted.

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

They watched him remove his blacksmith’s leather apron

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

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

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

arter’s

Royal Farr!”

The brisk wind snapped the leather, punctuating Kava’s

speech. The crowd roared.

109

“Let us seek Atar!”

“Let us have a new King!”

“On to the Firestarter!”

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

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

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

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

110

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

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

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

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

”

“No!” Zohak interrupted quickly.

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

“Get out of here,” Zohak said flatly.

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

111

Chapter Twelve

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

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

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

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

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

112

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

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

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

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

They lau

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

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

113

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

114

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

h of embarrassment at his men’s poor behavior coming

to stain his cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

115

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

” the scowling man said.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, of course.”

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

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

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

There was chaos behind him.

116

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

117

Atar whistled, praying to Ahuramazda.

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

“No!” Atar screamed inside his head.

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

bbed Ishria’s mane and vaulted onto

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

“Run, Ishria, run!”

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

the noise of Ishria’s pounding hooves and

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

118

Chapter Thirteen

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

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

“Good,” Kava said.

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

“You’ll live,” Kava said.

The barkeep looked skeptical.

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

119

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

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

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

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

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

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

120

“Sir,” Jamshir called out.

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

“Look!”  the  child’s  shrill  voice  made  people  turn.  Jamshir
unfurled the banner on its heavy spear and held it aloft for
all to see. It shimmered gloriously in the morning sun. The
gems and gold brocade threw back refracted light. A wild
cheer rose up as the banner was lifted into the air and the
golden streamers fluttered on the edge of the glorious flag.
Kava felt  his heart  swell  with  pride  at  the  sight  of his  son
waving the Banner of Fire and the glorious cheer that rose
up  from  the  very  soul  of  the  people  of  Persia.  It  was  a
sound  that  meant  the  injustices  suffered  by  the  people
would  not  be  tolerated.  They  were  united  under  the
glorious,  once  worthless  flag  that  had  been  his
blacksmith’s apron.

“What happened to it?” Kava asked Jamshir, the awe in
his tone plain.

“One of the rich silk merchants and the jeweler from this
town decorated it. Those stones are real!”

A well-

dressed man and an older man in a jeweler’s apron

stepped out of the crowd. Kava took the flag from the boy
and marveled at how it had changed. The figure of a fierce
boar had been stitched in gold with incredible detail.
Around the figure of the Royal Farr, gems were embedded
into the leather. The flag was the same on both sides.

121

“Unbelievable,” Kava whispered. He looked up at the
jeweler and the silk merchant. “Do you know how much
you have assisted us? How can we ever thank you?”

“Just doing my part,” the jeweler said, “seeing as how I am
too old and crotchety to fight, I thought this might make up
some.”

“Yes, it was the least I could do. My best artist sewed that
gold brocade,” the silk merchant said proudly.

Kava raised the banner and moved toward his horse. “Let
us be off to find Atar!” he bellowed.

“I’ve got my horse, my mace, my tiger skin and my life.

There is no way I am going back, Bulliwuf. The summer is
almost halfway gone. I am not going to waste time
bumbling about the countryside with those manic
barbarians.”

“You’re just mad because she sat on your head.” Bulliwuf
was having a good laug

h. “Still, I’m serious, Atar. You

have a responsibility.”

“Maybe if you deigned to explain yourself once in a while I
would follow your advice. What do you mean? You keep
referring to responsibilities, but I don’t know what you
mean.” Atar looked away from Bulliwuf.

122

Bulliwuf  stopped  speaking  a  second  before  Ishria  reared,
wild  with panic. The shrill  whinny that  tore from his throat
chilled  Atar’s  blood.  Desperately,  Atar  clung  to  Ishria’s
back.

What does he see? Atar thought desperately as his heart
kicked into high gear.

Ishria’s front hooves hit the ground and the creature stood
stock still for a split second. Atar’s eyes flicked over the
land but could see nothing amiss.

Ishria  whirled  around  and  nearly  jerked  Atar  off  balance.
The stallion bolted in a dead panic over the land. Atar let
the  great  beast  run,  feeling  a  cold  trickle  of  fear  because
of  the  narrow  escape.  Abruptly,  Ishria  stopped,  rearing
again, his eyes rolling with terror.

Atar was so surprised by his horse’s abrupt change of
direction that

he was thrown off Ishria’s back. He let out a

pained yowl when his body smacked into the unforgiving
ground. Ishria’s hoof beats thundered away.

Damn! Atar looked at the rolling hills that surrounded him,
trying  to  catch  his  breath.  Bulliwuf  was  nowhere  in  sight.
He  probably  had  not  noticed  that  he  had  fallen  off  Ishria,
he thought, as a wave of nausea swept through him.

“Damn!” Atar ST cursed aloud this time. He groaned and
got to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain,
determined to move on. If he lost his damn horse, even for
a few hours, those crazy barbarians could gain the

123

advantage. Of all the horrid, impolite… Atar’s thoughts
stopped, as did his feet.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as an exhalation of
breath behind him stirred the quiet morning air. A second
ticked by and he doubted he had actually heard the noise.
Slowly, Atar turned.

The  creature  was  perhaps  three  yards  behind  Atar.  His
tusks  were  most  definitely  tipped  with  gold.  Atar’s  throat
grew  dry.  It  would  move  in  for  the  kill  any  second,  he
thought.  His  entire  frame  was  tense  and  filled  with
adrenaline.  The  great  boar’s  eyes  glittered  with
intelligence, but it did not move. The moment dragged on
for a frozen eternity.

Atar blinked and the creature before him disappeared. I’m
going  nuts,  he  thought,  aware  that  the  blood  was  leaving
his  face.  Feeling  dizzy,  he  felt  his  legs  bend  under  the
pressure of his own weight.

He  turned  his  body  abruptly  to  search  the  plain  behind
him,  but  there  was  nothing.  He  was  alone.  He  let  out  a
shuddering breath that turned into a semi hysterical laugh.
I am as crazy as Ezad the Insane!

Bulliwuf appeared over the rise. He was returning.

As soon as he was close, Atar ran to him and knelt. “Did
you see it? I mean…it was…this creature. I saw the most

124

enormous boar! It just stood there waiting to kill me. You
must have seen it retreating from your vantage point.”

Bulliwuf was silent. “Well?” Atar demanded.

Bulliwuf moved on and Atar had no choice but to scramble
to  his  feet  and  follow  him.  They  finally  were  able  to  spot
Ishria and then they decided to stop for lunch. Atar didn’t
waste  time  roasting  the  fat  ground  squirrel  he  had  killed
earlier that day. It wasn’t much, but they ate hungrily.

Atar’s mind was whirling. He had had time to consider his
encounter  with  the  enormous  boar.  With  a  sickening
feeling,  he  realized  that  he  had  run  into  the  great  beast
before.  His  mind  cast  back  to  that  eventful  day  when  he
was just thirteen. Later, he had dismissed the idea that the
beast  had  just  disappeared.  Atar  assumed  that  his  over
active imagination had run away with his better sense. But
he  wasn’t  thirteen  anymore  and  his  eyes  had  not  fooled
him. Why else would Ishria have panicked?

Without wasting time, Atar tore into the last bit of meat as
he  headed  for  his  horse.  He  mounted  Ishria  easily  and
tossed  a  glance  over  his  shoulder.  He  wasn’t  even  as
afraid of the Horde as he was of that creature.

“In a little bit of a hurry?” Bulliwuf inquired with typical
condescension.

“Yes,” Atar said. His mind conjured up an image of the
great boar following him, waiting. Unconsciously, he urged
Ishria faster. “What if that thing is following us?”

125

“It probably will,” Bulliwuf said cheerfully.

“I don’t know how you could joke about it. I was almost
killed.”

They rode on for several more hours and the sun began to
sink. In the distance, Atar saw smoke rising. As they drew
closer, he saw that they were approaching a small town.

“Excellent!” Atar exclaimed. “We can stop here for the
night and get our bearings.”

They  entered  the  town  at  a  canter.  Atar  was  surprised  to
discover the place was nearly deserted.  He slowed Ishria
in front of an inn of sorts. Uncertainly, he dismounted, and
a stable lad rushed over to take Ishria’s reigns. Atar shook
his  head  and  waved  him  away,  leading  his  ill-tempered
mount  into  the  stables  himself.  He  breathed  in  deeply
when  he  stepped  out  and  immediately  looked  up  at  the
darkening sky.

“Should I go in?” Atar asked Bulliwuf hesitantly as he
looked at the door. The wolf had grown very quiet.

As  they  entered  the  inn,  Atar  was  glad  of  Bulliwuf’s
company,  despite  his  condescension.  Atar  left  the  door
open  and  approached  the  bar.  He  wasn’t  sure  he  was
allowed to sit on the high chairs. His gaze was so fixed on
them that he neglected to see the chair leg that caught his
foot.

126

A tremendous crash brought the temporary proprietor out
into the dining area at once.

Bulliwuf sat down and watched Atar try to detangle himself
from the table and chairs he had overturned. Red faced,
Atar got to his feet to see a man staring at him with ill
concealed shock.

Atar cleared his throat and picked up his mace. “Hello,”
Atar said stiffly.

“Good  Lord,”  the  man  said  under  his  breath.  “I  expect
you’ll  want  a  bite  to  eat?”  The  man  disappeared  into  a
door before Atar could say a word.

The man returned, “Sit, sit,” he invited Atar as he set a
great meal on the table.

“I can’t,” Atar said. A sound behind him made him turn.
There were people outside staring at him through the open
door. “I haven’t got any money, I-”

“No problem,” the man said, a big smile on his face.

“What a sweetheart!” a feminine voice from the doorway
said. “Poor thing looks so hungry, don’t he, Rohna?”

“What lovely big eyes you’ve got there. You’re just the
sweetest dog I’ve ever seen. We’ve still got that meat
roast from yesterday, right?”

127

Bulliwuf was acting like a big weak and helpless dog as
the women patted and petted the ferocious carnivore.

