The Dark Lord (2 page)

JUSUF
, tarkhan of the armies of Khazaria, Shirin's uncle. A lean, laconic horseman who has variously served as Thyatis' second, Anastasia's lover and commander of the Khazar armies. In his youth, he spent time as a hostage in the Avar
hring
, and the T'u-chüeh court of the reviled khagan Shih-Kuei. Widely traveled and an expert with horse, bow and lance.

DAHVOS
, kagan of the Khazar nation, Shirin's uncle. The youthful son of the late kagan Ziebil Sahul. Now the weight of his responsibilities presses upon him, and he must choose whether the Khazar realm will continue to stand against Persia and beside Rome, or if they will strike their own path.

In the year 622, the Eastern Roman Empire was close to destruction, the capital of Constantinople besieged by the Avars in the west, and Persia in the east. As told in
The Shadow of Ararat
, the Emperor of the East, Heraclius, and of the West, Galen Atreus, launched a daring attack into the heart of their Persian enemy. The half-mad Persian shahanshah Chrosoes was taken unawares, and after great battles, he was defeated and his empire given as a wedding gift to the Eastern prince Theodore. At the same time, while the two ancient powers strove to overthrow one another, two critical events transpired.

First, in Rome, the young Prince Maxian Atreus discovered an ancient thaumaturgic pattern—the Oath—constricting the lives and dreams of the Roman people. Aided by the Nabatean wizard and Persian spy, Abdmachus, Prince Maxian embarked on an audacious quest to find the sorcerous power he needed to break down the lattices of the Oath and free the Roman people from their invisible slavery. Second, while the prince exhumed and revivified Gaius Julius Caesar as a source of thaumaturgic power, a young Roman mage, Dwyrin MacDonald, was swept up in the chaos of the Eastern war.

Attempting to find and save his pupil, Dwyrin's teacher Ahmet left the ancient School of Pthames on the Nile and struck out into the Roman Levant. By chance, in the ancient rock-bound city of Petra, Ahmet encountered an unexpected friend in the Mekkan pottery merchant Mohammed. Together, the teacher and the merchant found themselves in the service of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra. At the urging of the Eastern Emperor Heraclius, Zenobia and the princes of the Decapolis and Petra gathered an army to resist the advance of the Persian army into Syria, under the command of the Great Prince Shahin. Unaware of Heraclius' intention to see the independent cities of the Decapolis sacrificed to divert Chrosoes' attention, Zenobia clashed with the Persians, was defeated and then besieged in Palmyra itself. Despite furious resistance, the City of Palms fell to the monstrous power of the sorcerer Dahak. Zenobia and Ahmet perished, and Mohammed only escaped with a small band of his followers through sheer luck.

While Persia collapsed, the Roman agent Thyatis, accompanied by the Khazar tarkhan Jusuf, entered Ctesiphon and stole away with mad Chrosoes' second wife, the Empress Shirin, Jusuf's niece. Though she was supposed to deliver the Empress to Galen, Thyatis chose instead to disguise her escape and flee south, making a circuitous and eventful return to the Empire via southern Arabia, the East African coast and the black kingdoms of Meröe and Axum. A dangerous decision, not only for the terrible peril of the voyage, but to thwart the desires of an Emperor...

Not far away, in the ruined Persian city of Dastagird, Prince Maxian found the last piece of his puzzle—a crypt holding the stolen, hidden remains of Alexander the Great. As he did with Gaius Julius Caesar, the prince revivified the Macedonian and felt his power was at last sufficient to break the Oath strangling the Roman people.

In the year 623, as told in
The Gate of Fire
, the Roman armies of East and West returned home, and both nations rejoiced, thinking the long struggle against Persia and the Avar khaganate had at last come to an end. Great plans were laid, both by Heraclius and Galen, and many legionaries rested their weary feet. Yet, all was not well, neither within the Empire nor without. Heraclius' attempt to return home in triumph was spoiled by a sudden and unexpected illness. Galen's return was more joyful, for he found his wife Helena had at last borne him a son.

