The Storm of Heaven (64 page)

"What is it?"

Odenathus shook his head, raising a hand. "Nothing, I suppose. I just... Dwyrin was at Aelia Capitolina when we were besieging the city."

Zoë's eyes widened. "He was?"

"Yes. He was aiding the defense, you know. They must have posted him there, after we left him at Antioch. Oh, Zoë, he's so strong! I never would have guessed it... not the way he was when we were together."

Zoë looked ill and sat down on one of the stone mooring pillars that lined the quay. She stared at Odenathus with a sick expression. "You didn't..."

"No. I think he lives. At least, he did not fall by my hand. Some of the Romans in the city escaped through a hidden tunnel. Very clever, really! The whole city is honeycombed with secret passages and adits. Jalal was beside himself!" Odenathus sat as well and Zoë took his hand.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No." Odenathus shook his head ruefully, squeezing her hand. "But it was close! His fire-calling power is incredibly strong. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be able to do much else—but don't get in front of him. You'll be a cinder!"

"It must have been strange to match power with him for real. I mean, not in training."

"It was very difficult. You know, I found something... after the first time. You see, the first time we fought, I couldn't bring myself to strike at him, not really. I couldn't... I didn't
mean
it, if you know what I mean."

Zoë made a face, shaking her head. "No, I don't understand."

Odenathus laughed, scratching the back of his head. "I didn't either. Jalal almost ran me through for cowardice in the face of the enemy. No... there was a
geas
upon me, a pattern. A working that turned my mind from fighting Rome with my full strength."

The Palmyrene rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, showing the scar of a mark on his upper arm. "See this? The Legion brand they put on me when we enlisted to fight the Persians. Do you remember?"

"Yes," Zoë said, running slim fingers over the waxy flesh. "I didn't have to swear, not like you or Eric, because I was a woman... did it mean something?"

"It did." Odenathus pulled his sleeve down. "When we swore the oath, we accepted a binding—not to raise arms against the Empire. When Dwyrin came at me, I couldn't really fight him. I was lucky to escape alive. The
geas
is very weak."

"Clever," Zoë allowed begrudgingly. "A good idea to keep rebels from really fighting!"

"Just so." Odenathus wagged his finger at the town. "Everywhere we go, I watch the citizens. Many join us, hating Rome, but never the old soldiers. They swore this oath, too, and they fight us. It's difficult through this whole province—any settlement of retired legionaries has to be watched. They raid our supply caravans if we don't."

Zoë sighed, rubbing her face with both hands. "It doesn't matter. Mohammed intends to pack up the entire army and strike against the Imperial capital in one massive blow."

"Oh," said Odenathus, taking the concept in. Zoë seemed suddenly tired. "He won't have to worry about garrisons, then."

"No," she said, rising and wiping her hands on her pantaloons. "Let's go inside."

Mohammed stopped sharply just inside the room. It was a large, dim chamber with a high-beamed ceiling. A long table of burnished oak stood in the middle. The Quraysh felt a chill, seeing who was rising from a seat at the head of the table. Khalid stopped behind him, waiting.

"Lord Mohammed," the youth said in a clear voice. "This is the King of Kings, Shahr-Baraz,
Shahanshah
of the Persians and the Medes, Lord of Many Lands. Your... guest."

Mohammed took two steps into the room, hand light on the hilt of his ebon sword. The towering man behind the table inclined his head in greeting. Another man was standing against the wall behind him, a thickset gray-beard wearing a close-linked shirt of mail. The big man smiled, showing fine white teeth behind a vigorous thicket of beard and mustache.

"Good day," the Emperor of the Persians said. "I apologize for my early arrival, Lord Mohammed, but I was in haste."

The Quraysh waited until Khalid had entered the room. Shadin followed, his heavy frame and ready sword easing Mohammed's mind.

"You are unexpected," the Quraysh said, voice cold. "And not welcome, I must say."

Mohammed turned to Khalid, his face a mask. "Have you broken bread with this man?"

"Yes, lord." Khalid gulped, seeing the strict displeasure on Mohammed's face. "He arrived two days ago on a spent horse, with only Lord Khadames and an escort of lancers in tow. He spoke of peace, so I let them stay."