“You  must  be  Atar?”  the  man  said.  Atar  looked  up,
shocked.  He  noticed  that  a  woman  had  joined  the  man
behind  the  counter.  People  outside  began  to  file  in,
looking at him with intense interest.

“H-how did you know?” Atar asked, digging into his food
with the air of a half starved animal.

“What do you mean? Everyone knows you,” the woman
exclaimed. “Why, half of Persia is looking for you.”

Atar felt his heart sink. So, Zohak wanted to finish him off?
He had fervently hoped that the man would just let the
matter slide, but he seemed to be out of luck. Or did they
still think he was guilty of killing Hergor? He shot a glance
over his shoulder at the gawking townspeople and
shoveled his food faster.

“This is delicious,” he said, and the woman blushed.

“I am so glad you like it, Firestarter, sir. I shall tell all my
friends,” the woman giggled. Atar stared at her. Was that
the way people treated someone wanted for murdering the
Emperor?

“You certainly have made yourself scarce,” the man said
chuckling. “Only last week, Kava the Blacksmith came
through here with the Army of the People looking for you.”

128

Atar choked. They had sent a whole army after him?

“The A-army of the People,” Atar repeated dully when he
got his breath back.

“Yes, it was an exhilarating sight!” the woman said. “Kava
the Blacksmith is looking for you. The actual owners of this
place have left the town, along with half the people, to join
the Army.”

“Kava?” Atar asked.

“Yes, the blacksmith from the settlement near the Dragon
Caves.”

“Um, why?” Atar asked, feeling phenomenally stupid.

“Well, to lead the Army of the People, of course,” the man
said.

“Wait – this Kava wants me to lead what?” Atar asked. He
stopped speaking as he realized that the people in the
now crowded room were listening raptly as history
unfolded before their very eyes.

“Kava the Blacksmith and the Army of the People are
looking for you,” the woman said. “They want you to lead
the army against the evil Dragon King.”

Atar had a vivid flash of memory. General Tavos’ face
popped up behind his eyes.

129

“No,” Atar said. There was a collective gasp in the small
room. “I’ve had enough of leading armies to last me
several lifetimes. I only came into this town to get an idea
of where I was.”

“B-but, the people – the stand against injustice…” the man
said, trailing off.

“You can’t just let Zohak go on like he is. You must help
us!” the woman said.

Atar felt inexplicable guilt, but could not help asking,
“Must? Why does this Kava want me, in particular? If he’s
assembled an army, let him do the leading.”

“You are the Firestarter! Not only that, but you are
destined to be the next king. They seek the protection of
your Royal Farr.”

Atar gaped at them. Finally he said, “Thank you very much
for the meal, I greatly appreciate your kindness, but I really
must go now.”

“Oh no! Won’t you take a room?” the man said.

“Uh, no, no, I really must go,” Atar hastily exited the room
and went to Ishria. The stallion was none too pleased with
having to head out again and wasn’t shy about letting Atar
know how he felt. When they were a goodly distance from
the town, he stopped Ishria under a small stand of oak
trees.

130

   Curling  himself  into  a  comfortable  position,  Atar  tried  to
relax.  An  hour  later  he  was  still  wakeful,  the  normally
soothing sounds of the night doing little to woo sleep. The
disappointment  in  the faces of the people  nagged at  him.
He  couldn’t  get  rid  of  the  feeling  of  guilt.  But  why?  It
certainly  wasn’t  his  duty  to  go  leading  armies.  He  had
made that awful mistake before and still hadn’t extricated
himself from that mess. It was a dangerous business. And
he  certainly  didn’t  owe  anyone  anything.  All  he  really
wanted  to  do  was  spend  his  life  by  that  beautiful  lake  he
had  dreamed  of  in  the  Wildlands.  He  couldn’t  care  less
about  who  was  ruling  the  kingdom,  or  whether  or  not  he
was cruel. He

just didn’t care!

  The silent and furry form he was curled against stretched
into the shape of a man. In the dark, Bulliwuf’s silver eyes
reflected  the  stars  in  the  sky.  He  put  his  arms  around
Atar.

“I am happy to have you for my own, at least for this little

time.”  He  covered  Atar’s  face  with  his  sweet  kisses.
Bulliwuf’s  long  arms  wrapped  around  him.  His  hot  body
rubbed  against  Atar,  whose  breath  caught  as  the  familiar
but  exciting  sensations flooded  him.  He  wrapped  his  legs
around  Bulliwuf’s  body,  opening  himself  for  the  one  for
whom  he  never  stopped  yearning.  Finally,  Bulliwuf
brushed  the  hair  away  from  Atar’s  sweaty  cheeks  and
looked at him. Atar wanted to look away.

“No, I like to see you as I make you cry out. I never get

tired of you, sweet

Atar.”

131

They stayed in each other’s arms until the rosy fingers of

dawn touched the sky.

Atar rode back into the town at dawn, making his way
back to the inn. He opened the door and walked in
scowling. Tiptoeing around the tables and chairs, he made
his way to the bar.

The  woman  from  yesterday  poked  her  head  in  and
withdrew  with  a  squeak.  The man  came  in  with  a  heavily
laden breakfast tray.

“No, no, I only came for directions,” Atar said.

“To the Wildlands?” the man asked as the woman
emerged from the doorway.

“No,” Atar said, “to the Army of the People.”

132

Chapter Fourteen

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Kava bellowed,
impatient with the translator.

“Gone,” Beerta repeated, unruffled.

“Kava, sir, she does not know where he is,” Heslin the
Speaker mage said timidly.

“Honestly,  I  can’t  imagine  what  the  fuss  is  about,”
Sugreeva  said  from  his  position  lounging  on  some
blankets.  “You’ve  got  me.  Clearly,  this  situation  needs  to
be  taken  into  hand  by  a  true  leader.  Servant,  fetch  me
some  wine!”  Sugreeva  ordered  a  passing  soldier.  Beerta
gave him a fond look and Sugreeva’s face blanched.

“Listen, Kava,” Princess Sophene said, “there is no sense
in  panicking.  This  situation  calls  for  action.  If  you  set  up
your  forge,  General  Monases  and  General  Tiridates  can
begin training the new recruits. I’m sure there are artisans
among  the  newcomers  that  will  lend  their  skills  to  the
cause. I will issue an order for all skilled persons to report
and  then  we  can  begin  to  give  out  orders.  Meanwhile,  I
shall appoint overseers to see to it that all have adequate
food  and  blankets  before  the  night  sets  in.  I  understand
there has been no effort thus far to regulate such things?”
Sophene inquired.

“Uh…no. Okay, set up my forge you say?” Kava asked.

133

“The sooner the better. Your skills in particular are most
vital. Take as many assistants as you need. Atar’s
abse

nce shall not be spent idly. Come now,” Sophene

said, gesturing to two men to follow her.

As  Sophene  made  her  way  swiftly  toward  her  own  tent,
she  cast  an  eye  over  the  now  enormous  Army  of  the
People.  It  had  been  quite  a  shock  yesterday  when  they
saw  Kava  and  the  Banner  of  Fire  at  the  head  of  his
somewhat  ragtag  force.  For  a  few  tense  minutes,
everyone had been convinced that an attacking force from
the capital had been sent to hunt them down. When Kava
had  mentioned  the  name  of  the  Horde’s  chieftain,
everyone  settled  down.  Now  came  the  mammoth  task  of
keeping  up  the  spirits  of  the  people  until  the  Firestarter
could be located.

Three  hours  later,  Sophene  reviewed  the  list  of  skilled
persons.  General  Monases  and  General  Tiridates  stood
before her. The sound  of Kava and his assistants hard at
work  filled  the  air  adding  to  the  excitement  and  bustle  of
the camp.

“Interesting,  how  very  fortunate,” Sophene  said  rolling  up
the list and walking briskly through camp. “Pity we have so
little  money.  Get  these  cooks  in  there  and see  if  you  can
take  command  of  these  hunters.  They  will  have  to  work
fulltime to supply enough food for this lot.”

Princess Sophene and the two generals sidestepped a
woman with an enormous bundle of blankets in her arms.

134

“At  once,  Princess,”  General  Tiridates  said.  “We  have
some good news to report as well.  Kava has received an
enormous  donation  of  iron  from  the  people.  It  will  be  no
trouble for him now to convert all those pots and pans and
shovel ends to swords, spears, and armor.”

“Excellent. That takes a worry off my mind. What of our
bows and arrows supply?”

“There are four skilled craftsmen already hard at work on
that. We have a number of people working on arrow
production as well,” General Tiridates said.

“Good, excellent! General Tiridates, have you seen to
those volunteers?” Sophene asked.

“Yes,  Princess.  There  will  be  no  shortage,  in  fact  my
officers  have  too many  to  train.  Everyone  wants  to  be  on
the front  line. The acting chieftain’s daughter, Beerta has
offered to take on what we can

’t handle.”

“Thank God for that!” Sophene said. “Have we got a total
on the number of horses?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Monases said. “There will be enough
to mount at least one third of our forces. The Horde, of
course, already has mounts, but most of the townsfolk do
not.”

The trio stopped when Sophene caught sight of a rather
large group of people. Sophene walked swiftly toward the

135

group sensing trouble. As they approached, the speaker’s
agitating voice rose above the general conversations.

“And here we have come all this way, only to find that the
so  called  Firestarter  is  not  among  his  band  of  soldiers.
What is one left to think? And now we are asked to give up
our  pots  and  pans,  and  any  metal  we  can  spare? I  don’t
know about you, but I certainly expected more. I came all
this way with my wife so that we could seek the protection
of  the  Firestarter’s  Royal  Farr.  But  since  he  isn’t  here,
what protection are we offered? What the hell do we think
we are doing?”

Sophene pushed her way through the crowd, which hastily
made way for her and the two generals once they saw
who it was. The speaker’s jaw dropped when he saw who
approached and the man hastily gave up his crate to
Sophene.

General Monases and Tiridates handed her up to her
vantage point and she turned to face the crowd.

