Shadow of the West

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The Emissary smiled at the Queen and reclined at length upon his cushions. His eyes narrowed, but in a measured way rather than a menacing. He paused in contemplation of her like that, and remembered the sight of her kneeling before her useless idol earlier. His smile grew thin. “What would you like to know, Majesty?” There was the slightest emphasis upon the final word that sent shivers up Bekah’s spine.

“Given your mistake, I would be interested in hearing about the women of your land,” she replied evenly. “Particularly the role of your Queen.”

“My Lord Annatar has no wife,” the Emissary replied quickly, a brief glimpse of distaste appearing on his features.

“Oh?” the Queen queried, “that cannot be a good policy. Not unless he plans on living forever.”

This time the Emissary did not even try to hide his smile, but it was unreadable to her. Faroz, turning from his General, had heard the last exchange and now joined in. “Indeed,” he said to the man, “your lord should take a wife. I admit that I sometimes do not give my Queen the credit and acknowledgement that she deserves, but without her I daresay I could not run the kingdom.”

“Indeed,” the Emissary replied, his eyes never leaving the Queen’s. “If I might be so bold, my King, that would seem to me an unwise policy. While I am sure that the people are well served by such a pair as yourselves, is it not better for there to be one ruler? One alone whom all obey?”

Bekah pounced on this. “At last, I think I see something of your land. Your Lord Annatar is a monarch of great power, I deem. One who does not believe in sharing that power with family or nobles.”

“Where there is wisdom and strength, Majesty, there can be little need for sharing power.”

“And is your Lord Annatar so well endowed with both that he needs no help?” the Queen replied.

Faroz stepped in once more, for the tone of the conversation was becoming heated and heads were beginning to turn. “My friend,” he began. “You must forgive us, for we are a proud people – proud of our land and of our way of doing things. The ways of others, even those who are neighbours to us, seem foreign and strange.”

“And yet,” the Emissary replied, “you would know so much of your neighbour’s ways, having married your former enemy.”

Even Faroz fell silent at the audacity of the comment, and for a second it appeared as though the Emissary had finally overstepped all bounds. But with a happy laugh and a sudden movement that brought him upright, the man said, “I am sorry, Majesties, but you are not alone in your difficulty with foreign ways. I admit, that in my land women do not enjoy the power of rule as is apparent here. Nor are they partners in the King’s power. But also we do not use them to make political alliances, marrying them to an enemy for the benefit of ourselves. I do not judge, nor do I seek to offend, I merely speak as you have bid me. . .of our ways.”

“We take no offence,” the King replied before his wife could. “But perhaps we could speak of something else for the time. You said somewhat of the Elves in your land this afternoon, perhaps you could tell us more. You mentioned that there was strife between Men and Elves…?”

The Emissary’s face fell. “Indeed,” he said quietly, “it was all an unfortunate and lamentable mistake on all sides. The Elves believed that there were Men who wished to have their land, and the Men, for their part, had become distrustful of the Elves. It is said that some of the Elves who had brought the Evil from over the Sea were seeking to rebuild their kingdoms, and so perhaps there was some truth to the bad feeling felt against them.”

“What evil?” the Queen asked.

“In long ages past, my Queen, the Elves left for the West to enjoy an eternal peace, but some returned to make war on the powers of Middle-earth. For centuries they fought over a hoard of treasure that they made false claims to, and in the end they and all their works were destroyed in a mighty cataclysm that changed the face of the earth itself. It is said that some of those who fought in that war linger yet in Middle-earth and that they desire still to have vengeance upon their enemies. In their mistaken pride, they hold all Men to be their enemies.”

“All Men?” the King asked. He had heard none of this, this afternoon.

