Chapter 31
Zantina had been right; the south was indeed 'there for the taking'.
When, twenty days after leaving Casbur, Taneric, Peto and their small band of comrades arrived in Cana, they found the main army of the north had beaten them to it, if only by a day or two. Added to this were the three thousand that had followed the Emperor's defeated column south from the City of The Goddess. The entirety of Tak's army was now camped in a semi-circle around the city while, at the harborside, the last of the Emperor's men crowded the ships that were brought up for boarding. Already, the seemingly invincible legions that surrounded the City of The Goddess a few moons earlier had departed. The Eagle Legion had also gone, abandoning their horses to roam the streets of the old town and the fields beyond. Only Foreign Legionnaires remained after their long hard march on foot. Ostin, in his wisdom, had secured the best of the remaining ships in Cana, leaving what was left of Artur's great army, now leaderless, to crowd onto the smallest and most rickety of boats.
Taneric had never before been to the great southern cities and, though Cana had suffered greatly under occupation in past months, there were still great sights to be marvelled at; the University of The Saints, The Great Cathedral of Wodh, the Golden Library of the Long Sea and, perched prettily on the hill above them, the Palace of Osta. And it was there that Tak went on his first day, having been fetched by a messenger who told him there were matters of importance to be dealt with at that place. So, for the second time in little more than a moon's passing, Tak and Peto descended the steps of a dungeon, this time below a King's palace, to be shown a body lying forlorn on the cold stone floor. But whereas Zantina had lived, poor Osta had not.
"It seems he was kept alive by the Emperor, just barely" said Tanieric's man, "But when his jailors departed, not a man or woman of the south thought to come here and look for him. I'll warrant he was living until a day or two ago, but I was the first man of the North to descend, just this morning, and I found him like this"
"A sad end for a King," said Peto.
"I am troubled by this," replied Tak, "Though I know not why. I was first enslaved under this man's rule, at a farm in the south. And Hanja hated him passionately. Why, her beloved father died in this very dungeon at Osta's behest, so the story goes. And do not forget he invited the Emperor to these shores, promising comfort and assistance, though his people had other ideas it seems and gave little of either. And even in these last days, none loved him enough to come looking for him; as if he were forgotten already. And yet..."
Reader, is it so odd that the death of one monarch, however despised, must affect another so deeply? Did not Alexander have the murderer of his enemy King Darius tortured and executed? Was not Caesar - a king in all but name - outraged to be presented with the head of his greatest foe Pompey by the Egyptians? Well, Prince Taneric would have known nothing of all that. But still, in that moment he felt the loneliness and vulnerability of royalty and that strange affinity with another who must have felt it also, never more than in those final days, alone and wasting away on a cold stone floor.
"Find a casket and bring him to the Cathedral," said Taneric, "Let us at least be sure he gets a King's burial."
And so Taneric and Peto went next to that great church, which at first they thought to be empty, devoid of human life like the dungeon below the Palace. But as they marvelled at the huge nave and transept, coloured glass windows alive in the late autumn sun, priests of Wodh emerged from rooms at the side, chanting prayers, and forming a procession that led to Tak, now standing by the altar.
The High Priest knelt before him and said, with trembling voice, "We have been waiting many days, Prince Taneric, knowing that you would come. Prince of Vosgir, vanquisher of the foreign invaders, Master of Cana and all that surrounds it, we offer you this, in the name of Wodh!"
A red velvet cushion was brought forward and on it sat the golden jewelled crown of the southern realm.
****
There is little more to say of how Prince Taneric took the throne at Cana. He was at the head of almost fifteen thousand men, an insurmountable force now that the Emperor's great army was all but gone from those lands. And any that might otherwise have challenged him - relatives of Osta, lords of the lands thereabout, or former ministers of government - knew better than to try. And if the priests of Wodh had reservations about this boy - a youngster from the rough uncultured north, perhaps under the influence of heathen priestesses of a false Goddess - they were sensible enough to keep quiet. Likely they craved peace and stability after many moons of war, and they saw in Taneric a means to that end. But even the most passive priest must have been shocked by what happened next.
In the Cathedral of Wodh was a great timepiece; a moving mechanism that told the watcher the hour of the day with great precision. It was older than any of the priests could say, though not thought to date back as far as the ancients. A story was told that its maker, Hordus, had his eyes put out on the orders of the high priest in those days to prevent him making another such beautiful piece. But, before he was blinded, poor Hordus was allowed to construct one final device; a lock of such complexity that none would ever be able to open it, an incredibly intricate mechanism that now sat below the clock, his final jest against a world that had treated him cruelly. Over the years, a legend had grown that whoever could open the lock was destined to conquer all the lands around the Long Sea and even those of the empires to the east. Osta had tried, as a younger, more ambitious man, but he failed hopelessly, as had many generations before him.
Now, in their excitement, and eager to show off their treasures, the priests took Taneric to the lock, telling him of its history and encouraging him to try and open it. He examined it for a few moments noting that there were many wheels but that even as one was turned to the right position, others would also move. To have all wheels in line correctly seemed surely possible, but beyond human reasoning to achieve. After some moments of thought, Taneric stood back and swung his hefty boot at the device, smashing it into a thousand pieces, the remains lying separated at his feet.
"There!" he said to the stunned priests.
Soon, recovering their voices, the braver of the men began to berate him, calling him a thug, even cursing him for his lack of respect. But Peto shouted them down, reminding them that they were addressing their king in waiting, and they quietened, accepting the loss of their art. Perhaps some priests, while grieved, sensed that although a great craft had been destroyed in that moment, legend had also been born from it.
****
Taneric and Peto went next to the harbour, where the last of the Foreign Legion were crowding onto a sloop under the watchful eyes of Ostin and a thousand warriors of Vosgir. There were men of the Republic there also, breastplates gleaming in the late-autumn sun, the banner of the Goddess held high above them. An officer of the Emperor's Foreign Legion was complaining loudly about the numbers being forced onto the vessel, but Ostin dismissed him contemptuously, reminding him that slaves had been cruelly crammed into these very ships just a few moons earlier.
Beside Ostin, sitting on a low stone wall with head in hands, was Kamhet. He had been brought down from the City of The Goddess under Tak's orders and was now a forlorn figure, scruffily bearded, his clothes in rags, wrists shackled before him.