“As  to  what  we  are  doing  here,  I’m  sure  you  all  know
exactly  what  we  are  doing.  The  Army  of  the  People  is
making a stand against the injustices perpetrated on us all
by  the  Dragon  King.  We  are  lashing  out  against  the
corruption  that  has  festered  in  our  beautiful  capital  since
the battle of Larzum and the ascension of Emperor Hergor
of  Tur.  I  ask  you  all  to  gather  your  courage,  to  stand  tall
despite  the  hard  times  to  come.  I  ask  you,  the  people  of
Persia,  to  remember  your  children  taken  in  the  tithe,  to
remember  your  hunger  during  the  drought,  and  to

136

remember  the  rights  that  are  due  to  us.  This  is  not  a
venture for the faint hearted. It certainly must have been a
surprise to hear that  the Firestarter,  Atar, was not  among
us, but that is no reason to lose courage. He will return. I
am certain of that. In the meantime, there is so much that
needs  to  be  done.  Each  one  of  you  is  needed  for  the
cause.  I  beg  you  all  to  do  your  part,  to  fight  in  whatever
way  you can. When Atar returns, he will find a  vast  army
standing where a ragtag band of citizens once camped.”

The cheer that followed Sophene’s inspiring speech drew
the attention of others, but she bade them to disperse at
once. Many of her words were repeated during the next
few days, but Sophene herself felt fear creeping over her.
She was not at all sure Atar would return.

Zohak saw Meruzanes crinkle his nose at the stench of
blood. It didn’t bother Zohak anymore. The vizier ushered
the cloaked figure forward into Zohak’s poorly lit dungeon
study.

The cloaked figure drew back in  alarm,  stumbling against
Meruzanes  when  Zohak  turned  away  from  the  gently
trickling pool to face him.

Hisssss.

“Ahuramazda save me, oh Lord have mercy on me for my
indiscretions!” The cloaked figure babbled as Zohak’s
s

nakes wove in the air around the Emperor’s head.

137

Zohak laughed softly and tossed a lock of his hair off his
forehead. “Tavos, I’ve been wondering when you’d show
your treacherous face.”

“I’ve…uh that is to say… there have been s-some…uh…”

“Hurry up, gather your wits. I tire of you,” Zohak said.

“Uhh…” Tavos cleared his throat and swayed on his feet.

Zohak smiled as the man’s eyes locked on two bodies
thrown carelessly into a corner of the dark chamber. That
was where the blood smell was coming from, of course.

“Emperor Zohak,” Tavos hit the floor, groveling on his
hands and knees, “I beg to be of service. I have vital
information.”

“Go on and say it then. Have I not just finished telling you
that I am a busy man?”

“Uh…of c-course, uh…at once…the people, Your M-
majesty! They rally against you! I have seen Kava’s army.
They mean to march on the capital

.”

There was a ringing silence in the dark chamber and then
Zohak laughed. He clutched his stomach and guffawed.
Tavos and Meruzanes joined in nervously.

“What?  They  mean  to  march  against  whom?  Let  the
weakling  dogs  come.  But  then,”  Zohak  paused,
considering.  He  walked  to  the  pool  and  gazed  down  into

138

the dark water. “Perhaps I shall – Tavos, you will ready the
armies for battle. See to it that the troops from Turania are
given superior positions. Their loyalty hasn’t been
corrupted by that…person.”

Tavos babbled incoherently for a moment, then he backed
out of the chamber.

Atar drew Ishria to a halt, his jaw falling open at the sight
of the thousands hurrying around in the camp below him.

“Where the hell did they all come from? There must be
thousands down

there,” Atar said. His limbs felt like they

were made of lead. If he hadn’t been mounted, there was
no doubt in his mind that he would have sunk to the
ground. “Impossible,” Atar muttered, fighting the intense
desire to just stop and settle in for a nice long sleep.

Bulliwuf loped toward the camp.

“It’s  been  a  week.  A  week!”  another  agitator  called  out.
Princess Sophene broke into a cold sweat. There were no
more  empty  promises  she  could  offer.  Desperately,  she
cast  about  in  her  mind  for  a  way  to  appease  the  people
and  keep  them  working.  There  had  been  so  much
progress in the past few days. It would be a horror if it all
stopped  now.  The  new  soldiers  had  been  in  training  long
enough for their muscles to be complaining loudly, and the
people  had  been  camping  out  long  enough  to  become
disenchanted with the hardship.

139

“A week! And there is no Firestarter. Does he even exist?
Perhaps  Zohak  is  the  rightful  King.  How  can  we  tell?
There has been much hearsay about footprints and boars,
but  a  true  king  would  not  leave  his  people  to  fend  for
themselves.  We  have  been  kept  so  busy  that  there  has
been no time for us to realize this.”

“Your Majesty,” General Tiridates said in an undertone,
“would you have me remove this person?”

Sophene knit her brows. “No, I’m afraid the situation is too
volatile. It would appear as if we are acting as new tyrants.
They are in a mood for rebellion.”

The agitator’s voice rose. Sophene wondered if she
should step in. She had already broken up so many of
these little malcontents that she did not want her words to
be cheapened by constant application. She also knew that
she had nothing to offer but promises.

“Were we ever this hungry at our homes? Perhaps, but we
did not have the added danger of risking our lives. We are
being worked like slaves, we have no real shelter, and we
are suffering. It is time to return to our homes.”

Sophene drew in her breath and stepped forward. None of
the agitators had ever gone that far, although she knew
that just beneath the surface, the desire to return home
loomed temptingly.

“Get off that platform, you traitor to the cause,” Sophene
shouted before she had even reached the crate. “What

140

business have you stirring up discontent? Can you
imagine if Atar returned at this moment? What a shame
your gratuitous di

splay would bring upon us!”

“I would rather be shamed than dead!” the agitator
shouted.

“Fine! Go home you pack of cowards, hang your heads in
defeat,  and  warm  your  feet  by  the  fire.  Let  future
generations  remember  how  the  Army  of  the  People
dispersed  all  because  there  was  not  enough  butter  to
satisfy your appetite. I shall lead whoever has the courage
to go without sweets for a few weeks,” Sophene said with
bitter defeat lending hardness to her tone.

Excited chatter in the back of the crowd drew some
glances.

“Firestarter! He’s here?” a man’s voice boomed out.

“What? Atar has returned?”

Sophene’s heart leapt. Could it be? She turned to her
generals, “Did you hear that?”

“I’m going to check it out at once,” Tiridates said, but
Sophene was already moving of

f toward Kava’s forges.

Kava rushed over when he saw her approach. “Did you
hear?”

141

Atar  followed  Bulliwuf  into  camp.  People  stopped  in  their
tracks,  gaping  at  him  as  if  he  were  an  apparition.  The
lucky ones who had brought leather or oilskin tents came
out  to  stare  and  run  to  spread  the  news.  Atar  noted  how
organized  the  dwellings  and  fur  bedrolls  were.  In  the
distance,  he  could  hear  the  clanging  of  iron  on  iron,  as
several blacksmiths no doubt were hard at work. His eyes
swept  over  the  cook  fires.  The  groups  of  people  were
laboring  on  their  appointed  tasks.  They  stopped,
exclaiming with wonder when they saw him. He tried not to
blush  and  to  sit  easily  in  the  saddle,  but  had  the  distinct
impression  that  he  bounced  along  stiffly  like  an  imbecilic
novice.

He  forced  himself  to  acknowledge  the  presence  of  the
workers, all the while realizing that his dream was slipping
away  from  him.  Every  step he  took farther  into  this  camp
was  a  commitment  that  he  could  not  shrug  off.  There
would  be  no  freedom.  He  would  be  trapped  under  a
burden  of  responsibility  and  duty.  There  would  be  no
escape from his conscience, from the endless toil…

The  shouts  and  exclamations  of  the  people  began.  They
came  in  droves,  howling,  pressing  in  close  to  Ishria  and
forcing  him  to  go  slowly.  On  impulse,  he  directed  Ishria
towards the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer. The sound
stopped  abruptly.  The  noise  of  the  people  built.  Atar
continued in the general direction, wondering how Bulliwuf
was fairing.

When Atar reached the blacksmith’s awning, he saw
Princess Sophene at once. He pulled a face when he saw

142

Bulliwuf reveling in her attentions, tail wagging insanely,
his obscenely long tongue lolling out of his mouth. General
Monases and General Tiridates were standing next to the
man called Kava.

Atar  dismounted,  second-guessing  his  decision  to  come
after  all,  as  the  crowd  surged  around  them.  He  caught
Sophene’s  eye  for  a  moment  then  was  swept  away.  He
turned and saluted Kava but was unable to do more.

Before he knew it, he was seated like a king on heaped up
furs  before  a  fire.  A  goblet  of  wine  was  pressed  into  his
hands.  Atar’s  head  was  whirling.  He  needed  to  think.  He
stared at the flames before him.

“So you’ve decided to become one of my generals after
all,” said a familiar voice.

Atar looked up at Sugreeva and Heslin the Speaker
Mage.

Sugreeva  settled  languidly  onto  one  of  the  furs.  “How
marvelous.  Servant,”  he  called  to  a  passing  woman.  She
didn’t turn, caught up in the excitement. “What foul service
one  gets  around  here.  I  do  declare  I  have  to  give  my
orders a dozen times before I am heeded.”

“Most atrocious,” Heslin cooed, placating him.

“Where  is  my  man?”  a  booming  feminine  voice  hollered
over  the  general  mêlée.  Sugreeva  ducked  his  head  and
turned pale.

143

“Oh damn! She’s looking for me again.”

“Hurry, let us hide! Oh what to do?” Heslin squeaked.

“There you are,” Beerta boomed. Behind the chieftain’s
daughter were Sophene, Kava, and the two generals.

“You’ve  returned!”  Sophene  exclaimed,  the  relief  clear  in
her  voice.  Atar  realized  suddenly  what  his  absence  had
put her through.

“It is good,” Beerta said taking in Atar and Sugreeva.
Heslin translated reluctantly.