“There are some,” the Emissary replied, “who the Elves trust. But they are themselves more Elvish than Men, for in years past the Elves took into their keeping some humans and…bred with them. It is a long tale, and not a happy one.” He fell silent, and it was clear that he would say no more on the topic this night. He turned his eyes upon the Queen. “I fear I have not told you much, my Queen. . .at least, not what you were hoping to hear. What can I say that will assuage your concerns about my Lord? What assurance do you crave that he is in earnest in his request for friendship?”

[Bêthberry]

The Emissary's words of emnity between elves and men soured any and all attempts he made at polite expressions of friendly alliance, at least with Bekah. It brought back to her mind all the tales of perfidy and mistrust and hatred with which she grew up, once again making precarious her efforts to assimilate the Pashtian attitude towards elves. First his arrival had strangely changed the King's behaviour, making his people jealous and mistrustful of the strange western man. Then he had made one or two social gaffes, statements which a seasoned courtier might not have made unless he wished to sew some discord. And now his story of strife between men and elves went straight to the heart of unrest here in Pashtia against the elves and outright hatred against them in her homeland. The food which she had eaten that evening sat heavily in her stomach, making her wish she had not eaten.

"You misunderstand my interest, Emissary," she replied calmly. "I did not ask about your country in order to evaluate your Lord Annatar's claim of friendship. As a child raised in Alanzia--as you clearly point out, having learnt that fact very soon upon your arrival--and an adult who has learned the ways of Pashtia I am interested in the great variety of cultures and societies which our earth seems to hold. Cultures as well as people influence each other and so I merely wished to enquire about the ways in which your country might influence us."

If the Emissary was blandly dissuaded by her disclaimer, Faroz was not. He was too astute at understanding how his Queen sought out information from a variiety of sources to believe that she would not use the Emissary's answers to frame some kind of opinion about this unusual request.

"Yet the night wears on and I have not paid greetings to our other guests here. My Lord, and Emissary, I leave you to your conversation. I will bid good night to others and take my leave." Bekah held her hand out to Faroz, which he acknowledged with a formal display of touch, and rose from her cushions, leaving them to their thoughts.

Bekah first sought out the High Priestess and the Priest, bidding each a goodnight and marking in their eyes their thoughts at the evening's events. Tarkan, she thought, showed a keen glint whenever he spied her daughter. It would not surprise me, she thought to herself.

"Zamara, a company of weavers have delivered to me carpets which they are anxious to be displayed in the temple. Would you wish to see them tomorrow? Come in the afternoon to my quarters, after my public hour of audience."

The Hight Priestess was not often summoned to the Queen's presence and her look showed her surprise.

"Oh, I do not mean to ignore Tarkan. You will join us, also, will you not?" asked Bekah as she turned to the Priest.

"Majesty, my taste is but humble and I believe it best to leave such decisions to those who understand such matters. If you would excuse me."

Bekah made no effort to hide her smile, which, indeed, was almost a sardonic twist of her mouth.

"You follow your own counsel, of course, Tarkan. Zamara, then, shall I see you?"

The Hight Priestess, more wise to the ways of court manners, understood that more might be discussed than mere carpets. She nodded agreement. Belah placed her hand upon the Priestess's staff and bowed her head in the formal courtesy due to the woman, but at the last moment she found it hard to maintain a serious or respectful face.

Out of the corner of her eye she had glimpsed the Lord Korak with a face as dark as waters under storm of the eastern wind. She had often wondered what family alliance had prompted Faroz to offer their daughter to him in infancy. As far as she could tell, the elderly Lady Hababa had been close with Faroz's family. Whatever reason, Bekah had always made a special place in her affairs for this family, so it was not unusual that she would make a special acknowledgement of the old woman.

"Lady Hababa, I am pleased to see you looking well and so spry this evening," she crooned as she arrived at the table and took her place on some cushions beside the old woman.

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss the wedding," was the rather strange reply.

"None of us would, I'm sure," replied Bekah quickly, quite aware of the older woman's confused memory, and anxious to smooth away the look of utter disdain the Lord Korak showed towards the woman's frailty.