Mohammed's eyes glinted in anger, but he mastered himself and walked to the head of the table. Shahr-Baraz topped him by a full head or more. Mohammed looked up at his old enemy, lips compressed in a thin line. "Do you think that you can fight your way out of this place?"

"No," Shahr-Baraz said, shaking his massive head. "My life is in your hands. You are king here, not I."

"I am not a king," Mohammed said. He placed the sword, still sheathed, on the table. "Men follow me by their own choice. I rule only myself."

"More than most can say," Shahr-Baraz rumbled and he too placed his sword on the table. "I have a proposal for you, but if you do not wish to hear it, I will leave."

"There is little that you can say to me," Mohammed snapped, letting some of his anger show. "Persia, and you in particular, have little honor in my eyes."

The Boar raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise, but then he nodded, remembering. "Ah... you were at Palmyra. I had forgotten. Yes, you would think that I acted faithlessly there. But I did not—let us not dispute the past, but the present. Much has changed since those black days."

"Has it?" Mohammed paced to the far end of the table, his head bent. "Khalid, bring us something to eat and drink. Find Zoë and Odenathus and bring them here."

The young man stared at Mohammed, his face one of plain entreaty. The Quraysh stared at him, scowling, until Khalid turned and left, his boots rapping sharply on the tiled floor. "You say things have changed. Your mad emperor is dead, I understand, and you now rule in the name of his daughters."

"Yes," the Boar said, seating himself. He spread his huge hands wide. "More has occurred since last we tested wills across the sand and battlements of fair Palmyra. Rome has destroyed both our capitals. Chrosoes is dead, his dismembered body buried in a common grave. I have taken his daughters under my protection. Some measure of order has returned to Persia. You have broken the back of Rome in the East."

A flinty smile passed over Mohammed's face, but he remained silent, listening.

"I am tired of war." Shahr-Baraz leaned forward, face serious and intent. "I have fought my whole life—first against the T'u-chüeh on the Oxus, then against the Usurper, then against Rome. I have won battles and lost them. Now, I am king and I want one thing—peace."

"When a Persian speaks of 'peace,' " Mohammed quoted, "he wants a piece of your land. Tell me, O King, what have you heard of me? Have you heard that the voice from the clear air, the voice of the Maker of the World, has spoken to me? He tells me that a struggle is coming, one between light and darkness. I have seen that evil—it stood at your side, it was your
champion
when you tested the honor of Zenobia."

The Quraysh paused, seeing Zoë and Odenathus entering the room. Both of them looked perplexed, then Zoë saw the man sitting at the table and her face turned white with rage.

"Abominations! A Persian?" The Palmyrene girl's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Strike him down, Mohammed, or I will!" Her fingers curled, sketching a sign in the air. A chair rattled behind Mohammed, but he stepped forward, interposing himself between Zoë's anger and their visitor.

"Do nothing," Mohammed barked, catching Zoë's hand in motion. A cold fire burned among her fingers, but at the Quraysh's touch the flames flickered out. "He is our guest, for the moment."

Mohammed saw Odenathus was equally outraged, but he caught their eyes with his own and shook his head. "Control yourself. Patience." Mohammed's voice was a sharp whisper.

He released Zoë's hand and turned back to the Persian. Shahr-Baraz was sitting again, though General Khadames had come forward and was standing just behind him.

"You serve a monster," Mohammed said. "I had intended to strike against Rome, against Heraclius, but if you have restored Persia, then you had best ride swiftly, for my anger will be hard on your trail. The Romans are in disarray. I can leave them be for now."

Shahr-Baraz opened his hands, palms out. "Lord Mohammed, I know what you believe. I know what you are thinking. The late Chrosoes trafficked with dark powers. He entertained demons. Servants crawling from the pit of Ahriman's domain flocked to him.

"But I am
not
Chrosoes! I am not his wife, Maria, who first threw wide those doors, whose desire for revenge upon her father's murderers led down this evil path. I am the Boar! Shahr-Baraz! I do not serve evil. I am my own master."

Mohammed snorted, sounding very much like a camel. "Prove it."

"I will," Shahr-Baraz said, motioning to Khadames. The general bent down and, with a grunt, hoisted a barrel onto the tabletop. It was old and grimy, stained almost black with age. It sloshed as the general set it down. The Boar, making a face at the smell oozing from the barrel, snapped the clasp of a chain holding the lid closed with his bare hands.