“I beg to differ,” Sugreeva proclaimed. “It is not good, with
you  giving  me  that  leering  look.  I  am  aware  that  I  am
irresistible,  but  ladies  are  required  to  keep  a  lid  on  their
passions.  I  am  retiring  now  to  the  privacy  of  my  tent.”
Sugreeva  got  to  his  feet  and  turned  to  leave,  but  Beerta
followed him. “Eek! Be gone woman!” Sugreeva squeaked
when  he  saw  that  she  followed  him.  “Go  away!  I  will  not
entertain your favors. Go away, I say!”

“It is my greatest pleasure to meet you,” the man called
Kava sa

id to Atar. “I am so glad you’ve returned. Things

were starting to get desperate.” From behind Kava’s form,
a young boy peered out at Atar, a starry expression in his
eyes. “Please meet our little standard bearer, my son,
Jamshir.” Atar smiled at Jamshir, who held a stout spear in
his little hands. Kava said, “Show him the Banner of Fire,
son.”

144

The boy unfurled the banner, revealing its glittering jewels
and gold brocade. Atar stared at the finely sewn figure of a
boar outlined in stunning jewels. His jaw

dropped. “It is

gorgeous! I can see how you managed to get such a
following,” Atar said after a minute. The figure of the boar
burned into Atar’s brain.

“Get your hands off me! Eek!” Sugreeva squeaked. He
came running back to the circle of leaders around the fire,
Beerta close on his heels.

“Do not be shy, little snail,” Beerta called in Mongolian. “I
promise to be most careful, my little snail.”

“What did she say? Heslin! Heslin where are you?”

“You M-majesty, I-I am here,” Heslin said.

“Well, protect me, you useless wizard!” Sugreeva
squeaked, throwing Heslin into Beerta’s path.

“Really…uh, Lady Beerta this is most improper, most
unbecoming-

AHH!” Heslin shouted as Beerta shoved him

aside. Heslin fell in a great heap on the floor.

“Beerta!” an admonishing male voice stopped Beerta
dead. Atar turned to look at the man who had acted as the
chief of the Horde. “What business have you chasing that
little blonde?”

145

“It is all in order, Father. I purchased him fairly from the
Princess,” Beerta said, her eyes tracking Sugreeva’s hasty
retreat.

“Oh, my mistake, carry on then, Daughter. Firestarter,
what luck that you have returned.”

Atar smiled and acknowledged the man’s greeting. “Thank
you all for keeping things in good order. I see that much
progress has been

made,” he said as the leaders sat

down. Atar was secretly delighted to find himself seated
next to Sophene. His smile died as soon as it had formed.

Bulliwuf,  you  never  fail  to  make  an  ass  of  yourself,  Atar
muttered  to  the  wolf,  who  sprawled  with  his  head  on  the
Princess’ lap.

The  two  generals  began  to  report.  Atar’s  eyes  strayed to
Sophene  with  new  appreciation.  It  was  something  of  a
shock  to  realize  how  much  work  she  had  done.  He
wouldn’t have been able to think of some of the things that
she had organiz

ed, even if he had been around. It wasn’t

actually all that surprising, when he reflected. She was
trained for this sort of thing, after all.

What a pity the people didn’t decide to elect her as their
leader.

“That’s  it!  I  demand  that  something  be done  about  this…
this…woman!”  Sugreeva  screeched,  cutting  into  General
Monases’ report, which was nearly completed anyway. His
clothes and hair were wildly disheveled.

146

“Yah! You want marry?” Beerta inquired in broken Persian.

“Eek! Help me!” Sugreeva said. “That beastly woman is
learning our noble language.”

The generous platters of food set before Atar and the
leaders caused the Firestarter to knit his brows for an
instant.

Sophene, ever sharp, murmured, “Do not object. They
would rather have less later on than to miss this
opportunity to celebrate. It is essential to make a show of
enjoying yourself for their morale.”

Looking  at  the  swirling  activity  all  around  him,  Atar  was
filled  with  an  indescribable  sensation.  It  was  very  much
akin  to  power.  It  was  the  realization  that  the  people
actually  were a force to be reckoned with.  He felt a deep
sense  of  honor  to  be  the  leader  of  such  people.  The
festive air continued well into the night, and Atar, who was
tired  from  his  days  of  travel,  rose  from  his  place.  There
was  a  cry  of  protest  from  the  craftsmen  and  soldiers
crowded around the fires, but Atar did not need to fake his
exhaustion. He had met far too many people to remember
and had eaten far more than he should have.

With one last smile and a wave, Atar headed for the
outskirts of camp.

“Eek! Woman I will not tolerate this!” Sugreeva said from
somewhere close by. Atar looked around, but the Prince

147

was nowhere in sight. He must be in one of the tents, Atar
realized.

“See here now,” the shrill voice said again. “Oh-oh dear!
My how exuberant. Oh…dear!” Sugreeva said. His last ‘oh
dear’ had a decidedly different tone to it.

Atar suppressed a roar of laughter and continued on his
way, careful not to make any noise to disturbed the odd
couple.

148

Chapter Fifteen

The drip, drip, drip of water cut through the air. Each drip
reverberated  in  his  head.  Zohak  opened  his  eyes  slowly.
At least the clanging hadn’t started. His limbs were heavy.
He  tried  to  speak,  but  only  a  low  moan  escaped  his  lips.
He  thrashed  his  head  and  moaned  louder.  He  saw  the
figure in the doorway. It was dark, but rays of light made a
fiery  backdrop.  He  moaned  again  and  tried  in  vain  to
move.  The  figure  casually  set  a  huge  mace  down  and
pulled  a  wicked-looking  knife  out  of  its  sheath.  Zohak
recognized  it  as  the  knife  belonging  to  his  foster  father,
Melik  of  the  Stout  Ribs.  He  had  given  it  to  Zohak  just
before he was murdered.

The man’s face was visible now. It was Atar the Idiot, his
half-brother, and the real heir to the throne. Zohak wanted
to  plead  with  him.  Atar’s  face  was  impassive.  All  of  its
anger  was  gone.  He  pulled  off  the  covers  to  reveal
Zohak’s  naked  body  and  then,  as  if  working  with  a  deer
carcass, he began to flay Zohak. Unable to scream, Zohak
moaned in torment and terror.

Instead  of  the  torment  ending  in  death,  he  was  roughly
dragged  out  of  his  bloody  bed  and  it  was  then  that  the
clanging began. The dragon snakes were already writhing
in  agony  with  their  master,  but  now  their  frantic
movements maddened him.

Clang, clang, clang!

149

Another figure appeared at the door. He was a huge
man

—yes, it was the blacksmith Kava. He was carrying

iron  chains.  He  took  these  and  wrapped  them  around
Zohak’s burning body and they made his flesh sizzle  like
roasting meat. Zohak was overwhelmed with the horrifying
odor of his own burning flesh. The blacksmith eyed Zohak
for a moment then reached back to something he’d set on
the floor. He put an ox yoke on Zohak’s neck.

Zohak could see the agony in the man’s mind. He saw the
blacksmith’s  daughter,  the  one  his  dragon  snakes  had
eaten. His skinless body burned at the memory. He could
see  and  feel  the  agony  of  every  person  he’d  fed  to  his
snakes.  In  response,  the  snakes  vomited  a  vile-smelling
substance that tortured him as it spilled over his exposed
flesh.

The  men  were  making  him  walk.  They  moved  on  and  on
until  they  reached  a  mountain  that  looked  horribly  black.
They  led  him  into  a  cave  deep  in  the  mountain.  The
blacksmith  held  a  hammer  in  one  hand  and  a  long  iron
spike  in  the  other.  He  was  unable  to  move  as  the  man
hammered  the  spikes  into  his  body,  pinning  him  into  the
rock. Zohak realized that the man was being careful not to
harm his vital organs.

The two men left him in the darkness and suddenly Zohak
found his voice.

Zohak’s screaming brought the guards, his viziers, and
even his wife, Jahi the Lovely. “Bring the astrologers and
magicians,” he croaked.

150

His hair was in disarray and he hadn’t changed his
bedclothes. Urine soaked the front and back of his robe,
but

Zohak didn’t care.

“So what does this dream mean?”

“We cannot be certain…”

“It can mean several things. Perhaps not all bad,” another
astrologer said.

“Guards!” Zohak roared. “Prepare to have these men all
flayed alive. They are hiding the truth for fear.”

An  old  astrologer,  the  chief,  stood.  “I  will  tell  you.  The
reason  we  hesitate  is  that  there  is  no  good  news.  The
dream  means  this:  Everyman  is  born  not  for  his  parents,
but as a tithe for death. No person

—not even the highest

king, can escape death. It means too, that your evil deeds
have earned you a terrible reward.  The man they call the
‘Firestarter’  will  come  back  and  he  will  destroy  you.  The
blacksmith of your dream represents the many people you
have killed to satisfy the greed of your snakes. Because of
that  greed,  people  have  risen  against  you.  You  cannot
escape  your  destiny,  which  is  endless  suffering  as  an
eternal  captive  in  Mount  Damavand.  The  iron  with  which
they bound you represents good over evil. The blacksmith
works  with  iron.  Iron  represents  forces  that  work  against
demons.  It  means,  in  short,  that  you  are  now  not  a  man,
but a demon. For you, death would be a blessing.”

151

The astrologer finished his speech and sat down again.
Zohak felt the world spin around him and his body slid
from the throne to the cold, hard marble of the floor.

152

Chapter Sixteen

“Empty the treasury if need be. Send emissaries to the

northern  lairs  of  the  demon  people.  They  can  be
persuaded with the promise of gems. I want the best of the
demon  armies  to  be  assembled  immediately.  Call  upon
the best magicians, wizards, and sorcerers. We must fight
fire  with  fire.  If  that  wicked  Firestarter  plans  to  use  his
magic  against  us,  we  have  no  choice  but  to  retaliate.”
Zohak wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

“Your Highness! The scouts report that the so-called

Army  of  the  People  is  growing.  There  are even  deserters
from  the  army  joining  their  ranks.  The  villagers  are
refusing to pay their taxes. We ordered the farmers to give
all of their harvest to feed the army, but instead they give it
to the rebels.”