"The music was nice. Almost like it was when I was young, but I could not hear all the speeches."

"Nothing of any great portent was said, Mother," replied Korak, clearly wishing to cut off his cousin from any kind of retort. She, however, had stopped her tongue with the arrival of the Queen, for the Lady Arshalous could see little use in displaying family discord in front of a member of the Royal family.

"You calm your mother with unction, my Lord Korak, but I would have thought you in particular would be intrigued by the King's annoucement."

"Oh, he was, Majesty, he was," interjected Arshalous, beginning to see that some fun could be had at her cousin's expense.

Bekah allowed herself a small laugh inside as she sat back and watched the family struggle to maintain some composure while masking their animosity. It was perhaps not entirely kind of her, but this family was so hypocritical that she could not resist occassionally drawing them out. Yet she felt sincere fondness for the older woman, for the Lady Hababa had been one of the first court members to show her acceptance when she had first arrived. It was always with gentle sadness that she tried to steer the woman's conversation away from her fears of forgetfulness. Yet, after some time, Bekah found the cousins would not this night relinguish any thoughts about the Emissary or the King's decision.

"You will come to see us soon, Majesty," the elderly woman said. "Nobody comes to see me anymore."

"I will come as soon as my schedule permits, my Lady Hababa, for you are one of my favoured members of the court." Bekah tried hard not to catch the impatience in the eyes of the cousins as she bid the family a goodnight and rose to withdraw from the banquet.

Bekah signalled her attendants to escort her out, leaving the Chamberain with her request for her children. "Tell Siamak and Gjeela that I wish to see them midmorning in my quarters."

For all the captivating nature of the banquet, the feast, the scented aromas, the entertainments and music, Bekah left the affair with greater mistrust of his Emissary than she had when she arrived. Every where he placed his words, he seemed to strike some kind of discord, almost provoking controversy under a suave manner of politeness. She shivered, recalling her courtyard empty of any guards. Yet he spoke of one voice, one authority. In her heart, she worried about the King's announcement to leave the decision to their children. She wondered if they were astute enough to understand the role which had been thrust upon them. With that thought, she wound her way through the passageways to her quarters.

[Kransha]

With a thankful word to the King and Queen, and assurance to his wife and son, Morgôs left the great hall, still abuzz with noise despite the late hour. Still, the King and Queen spoke with the Emissary, but the festivities had wound to a near close when the Elven General whisked himself out of the regal palace, and into calm tranquility from whence he’d come. His lengthy robe swinging like a great mantle about him, he glided into the courtyard, his Elven eyes, sharpened and keen, saw the Prince and was greeted, and immediately pressed to the present. He did not know, as he stood, how to phrase this question he had been considering for over a year. The circumstances of the gala evening had not been what he had in mind to clarify his intentions, but he would have to make do.

“Prince Siamak…This must seem…very strange to you, and I apologize for my forwardness in this matter." Morgôs bandied his words about before he spoke, pacing in front of the Prince, who followed the Elf's movements carefully, almost studying him. "I had hoped" Morgôs went on, "to be able to speak with you informally several times before I had to address you thusly, but the fetters of our duties have withheld that option. Therefore, I must approach you now, mere hours after our first meeting, about a graver matter than I had hoped. Again, forgive me, but, in light of the Emissary’s coming and your father’s wishes, I must take counsel here.” There was no response from the Prince, but Siamak did not slowly, understanding the General’s dilemma, and curious about what he had to say. The Prince was sharp, but did not catch the flash in Morgôs’ eye as he realized he had hooked the lad.