Worse, in Arabia the merchant Mohammed reached Mekkah to find his beloved wife Khadijah cold in the ground. Devastated, Mohammed climbed a nearby mountain and attempted to end his own life. As Mohammed lay poised between death and life, between the earth and sky, a power entered him, speaking from the clear air. The voice urged him to strive against the dark powers threatening mankind. Heeding this voice, Mohammed—after a brutal struggle in the city of his birth—set out with an army of his Companions, the Sahaba, to bring the treacherous Emperor Heraclius to justice. To his surprise, he found many allies eager to overthrow the tyranny of the Eastern Empire. First, the rascal Khalid al'Walid, then the lords of Petra, and finally the exiled Queen of Palmyra, Zoë. With their aid, Mohammed raised the tribes and the cities of the Decapolis to war against Rome. Heraclius' treachery would be repaid with blood and fire.

Indeed, even in Persia the enemies of Rome did not lie quiet. The sorcerer Dahak had escaped from the Roman victories with an army and made his way to the ancient, remote fortress of Damawand, high in the mountains of Tabaristan. There, in a shrine once held holy by the priests of Ahura-Madza, the sorcerer began to muster a great power—not only of arms and men—but of darkness. Deep within the fortress lay a door of stone, a door holding inhuman, implacable gods at bay. Risking his life and the earth itself, Dahak opened the stone door to capture the power of the ancients. By these means, he shed the last of his humanity and became a true master of the hidden world. At last strong enough, the sorcerer made his way to ancient Ecbatana and there—with the aid of his servant, Arad—placed the great general Shahr-Baraz on the throne of Persia. Now, a reckoning would come with Rome and Persia's lost glory would be reclaimed.

In Rome itself, events rushed to a devastating conclusion. Prince Maxian, flush with the strength afforded him by the legends of Julius Caesar and Alexander, strove again to overthrow the power of the Oath. Unwilling to sacrifice his brother Galen, the young prince failed, nearly killing himself and wounding his companion Krista. Fleeing to the safety of his mother's ancestral estate on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius, Maxian struggled with his conscience. Unwilling to wait for his decision, Krista fled, bringing news of the prince's whereabouts and fatal plans to the Duchess De'Orelio—the Western Empire's spymaster and secret priestess of the Thiran Order of Artemis the Hunter. Her hand reinforced by the return of Thyatis, Anastasia ordered the prince murdered.

Thyatis, Krista and their companions found the prince on the summit of Vesuvius and after a deadly battle failed to kill him. The prince, mortally wounded, opened himself to the power in the mountain, bringing himself back from death and inciting the somnolent volcano to a staggering eruption that destroyed the cities of Baiae, Herculaneum and Pompeii. Maxian escaped aboard his iron dragon, while Thyatis chose to plunge from the flying craft into the burning wasteland rather than become his servant. Only the two survived, all else having perished in the cataclysm. Far away, in Persia, Dahak became aware of the prince and his growing power, realizing a rival had emerged to contest him for the world of men.

These bleak events omened further evil, and the year 624 proved devastating for Rome. As told in
The Storm of Heaven
, the Eastern Empire suffered disaster after disaster. In the Levant, the armies of the Sahaba, relentless under Mohammed's guidance, destroyed prince Theodore's Eastern legions at Yarmuk, captured the city of Hierosolyma after a long siege, and seized the critical port of Caesarea Maritima. In Mesopotamia, the armies of Persia marched west again, recapturing their lost provinces as well as the great city of Antioch. The Persians and Arabs, now allied, launched an invasion by land and sea into the Eastern heartland, besieging Constantinople once more.

In Rome itself, a direly wounded Thyatis struggled to reclaim herself in the face of abject failure. Despite the help of a troupe of Gaulish holy performers, she fell into the clutches of Gaius Julius, now entrusted with the execution of enormous and extravagant funeral games for those slain in the eruption of Vesuvius. Forced into the arena, Thyatis proved herself more than a match for man and beast. At last, thought dead again, she was spirited away by Anastasia and the Empress Helena. The successful culmination of the games also provided the prince Maxian—working behind the scenes and without his brother's knowledge—with victory over the rigid and inflexible structures of the Oath. The prince, setting aside his desire to destroy the ancient spell, instead ingratiated himself with the all-encompassing structure. By these means, he hoped to direct its power and free Rome slowly and subtly from its invisible master.

In the East, Alexandros raised a new army among the Gothic tribes and marched towards Constantinople. Before he could reach the Eastern capital, a monumental battle evolved before the gates of the embattled city. Western legions, Eastern troops and a contingent of Khazars under the command of the new kagan Dahvos attempted to break the Persian siege. Despite the awesomely destructive powers of the young firecaster Dwyrin MacDonald, they failed and the combined host of the Decapolis, Persia and the Avar khaganate drove the Romans from the field in disarray. In the ensuing confusion, Heraclius reclaimed his throne and prepared to lead a final defense of the Eastern capital. The end came in darkness. Dahak's infernal servants shattered the gates and an army of the risen dead stormed into the streets of the city. Dwyrin, exhausted in a fruitless attempt to stem the attack, was struck down. The Roman troops trapped in the city fled, evacuated under a burning sky by the Western fleet.