“Kill any peasant who refuses. Meruzanes! Have you any

word from the demon armies?” Zohak called over the
officer’s head.

“A group has already arrived. They are assembled in the

main courtyard, but they are hungry. They will accept
human meat,” Meruzanes said.

“That will not be a problem.”

“But sir,” another officered approached. “There are some

who are refusing to fight side-by-

side with demons.”

153

“Feed those to the demons, then” Zohak was fairly

foaming as he ordered the officers. “I will go to look at the
demon battalion.”

“This way sir.”

Zohak rubbed his hands together when he saw them.
“They seem disorganized.”

“I beg to differ.” The demon general reared up in front of
Zohak. Scales In shades of green covered whatever could
be seen of his hands and face. His nose was flattened and
extended over much of the mid-portion of his face. Large,
dry  lips  covered  teeth  that  were  coated  with  vile,  stinking
plaque.  His  eyes  were  outstanding.  They  swelled  out  of
their  sockets  so  that  the  whites  of  his  eyes  were  fully
visible. This left his irises looking very small. His body was
writhing  with  swollen  lumps  that  moved as  if  rats  crawled
about, seeking escape. He smiled at Zohak’s surprise.

“I am a second generation demon, but my father was first
generation. I see the admiration in your eyes. Thank you.
Well, then, when do you expect to attack?

”

“Your  men’s  mounts…”  Zohak’s  mouth  fell  open  in
surprise.“Well,  that  is,  men  and  women.  Our  women  are
just as able  soldiers. The mounts,  yes.  It depends on the
skill  and  magic  of  the  particular  demon.  As  you  can  see,
some  use  elephants,  cranes,  snakes,  lions,  and  even
large tortoises. Oh yes, a few small dragons too, but only
the  kind  that  can  be  tamed,  you  follow?”Zohak  chose  to
overlook  the  rude  comment.  “We  are  waiting  for

154

reinforcements.

have

crush

the

rebels

decisively.”The  demon’s  laughter  rumbled.  “What  is  so
funny?”  Zohak  asked.  Blood  rose  in  his  head.  “Well,  our
force  alone  can  crush  even  your  army,  what  to  speak  of
the ragtag rebel force. I find your fear amusing. Why wait?
We will crush the puny Army of the People. Give us your
riches  and

save yourself trouble.” His bottom lip drooped

to the left, revealing a rotted canine tooth. “Emperor
Zohak!” Another messenger saved him from having to
answer to that insult. “A group of sorcerers have arrived.”

“Bring them into my throne room.”

Zohak  reclined  in  his  throne,  trying  to  look  calm.  Sweat
trickled  down  his  back  and  the  cup  of  wine  in  one  hand
shook  so  badly  that  he  set  it  down.  The  snake  dragons
hissed and writhed.

“Your wrap, my Lord. As you requested.” The manservant
bent in a bow as he pla

ced the warm robe on Zohak’s lap.

“Well? Open it and place it around my shoulders,” Zohak
snapped.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The man’s entire body trembled.
Suddenly he screeched and fell away, hands clawing his
face.

“It has bitten him, Emperor!” Meruzanes was pale.

“Get him out of here. I suppose he’ll be dead soon
enough, like the other one.”

155

The assembled wizards and sorcerers watched the show
silently. Zohak finally unfolded the robe, muttering curses
and wrapped himself in it.

“Well, let’s begin. I have much to do and little time. How is
it  that  you  people  can  help  me?  You  have  heard  the
predictions.  You  have  been  presented  with  the  dream.
Speak or get out of here!” Zohak suddenly grabbed one of
the  snakes  viciously  and  wrung  its  neck.  It  drooped  for  a
moment then resumed its questing through his hair.

The silent men turned toward a dark form in the middle of
them.  His  face  was  totally  hooded  and  even  his  hands
were  hidden  in  his  black  wizard’s  robe.  One  of  the  other
men  spoke.  “This  one  will  speak  with  you  in  your  private
quarters.”

Zohak’s face registered his anger and shock. “I will decide
that. How dare you?”

The  assembled  sorcerers  remained  silent.  Zohak  felt  an
odd  chill  emanating  from  the  group.  He  stood  suddenly.
“Fine.  Vizier,  show  the  man  to  my  chambers.”  As  he
passed Meruzanes he whispered, “Post several of my best
guards directly outside the door.”

The temperature in the room seemed to have plummeted
despite the fire in the hearth. The air outside was warm,
but Zohak’s chambers were even colder than usual. Zohak
felt fear prickle up his spine as he eyed the man, who still
stood.

156

Slowly he drew back the hood. Zohak fell to his knees.
“Father! I thought you’d been killed. What happened to
your…”

“Silence! How do you like my little gift?” Dahaka’s neck
was still torn where Bulliwuf had mangled him, but the
grayish flesh wasn’t bloody. His face was ghastly pale and
his eyes were like coals burning in his skull-like face.

“W-what gift?” Zohak’s hands automatically fluttered
toward his shoulders.

“Those, of course.”

“But the beautiful goddess…she was the one…” Zohak
sputtered as he tried to understand.

“Ha! That was a trick, of course. You know that I can take
the form of a woman quite easily. Remember how I fooled
that monstrous brother of yours? Did you really think that a
heavenly goddess came and granted you two snake
dragons so vile that they require human brains to eat? You
are so stupid. But I knew that you would be foolish enough
to believe a be

autiful goddess, so I took that form.”

Dahaka smiled his hideous parody of a grin.

“Why, Father? Why? This is a curse! I suffer every day
because of this.”

“Why,  my  whelp? Why?  Because  you  were  just  about  to
lose  the  crown  to  that  Atar  imbecile.  Without  them,  you
would  have  never  been  able  to  subdue  the  Dragon  of

157

Drought. I saved you from the worst humiliation. Now,
listen, for you are again facing difficulties way beyond
even the power of my magic.

“You must leave now. Put that cowardly Meruzanes on the
throne until you return. Flee to India. Once there, we shall
create  an  entire  country  of  wizards  and  sorcerers.  It  will
indeed  be  a  land  of  sorcery.  We  shall  then  assemble  an
army and march back to reclaim the throne. It is the only
way to escape your fate. If you ignore this, you will end up
a prisoner for eternity. A mountain of your own excrement
will surround you, as day after day you suffer nailed into a
mountain  cave.  Make  haste!  You  will  travel  with  me,  and
the  wizards  I  have  assembled.  They  are  the  best  in  the
entire world. All of them practice the blackest of magic.”

Zohak stood stunned. “And leave? What will the people
think? I can’t bear to think that Atar the Idiot will think I ran
in fear!”

“Son, he would be more pleased to get his hands on you.
The blacksmith

—remember the blacksmith. He has gained

much  power  by  his  awful  loss.  He  is  another  dangerous
enemy. And worse of all is that the Idiot is now under the
protection of the goddess Ardwisura Anahita. She will not
allow you to touch him, but soon, you will have the power
to  destroy  him.  Now  immediately  hasten  to  depart.”
Dahaka left the room in a foul puff of air.

“Meruzanes, I appoint you regent to rule in my absence. I
am leaving for some time to raise a powerful army north of
here. Do whatever you need to do to hold back the rebels.

158

Make use of the demon armies and the sorcerers and
magicians.” Zohak handed him a smaller scepter than the
one he used.

Meruzanes fell to one knee and accepted it with trembling
hands.  “I  will  rule  as  you  wish.  I  am  eternally  grateful  to
you for having faith in me,  your most  humble  servant. Be
assured that all will  remain  in  safety until your Lordship’s
return.  May  you  travel  with  good  fortune!  May  your  quest
bear  fruit!  May  even  the  gods  bow  at  your  feet,  dear
sover

eign.”

159

Chapter Seventeen

Campfires  were  lit  in  the  midst  of  the  massive  gathering.
“Can you believe this?” A soldier asked aloud to no one in
particular.  “What  a  sight.  Poor  farmers  eating  with  the
lords!  Even  the  defected  army  of  Persia  sitting  with  the
Horde they fought with so recently!”

Atar smiled in agreement. He reached Prince Sugreeva’s
tent. “No! I just…well, really?” Beerta pulled aside the flap
and pushed Sugreeva out. His stiff ringlets had been
braided with rawhide and clay beads. He wore a leather
loincloth and a cloak of soft fur. His dainty shoes had been
replaced with the sandals of the barbarians.

“See Chief Atar? See my husband too much beautiful,”
she said in accented Persian.”

Sugreeva was blushing and awkward. The tribe people
gathered to admire and touch him.

“You look great, Sugreeva, like a true prince that you are,”
Atar said with real admiration. He had changed. He
seemed harder, having lived such a rough life for these
months since he’d left the palace.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

Beerta was beaming. “And my husband, he learning to
ride Mongolian pony. Very brave man, my Sugreeva. Oh!

160

Oh! Come husband. I so exciting I need to make the sex
with you!” She pulled the blushing prince into the tent.

Princess Sophene was smiling as she watched the couple
leave. Ezad the Insane followed her. “Ezad is also making
progress. We are  working  together.  I  am  using  my  magic
to help him and he is using his spy skills to help the army.
He  reports  that  Zohak  is  calling  on  mercenary  troops  of
actual  demons  from  the  North  to  augment  his  army,  now
that so many troops are defecting.”

General Tiridates added, “We must attack soon. Perhaps
even in the morning. Ezad reports that only one demon
battalion has arrived. Zohak is opening the royal treasury
to supply a huge number of troops. If we strike before they
arrive, they will be forced to return

—if we win, that is. They

know they won’t be paid.”

Atar mulled it over. He looked at Bulliwuf, who was smiling
slightly. He’d been in his human form for a while now.
Bulliwuf nodded. “I believe that to be a wise move. We
should get some sleep.”

Atar said, “Tell Kava to announce that we should sleep
early, as we will meet to strategize in the morning. There
is no sense telling them that we may attack. They will get
no

sleep if we tell them that.”