“Long have I heard of you, young Prince. Your father may have told you of me, but I do not trust to hope, for I cannot fathom what the king tells you or your sister. Either way, I know of you somewhat, enough to know that you are a sensible lad, and one with a mind that is perhaps keener than those of your father’s courtiers. Of your sister, the Princess, I know enough as well to have chosen a favorite among the two. Many of those warriors who serve under my command know upon whom my favor shines, but you do not. Ever since your birth, I have felt, nay, known that I, as General of Pashtia, had an obligation to favor you or your sister. I dislike politics, with all my heart, but dare not evade it, for it is to me as a serpent, waiting to strike unless it is appeased, and my time has come to appease it, in what feeble way I can. So, tonight, my decision is made, and I come to you, the favored Prince.”

The Prince said nothing. Morgôs could tell that, just as he thought, Siamak was not an avid speaker. Morgôs was not either, but his civic stoicism took over, and this new political underside he’d never known he had was now exposed, intriguing him. Feeling a verbal vigor overcome him, the Elf continued, carefully exercising tact, as well as his own mischievous military strategies refashioned to apply to this conversation. “Now,” he continued brusquely, “with the Emissary from the west so close in our midst, the time has come for your decision. I am an Elf bound to my duties, and would never disobey, or question my king, but, I can set into motion events that might seat a noble son on the throne, one whom I know, and need never question. Your father, like his father before him, is a good, true, and mighty man, but I cannot say that every order given me has been relished in its carrying out, though all are fulfilled. You, Siamak, are the next gem in Pashtia’s crown.”

Siamak, at last, interjected as Morgôs paused, patience half-gone from his shaded face. “Such words would sound treasonous to most, General Morgôs.” Siamak said, not scathingly, but with more seriousness in his tone than before, though still one of great interest, “I sense your true meaning is not underhanded, but I advise you, show more care with what you say. My father is still king.” But Morgôs waved his hand, as if to brush aside such thoughts, and said, “Never, Siamak, would I question your father, or the royal family, but I must impress upon you the importance of this meeting, and what I seek from you: alliance, Prince, and unity between you and another front that could win your father’s favor. Your sister has friends in court lackeys and the petty oligarchs of Kanak, but you can have more, if you grasped that power which is rightfully yours. Grasp it with the hand of a king. Your sister is not yet married; you are in your prime. With all these choices to be made-”

Suddenly, Siamak cut him off. “And what of those choices, General?” he said quietly, apparently pensive about the General’s proposal, but wary. “Do you have some ‘wisdom’ to share with me relating to my decision about the Emissary?”

“I would not impose my wishes on you, Prince Siamak. I wish only for alliance and the chance to provide some wisdom for the man who may someday be king of this land. I only suggest that you be firm, and be the first to make your choice known. When the time comes to make the decision, step forward and force your hand, be counted. Then you shall see what the King favors in an heir. But, that is for another day. On this festive eve I must have one answer and one alone. As a delegate of Pashtian Avari, I have placed my favor, even if your father has not. Will you accept my fealty?”

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Your Queen, I fear, distrusts me Majesty,” the Emissary said as Bekah left. Faroz remained silent. “I hope, however, that her opinion has not swayed your own. You did call me friend today.”

“I did,” the King replied, “and so I will continue to call you. But I also have said that while I trust in you, I must take thought to your Lord’s purpose. I must admit that having heard of the discord between the Elves and men of your realm, I am more…reluctant now than previously to undertake an alliance with your Lord. Not that the decision is mine to make anymore! Did I do well, do you think, to leave it to my children?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“On the contrary, as I have asked you it is your duty as my guest to speak your mind.”

“Very well, Majesty. I am not convinced that you have done wisely this night. I am as yet unfamiliar with the ties between your people, but even I could see that your decision has caused confusion and even doubts among your people. It would have been better, I think, to make the decision yourself.”

“Ah, but then the doubts would not have been about my decision to leave the choice to my children, but of me. My people are not used to me having friendships with foreign strangers, and they are already cautious of you and your mission for the sake of the time that we have spent together this day. Were I to rule in your favour now, they would, I fear, distrust you even more, and doubt my ability to judge soundly. This way, a decision can be achieved that is best for the kingdom and in which no blame or doubt can be raised against me.”