The smell worsened and Mohammed felt the hairs on his arms rise up. An aura of indefinable evil washed over him as the lid of the barrel came away in the Boar's hands. Lord Khadames turned away, his face pale. A gelid sound of something slopping back and forth filled the air. Steeling himself, Shahr-Baraz reached into the barrel and dragged forth a head.

Mohammed stepped back, heart thudding with remembered terror. Behind him, there was a hiss of indrawn breath from Zoë, Odenathus and Khalid. Only Shadin, in his stoic way, did not react. The Boar raised the face of a demon from the barrel. It dripped with viscous slime and it was dark, blacker than pitch, dark as coal. Despite the advanced state of decay, some recognizable features remained.

"That is the one," Mohammed rasped, mind filled with violent memories. "That is the creature that strove against Ahmet on the Plain of Towers, that threw down the gates of the city."

"This is the head of the demon Azi Tohak," Shahr-Baraz rumbled. "I hewed it from his body myself. He was a servant of uttermost darkness, of Ahriman, of the chaos that boils and bubbles at the center of the universe."

Surprisingly, a sad look passed over Shahr-Baraz's face. "He was once the younger brother of my friend, dead Chrosoes. Their father banished Rustam when he was very young and he fell into evil ways. After Chrosoes reclaimed his throne from the usurper Bahram Choban, his brother returned to the court. But Rustam had a new name and a new face. No one knew the truth, not until Empress Maria was seduced and destroyed and the King's face ruined."

Mohammed stepped closer, though every instinct screamed he should flee. Up close, the thing's face was even fouler. In some ways it approximated the human, but in every plane and feature it revealed an alien, inhuman nature. Overlapping black scales formed the skin, smoothing to delicate fluted plates around dead eyes. Sharp, pointed teeth jutted from the rotting jaw, and the ears folded back into an elongated skull. At the neck there was a jagged tear revealing nacreous-green bones. The Quraysh felt ill simply looking upon the remains.

"It is a token to reclaim my honor," the Boar said, leaning close. "I had already left Palmyra when the city was destroyed. I will rue that decision for the rest of my days. I did not mean it to happen—it was this thing, this Dahak, that shattered the city of Silk."

"Will that bring back the people of my city?" Zoë's voice rose like an arrow. She strode forward, her face cold and still. "Will it bring back my aunt? Will it restore the dead to life?"

"No," Shahr-Baraz said, sadly shaking his head. "It will not."

"And you expect to leave this place alive?" Zoë made to raise her hand, but Mohammed took it in his own.

"Lady Zoë, only the great and merciful god can restore the dead to life. No power on this earth can give you back your aunt, or your city, as it was in life. All things pass, whether we desire it or not."

"You accept his apology then?" Zoë snarled and snatched her hand away from the Quraysh. "Is Persia your
friend
?"

"No." Mohammed's voice was firm. "We will not bow to either empire. Lord Baraz, if you desire peace between us, you will go and leave us to our own devices. If what you say is true, if you have turned your back upon evil and walk the straight and righteous path, then the Lord that moves the sun and the tides will reward you. But if you lie, if this is a trick, then you will surely burn in torment, tortured for all eternity."

Shahr-Baraz nodded, shoving the head back down into the barrel. His face was screwed up against the stink. "I do not lie," said the Boar. "But I would say something to you, as a king to a king."

"Go on." Mohammed's voice was very cold.

"There will be no peace for your realm, or mine, while Heraclius is
Shah
of the Romans. We have both seen the depth of his treachery. He is a murderer, faithless, without conscience or honor.
He
will not rest while either of us lives."

Mohammed nodded in agreement, but his face was stiff and remote.

"This is why you press him so hard," Shahr-Baraz continued. "You smash his armies, wreck his fleets, you drive him before you with whips. He cowers in his city of stone, unable to resist you. Victory, Lord Mohammed, is very close at hand."

The Boar paced to a window overlooking the port. He tugged at the long silver tips of his mustaches. "You have done what Persia has never done, broken the Roman control of the sea. You can strike directly at Constantinople, blockade the city, cut off all supply. You know, I think, what an advantage you have gained. Oh, there were many days when I stood on the shore of Chalcedon and begged great Ormazd for a fleet..."

Shahr-Baraz turned away from the window, almost snarling at the memory. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Mohammed, a blunt expression on his face.