Bulliwuf  pulled  Atar  toward  their  tent,  which  was  the  only
one  with  a  large  opening  in  the  roof.  He  was  imitating
Beerta’s  excited  voice.  “Oh  my  brave  Atar.  I  so  excited  I

161

need to make the sex with you.” Atar looked to see a few
observers trying to hide their mirth.

162

Chapter Eighteen

Atar rarely dreamed, so what was this? A beautiful woman
floated  to  him.  She  was  dressed  in  golden  armor.  She
carried a golden spear in one hand and a dazzling golden
bow over her shoulder, where a quiver of arrows as bright
as the sun blazed.  She had stepped off a golden chariot,
which  was  pulled  by  white  horses  of  the  kind  Atar  had
dreamed.  She  touched  Atar  on  the  head  and  stroked  his
hair.

“Atar, I am the goddess Anahita. I have watched over you
all these years. I sent my Bulliwuf to serve and protect
you. I have taken your mother, Queen Cunaxa over the
Chinvat Bridge.”

“My Mother? She was my mother?” Atar began to cry. “Do
you mean she is dead?”

“Yes.  Zohak  murdered  your  fair  mother.  She  loved  you
very much. It was so painful for her to never be able to tell
you this. She begged me to do it for her. She wanted you
to  know  that  she  was  forced  to  abandon  you  with  the
Paralatae. It was that, or allow Hergor to kill you, her dear
baby.  Do  not  cry  for  her,  Atar.  You  must  attack  now  and
avenge her death. You must avenge the death of all of the
people your brother Zohak has killed. But you mustn’t kill
Zohak. This is what you must do…

163

Kava sat erect on his horse, the Banner of Fire held in one
big hand. “Protect the Banner!”

It was essential for keeping up the a

rmy’s morale, Atar

thought.  He  also  understood  how  important  his  every
move was to the spirits of his people. If his shoulders even
so  much  as  sagged,  hysteria  would  spread  through  the
troops.  Ishria’s  hooves  splashed  into  the  sodden  ground,
the  army  following  the  proud  stallion  and  his  rider.  Atar
looked ahead toward Kava and the Banner of Fire. Even in
the  gloom,  the  snapping  flag  looked  bright  to  him.  Kava
held  it  high,  his  back  rigid  with  the  tension  of  battle.
Jamshir  had  howled  with  anger  when  he  discovered  that
he  would  not  be  on  the  front  lines,  and  was  not  at  all
happy to give up the standard to his father.

Atar  rose  slightly  in  his  saddle,  the  wink  of  metal  in  the
distance  sending  a  chill,  then  a  fierce  heat  through  him.
Through the mist of the drizzle, Atar could see the Army of
Persia.  Bulliwuf  sprang  forth,  darting  ahead,  eager  for
battle. Atar looked up to see an eagle soaring above them.
At  the  sight  of  the  magnificent  bird  of  prey  rising  into  the
air,  the  Army  of the People  let  out  a  whoop  and a  cheer.
Kava waved the Banner of Fire and the cheer grew into a
roar of rage.

Screams  of  terror  shot  through  the  Turanians  in  the  front
ranks  of  the  Persian  army  when,  from  out  of  nowhere,  it
came hurtling at them. Beaten gold hooves smashing into
the  earth,  it  charged  forward,  ripping  through  the  ranks
with  vicious  golden tusks.  It  snorted.  Chaos  and  screams
rose all around it. Then it was gone.

164

General Tavos of the Persian army was stunned. His head
snapped to his left, the screams of terror breaking through
the trance he had fallen under watching the bright banner
of the foolish rebels. “What the hell was that?” Tavos
asked.

“Perhaps a volley of long bows,” Meruzanes suggested
from Tavos’ right. “I propose we waste no time in returning
attack. That volley seems to have them terrified. Tavos,
order the demons to attack!”

“Bitches,” Tavos muttered and spurred his horse forward.
He rode up to meet the demon general. “General Putana!
Order your troops to lead the attack. Just the sight of them
will scatter

those ignorant farmers.”

General  Putana  let  out  a  wild  demon  battle  cry.  To  the
astonishment of all, it was answered by a Paralatae battle
howl  that  rose  even  higher  than  his  did.  The  demon
general  snarled,  spittle  flying  out  of  his  mouth  and  he
thundered toward the rebel army.

Atar  fearlessly  crashed  into  the  Armies  of  Persia,  his
gleaming  mace  viciously  slicing  the  air.  Behind  him,  the
roar  that  rose  up  from  the  Army  of  the  People  sent  a
shiver through the atmosphere. It vibrated the very bones,
its  pure  rage  sharpening  the  reality  of  the  cause.  Newly
made  swords  gleaming  in  their untrained  hands,  they  ran
forward, eager to lock with the enemy.

Atar snarled at his opponents, blind with battle fury. He
disarmed one man and dispatched him, sending his head

165

sailing into his comrade’s lap. Bulliwuf tore the comrade
off his horse with inexorable force, his powerful jaws
locking around the man’s leg. Above, the eagle screamed
as it dove into the battle, its sleek frame gaining power as
it shot down from the heights of the sky.

“For  Lesa!”  Kava  screamed  as  he  impaled  his  opponent
through  a  crack  in  his  armor.  He  turned  his  horse  and
attacked another soldier, ripping out his bowels with manic
satisfaction.  The  Banner  of  Fire  jerked  in  the  watery  light
as  Kava  wre

nched his sword out of the man’s gut. The

man  screamed,  his  cry  joining  with  the  others.
Desperately,  he  tried  to  scoop  his  shining  innards  back
into his body before death claimed him.

The Army of the People fought with a fury born of the
years of pent up anger. The roar that rose from them was
a culmination of their rage. They had no say for years and
this was their final response to being ignored.

“Fire!”  The  demon  general  screamed  at  his  archers  over
the  din.  He  decapitated  an  un-mounted  farmer  with  a
careless  sweep  of  his  mace,  his  muscles  pulling  the
heavy, fatal weapon through the air.

Atar  whirled  on  Ishria,  his  eyes  like  that  of  a  furious  wild
animal.  The  next  volley  of  arrows  came,  followed  by  a
charge.  Atar  could  feel  the  People  losing  their  courage.
This  was  their  very  first  battle,  he  reminded  himself.  He
roared a battle  cry,  swinging his mace above as his eyes
scanned for the broad shouldered figure. Where was he?

166

Atar darted deeper into the ranks of the enemy, spreading
panic with his relentless attack.

Behind  him,  Kava  screamed.  The  man  attacking  him
struck again, and Kava’s other arm shot out. The Banner
had  fallen.  A  man  near  Kava,  horrified  at  seeing  the
Banner  go  down,  and  seeing  the  Firestarter  nowhere  in
sight, dropped his shield and ran. A ruthless Turanian ran
him down. The sight was so horrific that his comrade also
threw down his shield and ran.

The  demon  army  began  to  pour  out  into  the  fray.  The
simple people looked on in horror as demons with grossly
deformed  limbs  fell  upon  the  Army  of  the  People.  The
carriers  of  the  demons  were  as  horrific  as  their  riders.
Some  were  covered  in  horny  plates.  Thorny  growths
protruded from their thick, leathery skin. One elephant-like
creature  with  two  stout  horns  on  its  face  ran  with  three
men  impaled  on  its  horns.  It  stopped  to  shake  its  great
head  and  the  men  shot  off  in  a  thick  spray  of  gore.
Soldiers  and farmers  from  the  Army  of  the  People  began
to  scatter  in  all  directions,  but  they  were  overtaken  and
speared by the great demon army.

The  monsters  startled  Atar,  but  he  struck  out.  He  was
under  the  protection  of  the  Goddess.  He  knew  what  he
had  to  do.  Calling  upon  his  power  as  the  Firestarter,  he
took  up  the  mace  of  Colaxais  and  attacked  the  demons.
He struck the horned demon carrier, and it fell to its knees,
sending the monster on its back to the ground. The demon
had one eye the size of a saucer, but it was a glassy black
color.  The  snub  nose  angled  up  so  high  that  mucus

167

membranes  could  be  seen  jiggling  inside.  Its  mouth
opened  to  reveal  a  forked  tongue  that  darted  forth  more
than  a  foot.  Atar  attacked  it  with  a  spear,  aiming  for  the
eye, which exploded, sending a gelatinous rain of slime on
the lion carrier that was rushing to his assistance. It roared
up at Atar and he roared back.

Most of the peasant part of the army scattered at the sight
of  the  demons,  but  some  brave  souls,  and  some  of  the
professionals,  fought  on.  A  chorus  of  war  cries  broke
through as the army of the Horde joined the battle against
Zohak’s  army.  Leading  the  fierce  group  was  a  couple.
They  wore  the  war  paint  and  costumes  of  the  Mongol
general  rank.  Atar  stared  in  fascination  as  Sugreeva  and
Beerta  broke  through  and  began  to  battle  the  demons.
Beerta  stayed  close  to  the  Prince,  protecting  him  from
attack as he swung a sword, lopping off heads.

The  demon  army  began  to  weaken.  Chilling  screams  of
demons rent the air as, in the distance, at the crest of the
hill;  the  Mages  of  the  Sacred  Fires  of  Ahuramazda
appeared,  headed  by  a  red-haired  mage,  Princess
Sophene. Their chanted spells rang out over the din of the
battle  and  demons  threw  down  their  weapons  to  cover
their ears in fear. The fires rose in the air, smokeless and
bright as the chanting grew in volume.

In response, the wizards and sorcerers of the palace
began to chant their evil curses against the mages. From
their collective breaths issued dense smog of foul air that
revived some of the frightened demons.

168

Atar had to dispatch them before they could give strength
to  the  demons.  Bulliwuf  appeared  at  his  side  and  they
rushed  the  army,  breaking  through  as  dead  soldiers  and
demons fell in their wake. Atar felt his limbs going weak as
he  approached  the  lines  of  wizards.  The  vile  stench
choked off his air supply.