“You assume, my King, that your children will choose as you would.”

“I am sure that they will,” he replied, “if they come to the decision as I would – by seeking the opinions of the people, and take into account the feelings of all involved.”

“Including their mother’s?”

Faroz’s eyes narrowed somewhat and he looked away from the Emissary. For the first time, he appeared to put some distance between them. “It displeases me how you and she do not get along. I do not expect my family and my friend to enjoy one another as I do, but I would hope that all could be upon kindly terms.”

“Of course your Majesty,” was the courtly reply.

Faroz stood and motioned for the Chamberlain to attend. “Jarult,” he said to the old man, “Please see the Emissary back to his villa.” He turned to the man. “My friend, I cannot tell you how I have enjoyed this day but I fear it has come to an end. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will be able to join me for an hour or two in the courtyard before the midday meal? I would speak with you about the gift of your Lord.”

Ashnaz stood and bowed elegantly. Looking significantly at the Chamberlain he said, “May I have a quiet word with you, my King, about that before I depart?” Faroz’s eyes narrowed once more, this time with inquisitiveness. He motioned for Jarult to stand off, which the old man did with his disapproval written on his face. The dark man leaned close to Faroz, so close that his breath ran across the King’s cheek as they spoke. “Do not put on the Ring in company, my King,” he said. “It is a…special thing that my Lord has sent to you, one endowed with many powerful gifts. It would be well if you were to put it on when you were alone.” Faroz leaned back and looked at his friend and nodded wordlessly, now filled with wonder and curiosity. Ashnaz bowed once more and took his leave.

* * *

The King wandered out into the courtyard, and once more his fingers sought out the ring beneath his clothes. He had wondered about it throughout the day, and his friend’s strange words only added to this feeling. He was not surprised that it was more than merely a piece of jewellery, that much had been obvious from the beginning. But the precise nature of the gift remained a tantalising mystery. The King longed to be alone and hidden from the eyes of his people so that he could put on the ring, but he had important business to attend to first. He walked toward the hidden garden where the attendants had said that his general was speaking with his son. What they had to say to one another was not entirely beyond his imagination, for he assumed that they were speaking of Ashnaz and the new responsibility that had been placed upon Siamak. Their manner when he found them, however, was odd, for as he emerged from the shadows it appeared as though Morgôs had just put some question to the Prince that had yet to be answered. The Elf’s manner was unperturbed but his son’s more open countenance flushed instantly. Faroz noted this but betrayed nothing with is own expression. He would have to keep an eye on his son and his general.

“General Morgôs” he said, “I am sorry to intrude but I need to speak with you on a matter of some importance. I am afraid that in my pleasure with the Emissary this day I have neglected to speak with you on the matter of guarding our guests during their stay here.” The unspoken matter of protecting the palace from these guests was left hanging in the air between them.

“Of course, Majesty,” the Elf replied. “I will see to it immediately. Within the hour I will have a squad of my best troops positioned throughout the palace. Would you like me to assign them guard duties to the guest’s quarters?”

Faroz thought for a second before answering. “It might be for the best. But make it clear to our new friends that this is being done for their own protection, and not to constrain their activities. They are to enjoy the full freedom of the palace and the city.” The general nodded. Faroz nodded to his son and then prepared to leave, but then turned back as though thinking of something. “Oh, I just recall that my Queen told me that she saw no guards in her private garden earlier this evening. Perhaps you could see to that? And increase the guard around the Queen herself for the time being.” The general’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, but again he nodded. Faroz departed, but wondered what it was that his son and his general were talking of. Not for the first time in his rule did he wish to remain and yet be unseen.

