The Emperor And The Temple Ch 31

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.

"Ostin! Keep this ship here until I say it should leave! And remove Kamhet from bondage! I would talk with him for a while," shouted Taneric.

Tak put his arm around the shoulders of the Emperor's son and led him out along the harbour's stone breakwater until they reached the end, far beyond the reach of listening ears. Staring out across the Long Sea, Tak contemplated all the lands behind him, from where he now stood to the shores of the great northern sea where men of his father's kingdom, his own brethren, would be bringing in huge catches of fish in preparation for the cold winter months ahead. All was now Taneric's - or soon would be - through conquest, inheritance or marriage. Only the women's republic remained. The City of The Goddess; small in land but rich in resources, and home to the boy so recently renamed Archimedes whom Ashala would never give up. But the High Priestess loved Tak, and did not the Goddess Herself rest with him in his dreams, holding his weary head to Her bosom?

"The herb, Kamhet. Does it still hold you?"

"In truth, Prince Taneric, when I was taken from the Lady Cillah I felt my heart had been ripped from my body. But now? Away from her? I begin to recover, I think. But will I ever be completely free? Why, if she came to me now, here on this very wall, I would rejoice. I would kneel before her and beg for her to collar and leash me!"

"But you knew you were bewitched?"

"Indeed Prince Taneric. But what good is knowing? Have a care, my friend, in your dealings with Priestesses and women of the Goddess!"

"They wish the world to be a better place," replied Tak, defensively.

"As did my father," replied Kamhet, "What? You do not believe me? Is it so hard to believe that there is benevolence in the desire to bring order to chaos, unity to discord? And yet the consequences of actions are never what we imagine and the best of intentions become corrupted with the passage of time. I do not defend this thing that he has done..."

Kamhet swept his arm across the lands behind them.

Tak placed his hand on Kamhet's shoulder and said, "My friend, you had little part in it. Come, there is much that we should talk of."

And on the waiting sloop in the harbour, and around it on the dockside, thousands of men watched the two as they talked, wondering what could be passing between them. Eventually, after upwards of an hour, Tak brought Kamhet to the ship and allowed him to board. Only then was he recognised by the Emperor's men, so changed was he by his years in the western lands. And as the ship set sail, its captain waved a fist at Taneric and screamed, "You have not heard the last of the Emperor!"

And behind the man who shouted defiantly at Tak that day stood poor Han; Kailyn's boy. He had begged to be allowed to stay behind, even offering himself as a slave, but the Sons of The North would have nothing of it, and they forced him onto the ship at swordpoint, laughing at his reluctance. Now, he stood fearfully behind the Captain and murmured, "On the contrary, perhaps it is the Emperor who has not heard the last of Prince Taneric."

****

In the days that followed, Tak sent his men far and wide in the search for those that were missing, including of course his own beloved Nikah, Kasmine and Hanja. Of the former there was only sad news. The poor citizens of Cana spoke of scores of ships that had departed, loaded with men taken from the realms of Osta and Zantina. One merchant, a well travelled soul who had once visited Casbur, recognised the hero Harl among them and told how he was dragged in chains into the belly of a ship along with two hundred others, all unbranded but bearing the leather collars of the slaver Beshara. And then word came from Vilgen confirming that Nikah had been taken by the same woman many moons ago, and Tak knew that his friend was likely now in the land of Ephirum.

Meanwhile messengers returned from the lands to the east of the Road of Lakes and spoke of discovering a battleground where Kasmine's forces had fought the Eagle Legion. There could be no doubt who had won the day. The bodies of the Sons of The North were strewn across the field, left to the elements and wild animals, while fallen Legionnaires had been buried by their comrades, hastily but with honour. But though Taneric's warriors searched all around the place, they could find no trace of the Princess. Tak could not know if the battle had occurred before or after Kailyn had come to him on the field above Vilgen, but her boast that she held Kasmine now came to haunt him in his fitful sleeps.

But most painful to Tak was the loss of Hanja whom he had last seen distraught, clutching the limp body of her dead brother while fifteen thousand warriors looked on in shock and blood dripped from his own sword. He would often think of that day and of the strange contract Artur had made with him; that whether he live or die his men would leave the field. The brother of Hanja had insisted only that they must fight, he and Taneric. Ostin, in his memoirs penned many years later, claimed Artur never meant to live that day, and even before he could have heard his sister's voice calling for Tak, he was already hesitating to deliver the killing blow. But others who were there will insist that the priestess indeed saved Prince Taneric, although she did not know it at the time. The full truth has been lost in time.

Tak sent his men around the city of Cana, from one door to the next, asking if anyone had seen or heard of Hanja in the days preceding. And soon enough, a story began to emerge. Riding ahead of the northern army, Hanja and Samon had befriended a small group of Foreign Legionnaires, men of Kartig who had no love for the Emperor and no wish to return to Ephirum. Using gold from Hanja's purse, they had together procured a boat and sailed secretly away from the harbour under cover of night, the Kartiginians being accomplished seamen like so many of their countrymen. They were bound for their homeland across the long sea, so it was said, but that was all there was to be known. And in time, Tak left Ostin as governor of his southern kingdom and, with a heavy heart, he journeyed north to his proud father Alfard.

Many moons passed and then, during an almighty winter storm that battered the southern coast, a ship was forced ashore carrying traders from foreign lands across the waters. Ostin, instructing that they be treated well, sent men to question them, for several claimed recently to have been in the lands of Kartig. One, a turbaned spice seller from a distant unknown place, talked of a beautiful woman and her warrior slave, recently seeking passage to Ephirum. When none in Kartig would take them, for fear of the Emperor, they left by land, heading east on large humped beasts of burden that were as common as horses in those parts. In a port town known as Gabbis, the warrior killed a man who threatened his mistress and, fearing reprisal, they left quickly aboard the ship of an Amenan adventurer who promised to take them to the lands of the Hellenes. And there the trail went cold. The spice seller could tell them nothing else for certain, but he shook his head sadly; the Amenans were no better than pirates.

On cold evenings in the Temple, night boys would sometimes ask Ashala for news of beloved Hanja as they rested their heads on the High Priestess's lap by the roaring fireplace. And she would reluctantly tell them that no, there was no news. And more than once some tears would be shed, by her and by the boy. But she would remind them of what is written in the Book of The Prophet, and you know it too, reader; no story is ever over until the Goddess decides it should be.

THE END

So ends the second book of the Temple Trilogy