“Atar!” Bulliwuf screamed. “Do it! Summon your power as
the Firestar

ter!”

Atar  shook  his  head  to  clear  it.  He  just  couldn’t  do  it.  It
seemed  impossible.  Ishria  began  to  sway  and  one  of  his
legs shook violently. Atar prayed. He focused his mind on
the  vision  of  his  father.  His  father  Anacharsis,  the
Firestarter who had given him his power. Then he saw the
kind  face  of  his  mother,  Queen  Cunaxa  the  Pure.  The
mother  who  had  loved  him  all  along.  He  imagined  her
dead at the hands of Zohak, and it began.

He felt the tingling first in his extremities. The heat grew
and grew until it had nowhere to go but out. Suddenly he
reared up in his saddle and Ishria fell to his knees. Bulliwuf
rolled near the horse and put his paws over his eyes. Atar
saw only the blinding light and felt the power emanating
from every pore of his body.

The  wizards  and  sorcerers  stopped  in  mid-spell  as  the
Firestarter  began  to  glow.  Running  in  all  directions,  they
tried  to  find  escape.  The  light  became  blinding  and
suddenly  they  all  burst  into  flame.  They  danced  and
jiggered as the fire burned them alive. Their burned forms
fell to the ground and disintegrated into ashes.

169

“Zohak!  Come  out  and  face  me!”  Atar  bellowed,  now
recovered.  His  chest  was  splattered  with  blood,  his mace
oozed  with  it,  making  him  have  to  grip  his  weapon  ever
more  tightly  to  prevent  it  from  slipping.  Atar  plunged
ahead,  heedless  of fear  now.  “Zohak!”  Atar bellowed.  He
charged at a group of soldiers and snarled with frustration
when they scattered. “I demand you face me! Let’s get this
over  with!”  Atar  roared  in  Paralatae.  But  there  was  no
answer.

The demon army was fleeing. Not one demon dared fight
with the holy mages chanting the sacred mantras. Looking
into  the  turbulent  skies,  they  saw  the  mighty  form  of  the
god  Verethragna  in  the  shape  of  a  giant,  golden-tusked
boar.  He  held  a  golden  mace  over  one  shoulder  and  his
massive hooves glittered gold. Beside him, the god Mithra
roared into battle, shining on the sun chariot pulled by the
horses of the sun. The demons passed stool and urine as
they fled, terrified.

Atar rode into the palace on Ishria with Bulliwuf at his side.
They rode right into the throne room, Ishria’s hooves
making a strange tapping noise on the marble floors.
“Zohak!” Atar howled.

On the throne,  decked in finery and wearing the crown of
the  Emperor  of  the  Persian  Empire,  sat  Meruzanes.  His
eyes  glittered  with  madness.  “Get  out  of  my  royal
presence!” he screamed. “How dare you ride a horse into
my  throne  room?  Remove  that  animal  from  my  presence
at

once,” he said, pointing to Bulliwuf.

170

“Where is Zohak?” Atar demanded.

“He is gone. He appointed me in his stead. Beware! When
he comes back, he will destroy you. Beware the Dragon
King!”

Bulliwuf casually approached Meruzanes and showed his
teeth in a snarl that sent the poor man howling away,
tripping on his long train.

171

Chapter Nineteen

The long job of rebuilding the empire was not Atar’s idea

of  the  life  he  had  wanted.  First,  he  ordered  grain  to  be
distributed  to  the  needy  families.  He  sent  envoys  to
countries  willing  to  supply  grain.  He  used  gold  from  the
royal  coffers  to  purchase  grain  and  animals.  He  reunited
families  and  gave  payments  to  those  who  had  lost
relatives  to  Zohak’s  hungry  snakes.  He  removed  all  the
magicians,  sorcerers,  and  wizards  from  the  palace  staff
and  appointed  magi  under  the  direction  of  Princess
Sophene.

“Bulliwuf, I just can’t do it,” Atar said. They were reclining
in  the  courtyard.  “I  may  be  the  heir  to  the  throne,  but  I
don’t  want  to  be  Emperor.  I  want  to  be  with  you  in  the
Wildlands.  I  want  to  leave.  I  have  set  the  country  on  the
right path. My job is done.”

“Yes, I also want to leave here, but we aren’t finished,”
Bulliwuf said.

A servant entered and bowed. “General Kava to see you.”

“Kava! You have done a great job in distributing supplies,”
Atar said. The man seemed disturbed.

“Atar, I appreciate the confidence you have in me,” Kava
rumbled. “Thanks to you, people are returning to normal
lives. But I can never be normal again. My Lesa. My poor

172

daughter is dead. Sophene has helped me a lot to grieve,
but I can’t go on living when the man who murdered my
family still walks free. This thing remains undone. As our
king, how can you allow this? Atar, I demand justice!”

173

Chapter Twenty

The hall remained silent after Meruzanes had finished his
speech.  The  thick  Indian  air  was  redolent  of  spices  and
incense.  A  dark  servant  waved  a  peacock  feather  fan  at
Zohak’s side, and another, on the opposite side, waved a
yak tail fan. Whenever a fly tried to settle  on Zohak,  they
would  wave  it  off.  The  snakes  attracted  many  flies  with
their vile odor that grew day by day.

“So you say that the Idiot Atar has installed himself as
emperor and that he has taken all of my wives to his bed?
Even Jahi the Lovely? You say he insults me and tells the
pe

ople that I ran off as a coward? Such nerve!” Zohak’s

serpents waved in anger as he sputtered.

“Yes,  my  Lord.  He  has  commissioned  paintings  in  every
town  square  showing  you  running  with  your  trousers  at
your  ankles  and piss  running  down  your  legs.  He  spends
all  day  lounging  with  your  wives  and  eating  enormous
quantities  of  food.  He  has  gotten  very  fat  and  ugly.  The
people bristle under him. Many are calling for your return.
Sire,  the  nobles  are  your  supporters  too.  Please  return
and avenge this disgrace!” Meruzanes finished his speech
with a flourish.

“Meruzanes, I wonder why only you have told me these
things. My spies say the opposite, that Atar the Idiot is well
loved and that the people are happy. They never

174

mentioned the insults to me. They never mentioned the
way he has bedded my wives,” Zohak said.

“Yes, he spends much money finding and paying off the
spies,” Meruzanes said, nodding sadly.

“Leave before I kill you!”

Meruzanes  ran  from  the  room.  The  servant  fanning  him
backed away and scurried out the door, leaving Zohak and
his snakes fuming alone. I will not! I cannot allow this. To
hell with Dahaka and his plans! If I listen to him, it will be
years  before  we  are  ready  to  take  back  Persia.  I  have  to
go back and kill him. The Idiot! The damn Idiot! Will I ever
be free? Will my life be spent in his awful, idiotic shadow?
The serpents here are the proof of my magic. Had I been
there  to  lead  the  troops,  Persia  would  still  be  mine.  Why
did  I  listen  to  Dahaka?  That  withered  old  smelly  wizard
has  been  nothing  but  trouble  for  me.  Now  I  have  been
disgraced and the Idiot is violating my wives. I will kill them
all!

175

Chapter Twenty-One

“The  mages  say  that  evil  approaches.  I  believe  you  and
Bulliwuf  need  to  be  attentive  to  anything  unusual.  I  have
taken  the  liberty  of  reassigning  Kava  as  your  personal
attendant. He’s done very well in his job, but Atar, he has
the  magic  of  the  blacksmith.”  Princess  Sophene  finished
her speech and placed her cat on her lap.

“Thank you Sophene,” Bulliwuf answered. “Atar, she is
right. You have been avoiding Kava because he demands
that you punish Zohak. I think that eventually you will have
to deal with Kava and his petition for justice. If it is true
that evil approaches, we

should have him near.”

Atar considered this for a few moments.

Atar still needed to sleep in the outdoors. He and Bulliwuf
lay together in the grass near the fountain in the courtyard.
“You know, Bulliwuf, this is where my mother used to
spend many hours. Her attendant, Sanatruk, has been
telling me all about her. She told me about how my mother
personally fled with me in her arms when I was three. She
could have sent one of the servants, but she wanted to be
with me as long as possible. I remember her va

guely.”

“Yes, my little one,” Bulliwuf answered.

“Come on, don’t call me little.” Atar stuck an arm out,
showing off.

176

“I remember the day well. The men paid to bring you to the
Paralatae decided to kill you and save themselves the
trouble. I rescued you,

as a matter of fact.”

“Oh  Bulliwuf,  my  life  has  been  so  strange.  I  wish  I  had
been  able  to  know  that  she  was  my  mother.  I  saw  the
kindness  and  the  agony  in  her  eyes,  but  I  knew  nothing.
She was able to convince me to fight the Horde though, so
she  was  powerful.  By  the  way,  Sugreeva  and  his  band
arrive  tomorrow.  I  have  something  special  planned  for
them.  I  can’t  believe  what  Beerta  has  done  with  him.
Sugreeva  is…well,  he’s  become  the  man  he  was  only  in
his  mind.  Nobody  dares  to  call  him  ‘Sugreeva  the  Fop.’
T

hey don’t even call him Sugreeva the Fair. His new name

is Sugreeva the Fierce.” Atar laughed loudly and Bulliwuf
joined him.

“Well  my  little  one…that  is,  my  big…whatever.  I  want  to
ravish  you  tonight.  It  has  just  been  too  long.  I  know  you
won’t  allow  it  in  the  palace.  It’s  not  as  if  we  are  the  only
ones  enjoying  sex  within  these  walls,  but  as  you  are  so
shy,  I  have  arranged  for  us  to  ride  off  into  the  night.  We
will  go  to  a  grove  far  away  and  enjoy  ourselves  until
dawn.” Bulliwuf looked at him and brushed the front of his
trousers  down.  “You  know,  if  you  don’t  hurry,  I  will  take
you  right  here.  Now  gather  your  bedding.  I  will  go  fetch
Ishria  and  Bahira  so  that  nobody  need  know  our
whereabouts.”  He  put  a  finger  up  to  his  lips  and  smiled
wolfishly.