Even the sudden arrival of Prince Maxian and his brief alliance with the Cat-Eyed Queen are not enough to stem the tide of defeat. The prince and the surviving legions slink away, broken and battered. Persia and her allies stand triumphant, poised to invade the Roman heartland. After two thousand years, the Empire slides down to destruction...

Grimacing, the Queen turned away from a casement window, sleek dark hair framing her elegant neck and shoulders. Outside, the roar of shouting men filled the air. Beneath her slippers, the floor trembled with the crash of a ram against the tower doors. The room was very hot and close. Swirls of incense and smoke puddled near the ceiling. For a moment the Queen was silent, considering the array of servants kneeling around her husband's funeral bier.

"Antonius Antyllus," she said, at last, as a fierce shout belled out from the courtyard below and the floor shook in response. "You must take my son."

The stocky Roman, clean-shaven face pinched in confusion, half turned towards the back of the room. At the Queen's arched eyebrow, a slim young man in a pleated kilt stepped forward. The boy was trembling, but he raised his head and met the Queen's eyes directly. Antyllus made a questioning motion with his hand, brow furrowed. "Pharaoh, I cannot take him away from you... where will he go? Where would he be safe from your enemies?"

"Home," the Queen said, stepping to a silk and linen-draped throne dominating the room. As she moved, her attendants drew a gown of shimmering black fabric from a chest. A blond handmaiden knelt and raised a headdress of gold and twin scepters. Beside her, a dusky maid bore a jeweled sun-disk, ornamented with an eight-rayed star in bronze. "To your home, to Rome, as
your
son. His Latin is excellent. He has been raised, as his noble father wished, a Roman."

Antyllus shifted his feet, unsure, but finally nodded in surrender. There was a huge crash from below and the drapes swayed. The legionary tried to summon a smile, but there was only bleak agreement in his fair, open face. "Another cousin," he said, looking upon the young man, "among dozens of our riotous family..." His eyes shifted to the corpse on its marble bier and grief welled up in his face like water rising in a sluice. "Father would wish this, my lady, so I will take your command, and his, to heart. Your son will find sanctuary in the bosom of my mother's family—they are a huge clan and filled with all sorts..."

"Go." The Queen raised her chin, sharp sea-blue eyes meeting those of a man in desert robes, his lean, dark face half shrouded by a thin drape of muslin. "Asan, you must take Antyllus and Caesarion to safety—a ship is waiting, at the edge of the delta. Will you do this thing, for me?"

The Arab bowed elegantly and stepped away into the shadows along the inner wall of the room. Antyllus did not look back at the Queen, boots ringing as he strode to the hidden door. Caesarion did, looking to his mother with bleak eyes. His youth seemed to fade, as he ducked though the opening, a weight settling on him, and the Queen knew the boisterous child, all glad smiles and laughter, was gone forever.

Voices boomed in the corridors of the tower and the shouting outside dwindled, replaced by the clashing of spears on shields. The Queen did not look out, for she was well used to the sight of Roman legionaries. Instead, she settled on the throne, long fingers plucking at the rich fabric of her gown. Narrowed eyes surveyed her servants and councilors, a meager remnant of the multitude who once clung to the hem of her glory.

"Get out," she rasped, voice suddenly hoarse. Sitting so, facing the closed, barred door to the main hall, she could look upon the shrouded, still body of her last husband, laid out in state at the center of the chamber. "All of you, out!" The Queen raised a hand imperiously, golden bracelets tinkling softly as they fell away from her wrist.

They fled, all save fair Charmian and dusky Iras. The Queen listened, hearing the tramp of booted feet in the hall, then the door—two thick valves of Tyrian cedar, bound with iron and gold and the sun-disk of Royal Egypt—shuddered. A voice, deep and commanding, shouted outside.

The Queen ignored the noise, leaning back, letting her maids fix the heavy headdress—a thick wreath of fine golden leaves around an eight-rayed disk—upon her brow and place hooked scepters in either hand. The doors began to boom as spear butts slammed against the panels. She closed her eyes, crossing delicate fingers upon her chest, then took a deep breath.