The night was beginning to advance and the moon, although only a crescent yet, shed a full clear light upon the gardens. The King moved through the complicated paths without paying attention to the paths for he had lived in the palace his whole life and knew its ways intimately. It was with surprise, then, that he found himself outside his wife’s doors for the second time this day. He would have walked off immediately, but as this would have caused even greater wonderment to the guards he indicated instead that they should knock and announce his presence. He was admitted to the Queen’s presence immediately. She had removed her head-dress and other ornaments, but other than that had not yet made ready for bed. She took one look at her husband’s expression and dismissed her attendants briefly. Faroz sat upon some cushions by the balcony.

“I am sorry for how this evening went, my wife. I was not as attentive to you as I should, nor did I give you your full due with the Emissary.” The Queen was visibly taken aback by his manner, and even Faroz was surprised by it. He clutched the ring as he proceeded. “You were quite right about the lack of guards, you know, and I have spoken with General Morgôs of the matter. He has said that you and all your places will be well guarded in the future.” He let the matter rest there.

“Thank you, my husband. But surely you have not come simply to tell me this?”

Faroz smiled mirthlessly. “How well you know me.” And then suddenly he said, “How many years have we been married? Twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four years,” he echoed her quietly. “I will not ask if you have been happy, for I do not think you could answer that question, even if you would do so honestly. I imagine that you have been content, for you are intelligent and adaptable, and have ever sought to help me in my rule. I wanted you to know that I appreciated that.” For a moment it seemed as though he would proceed, but then shaking his head he rose once more and, as though he were taking off a mask he put away the manner that had come over him. “You must forgive me, my wife. The Emissary has put me in an odd mood, and it is late.” He strode to the door and left without another word.

In silence he found his ways through the smaller passages to his own apartments. As soon as he arrived there he dismissed his attendants for the night and put out all the oil lamps in his room. In the dark he removed his finery and put on in their place a simple garment of white cloth that hung about him in loose folds. Taking the ring in his hand he walked out into the moonlight on the balcony. It was one of the few points in the palace that looked out from the walls rather than in toward the courtyard. It stood upon a corner at the highest level of the palace and commanded a full view of the palace grounds to the east of the Palace and, beyond them, the city stretching away into the dark. At this time of night, all that was visible were the faint lights of lamps and candles kept alight by those who watched through the night. Far off, upon the edges of sight, was the slight phosphorescence of the might river, against which he could dimly make out the silhouettes of hundreds of small ships, laden with the cargo of this kingdom. It was in moments such as this that the King felt small, and powerless. His entire world – over which he held sway – lay at his feet, but the immensity of it, the riches that it contained and – most of all – the sea of peoples that filled it overwhelmed him with a sense of his own insignificance. It frightened him that so much would look to him for guidance and control. All eyes were upon him, and all regarded him with a mixture of hope and fear, no matter how tempered with respect or admiration. Faroz had no illusions about the nature of his rule; he was neither beloved as a man nor worshipped as a demigod – that had been his father. He was just a man to his people, a powerful man, a wise man, perhaps, even a good man, but a man just the same: fallible and capable of making mistakes. There were times when he wished for his father’s presence and reputation. He had been regarded by friend and foe alike as a figure of myth more than as a person, and his failings, of which there had been many, were ignored by everyone but for those closest to him. And yet how Faroz longed to enjoy the simple humanity that set him apart from his father’s greatness. He he wished he could, for even a moment, lay aside his mask as the King and sit down to a meal as a man among men. He sighed heavily and leaned against the balustrade for support.

As he put his weight on his hands he became aware once more of the ring. He opened his fist and gazed upon it openly for the first time since that morning. Even in the wan illumination of the moon it seemed to shine with its own lustrous light. Taking it carefully in one hand he held it aloft where the red gem glowed in the starlight like a drop of fresh blood, liquid and beautiful. His own words came back to him: it is a precious gift. “Indeed it is,” he muttered under his breath, and he slipped it onto his finger.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Having bid those guests she was closer to a goodnight, until the next morning when she would see some in the temple, Zamara picked up her staff and rose, and asked one of the servants if he would be able to see to Tayfar and Sedaar. The man bowed respectfully and Zamara smiled her thanks, making her way to great doorway of the palace. Standing in the porch, the priestess hesitated, looking down the cool, stone corridor towards one of the private courtyards where she had talked to Siamak earlier.