Atar blush

ed and looked around nervously. “Ok. I suppose

I have been pretty horny for you too. Don’t be too long.”

177

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zohak waited to see that the wolf-man was gone. Not that
he was afraid. He’d decided to do this alone. He and only
he would confront the hated Idiot and finally put an end to
his reign of stupidity. Zohak remembered all the times he’d
tried to end the life of the simpleton without success. The
problem was that the man was so colossally stupid that
somehow he would bumble out of eve

ry danger. He’d

been  thrown  into  a  swollen  creek,  left  in  the  forest  as  a
toddler to starve or be eaten by wolves, thrown into a pit of
vipers,  fed  poison.  Why,  he’d  even  led  the  Idiot  into  the
cursed tomb of Colaxais. No man had ever left there alive,
but  incredibly,  the  Idiot  had  bumbled  out  with  the  very
mace  of  the  famed  first  king  of  the  Scythians.  No  doubt,
he’d been so stupid that the ghosts had mistaken him for a
goat and ignored him.

When sent after the man-

killing stallion, he’d doddered

back  riding  the  horse,  with  a  dim-witted  smile  and  drool
running  down  his  face.  Well,  he  hadn’t  seen  the  drool,
which  the  Idiot  had  probably  wiped  onto  his  sleeve  along
with  the  snot,  since  he  was  always  bawling.  Even  after
Zohak had thrown the Idiot into an impossibly deep trench,
somehow he’d emerged and stolen his birthright.

The worst blow was to find out that the Idiot was his
brother. Maybe he’d been dropped as a child, but Zohak
knew that Atar could not be normal. It was as the old seer

178

Monu had said. Atar

wasn’t just an idiot; he was an “Evil

Idiot.” There was no more time to be lost.

Zohak  crept  down  the  stone  wall.  His  horror  at  this  new
ability didn’t stop him. His fingers had claws that extended
to allow him to move easily. He scuttled from the shadow
of  one  tree  to  the  next.  The  Idiot  had  gotten  his  blankets
and  was  waiting.  He  dreamily  put  his  stupid  melon  of  a
head on a blanket and shut his eyes. Silently Zohak made
his  way  in  the  dark,  finally  standing  over  the  moronic
shape of the Idiot. The man who

’d taken what was his: his

horse, his wife, his heritage as the Firestarter, and now his
kingdom.

The snakes on his shoulders trembled with suppressed
rage. They grew. They extended themselves, ready to spit
the most toxic poison onto the vile Idiot.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Atar opened his eyes and stood. Kava stepped out of the
shadows.  He  had  his  hammer  in  one  hand  and  he
dragged a medium sized anvil on a wooden pallet. Zohak
was  cringing  on  the  ground  with  his  hands  over  his  ears.
The  snakes  mewled  in  terror.  Kava  grabbed  one  snake
and  held  it  on  the  anvil.  His  hammer  came  down  again
and again until the thing was nothing more than mush. He
grabbed the  other  cringing  snake  and  then did  the  same.
Finally,  he  looked  at  Zohak  with  eyes  red  from  grief  and
anger. “Now it is your turn.”

179

“No, Kava. I must kill him,” Atar said. He looked like Mithra
in a killing rage. Atar raised his mace and it whooshed
down, but it stopped in mid-air. They saw the Goddess
Anahita materialize. Her hand held back

the mace. “Why?”

Atar asked in a growl.

“My dear heroes, it cannot end this way. Zohak cannot be
killed, just as his father, Dahaka, cannot be killed. Zohak’s
fate will be far worse than death. Kava, you must make a
very  heavy  iron  chain  and  long  iron  nails.  Atar,  Bulliwuf,
and  Kava  are  to  take  Zohak  to  Mount  Damavand.  There
you will chain him in the deepest cave and nail him to the
stone.  He  will  live  there  until  the  end  of  time.  That  place
will  be  so  foul  that  if  even  a  bird  flies  over  it,  that  poor
creat

ure will fall down dead. It is decreed, so shall it end.”

180

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Your Majesty, with your blessing, Bulliwuf and I will set off
now. We plan to find that fabled land of the Water Dogs,
where white horses graze near a crystalline lake.” Atar
bowed slightly.

“It is you, Atar, the real Emperor of the Seven Kingdoms,
from  whom  we  ask  for  blessings,”  Sugreeva  said
solemnly. “I have accepted your command and I will rule,
but  only  as  your  humble  servant  until  you  so  choose  to
return.”

The nobles in attendance were polite enough to look away
as Sugreeva wept openly. Many others began to weep.
Beerta of the Horde wailed and her followers raised a
ululating cry of grief. Atar lift a hand and they fell quiet.

He was wearing his tiger skin with the teeth framing his
face. He pulled it down. “I will always hear the call of my
people. I give you three of my hairs. If you ever need me,
burn one of them and I will appear within three days.”

The  court  bowed  to  him  and followed  him  to  the  gates  of
the  city.  Mounted  on  Ishria  the  Stormy  and  flanked  by
Bulliwuf  the  Proud,  Atar  the  Firestarter  struck  out  of  the
city with a ferocious Paralatae Scythian war cry.

For hundreds of years minstrels sang ballads of his
bravery and kindness. Scythians, Mongolians, and

181

Persians told stories as they sat around campfires. The
story of Atar and Bulliwuf lived on.

In the land of the Water Dogs, Ishria grazed freely with the
white mares near the crystalline lake.

###

182

About the Author

KB Forrest has researched ancient Indo-European history
and folklore for several years, and brings to this novel his
story-

telling flair and the accurate details today’s readers

demand. He is skilled in animal husbandry, primitive
survival skills, and horsemanship. These talents allow him
to imbue his stories with realistic elements.

KB lives on a farm in Northern Mississippi with his faithful
dogs. He raises Brahman cattle and a large variety of
birds. When not writing, he paints in oils and watercolors.

183

Table of Contents

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

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

man-

part,” the first said.

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

god, as is clearly obvious.” Zohak

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

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

state for the record that rather than being a sign from the

184

gods, the snakes Zohak sports are a gift of the demons. In
particular…”

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

-  Atar  looked  down  at  the  excited,  chattering  faces.  The
people  stood  well  back  from  their  path.  He  could  hear  a
blacksmith  somewhere  clanging  on  his  anvil.  The  sharp
sound of iron on iron carried over the noise of the people.
Atar  caught  glimpses  of  little  gardens  in  front  of  the
modest houses, but for the most part, all he could see was
the crowd. The dusty main  street was lined with shops.  It
did  not  take  them  long  to  find  the  inn.  It  was  a  solid  two-
story structure with a steeply peaked roof.

- The mayor shivered at the sight of Bulliwuf, but his wife
sashayed over to fuss over him. The table was laden with
food. Monases, Tiridates, Heslin, and Ezad were seated to
Atar’s right. The wife whispered into Bulliwuf’s ear and he
answered softly. Atar was jealous when he saw Bulliwuf’s
fingers gently and subtly graze the woman’s arm. She
went back into the kitchen part of the house and returned
with a large roast that was barely cooked. This she placed
in front of Bulliwuf. He ate with the dignity of a king, but
with the voracious appetite of a werewolf.

“Atar, it is something that they are not a part of,” Bulliwuf

said.

- The shivering town crier reached the settlement near the
Dragon Caves. The torrential downpour obscured the

185

outline of the town.  This was the last of sixteen towns on
his  particular  route  and  he  was  glad  his  circuit  was  over.
Vainly,  he  squeezed  water  out  of  his  dripping  tunic.  The
news  of  Zohak’s  ascension  to  the  throne  had,  of  course,
spread  like  wildfire.  The  shocking  murder  of  the  beloved
Queen  sent  shockwaves  through  the  land.  To  his  relief,
people  took  note  of  him  immediately,  even  as  he
approached, thanks to his distinctive uniform.  Despite the
rain, they assembled in the town square, eager for news.

-  Sophene  hurried  to  her  huge  closet  and  rummaged
around until she found the leather pack that she had used
for  part  of  her  luggage.  Working  fast,  she  snatched  two
changes  of  clothes  and  a  quilt  from  the  bed.  Warmer
clothes would have been better, but she didn’t dare waste
the  time.  There  was  just  enough  room  at  the  top  of  the
pack for a few days worth of food.

The mother choked back a sob. “It’ll come to no good.

Our dear daughter! The Emperor has never even been to
this part of the city. There’s no way he could have seen
her and fallen in love, but they say she will be a royal
wife? It must be some terrible pl

ot.”

-  Atar  and  the  party  camped  in  the  early  evening  on  the
wide-open  country.  The  sunlight  was  maturing  into  a
golden  glow  that  spread  across  the  land.  Atar  looked  out
at  the  mountains  on  the  horizon.  A  warm  wind  was
blowing like silk across his skin.

- Slowly, Atar raised his bow, careful not to make any
sudden moves. With his powerful archer’s forearms, he

186

drew  the  bowstring  back.  He  aimed  carefully  at  the  vital
organs in the forward part of the creature’s ribcage. There
was  an  eternal  moment  just  before  Atar  let  the  arrow  fly.
The  buck  never  saw  it  coming.  He  died  instantly,
collapsing to the ground without a sound.

“And what of me in particular? What do they say of me?”

Zohak asked.

“Bull! She was all beautiful and peaceful in her bridal

- Atar urged Ishria forward to where Sugreeva and Heslin
were bobbing along at the very front of the party, crowing
to the world.

“Hello?” came an irate voice from the front of the party. “I

told that barbarian to set out my tea. Sophene? Sophene?
Why is no one stopping for tea?” Sugreeva asked. “Well,
hurry up! Honestly, do you expect me to eat in the
saddle?”

187

“You give it to him Kava!” one man shouted. There were

excited murmurings as Kava shoved his way through the
crowd, which parted for him with alacrity.

“Fetch him at once,” Zohak ordered. “I assure you, good

citizen, that this was an error on the part of my service
member

s. How can I make this right to you?”