"I do not trust this Emissary, and even less the Lord Annatar who sent him. I have no proof on which to base my opinion; it is only a feeling. He has been nothing but courteous and generous since arriving, and my father is certainly taken with him - I found out recently that the two have spent the entire afternoon in each other’s company." The prince had told Zamara something interesting with that, although he might not have noted it at the time. The king certainly was very taken with the Emissary then - but Siamak was right. Maybe they were both judging too quickly, but there was something 'sinister' about the man.

Zamara shivered, rubbing her dark upper arms with her hands and finding them suddenly goose-pimply. Not thinking anything of it, she bid her thanks to the servant as Tayfar and Sedaar greeted her, and together they passed out of the palace. The night air was cool and fresh, with hints of jasmine and sleep dozing lazily in it, and as they passed the palace walls, Zamara took a moment to close her eyes and breath deeply the flowery scent of the night that Rhais blessed the air with. Tipping her head back, she looked up at the stars. The night was clear, as was usual near the desert at this time of year, and the stars, like jewels studding the clothes of Rea, shone and winked down at the Priestess. She smiled lazily, and her gaze drifted up above the palace walls to the apartments of the king and queen. She had not been able to say goodnight to them before she left, as both Bekah and, shortly afterwards, Faroz, had retired from the banquet, taking away the Emissary at the same time. For some reason, Zamara's eyes lingered on the windows of the palace that clear night, and as she watched she saw something extraordinary-

Giving a cry, Zamara took a step sharply backwards, her hands over her mouth and her tinted eyes wide and bewildered. The two acolytes immediately stepped towards her, Tayfar steadying her arm as Sedaar stepped protectively in front of her, looking around for what had caused their Priestess to take fright so. Tayfar hushed her quietly, patting Zamara's bare arm comfortingly as she stared, concerned into the woman's dark eyes, before she followed their path with her own. Zamara immediately looked away, changing the direction of her gaze to the ground before Tayfar could focus on her eyes' target: King Faroz balcony.

"What is wrong, High Priestess? What has stung you?"

'Stung'? The scorpion of my sight, Tayfar, the wasp that bites through the use of tired eyes to confuse the weary wanderer... Zamara blinked several times, hard, and glanced across at Tayfar, laying her own hand on the girl's as she steadied herself and took a deep breath. "Stung? I..I do not know, Tayfar. Some...I do not know, the insects of the night..." She shook her head and winced a little as she put weight on her foot. She hated the pretence, but it worked. Tayfar gave a small concerned noise and glanced sympathetically at the Priestess's feet. "Oh, High Priestess - I will bathe the sting in oil when we return to the temple, to prevent any inflammation. It would hardly do to have your feet swelled up when you visit Her Majesty Queen Bekah tomorrow..."

Zamara remembered the appointment with a start and wondered how this chance sight could affect her - the Queen was a stunningly astute woman especially for an older woman. Surely she would notice if anything came of this by tomorrow - no, it was probably just Zamara's own tired eyes...surely... "No, thank you Tayfar, but I...I think it will be fine. It merely startled me - I am tired."

Tayfar nodded, relief showing in her young eyes and with a few more words, the trio started off once more towards the temple, this time the two acolytes notably staying closer to Zamara's side. But the High Priestess could not help letting her eyes dart fleetingly up to Faroz's balcony for a split second, trying to re-affirm what she had seen: but it was empty now.

To all mortal eyes.

[Firefoot]

Faroz’s arrival in the garden could not have been more timely, in Siamak’s opinion. It gave him a few moments to think, short though they were. He paid minute attention to his father’s exchange with the General - just enough to get the gist of the conversation.

He was torn by the General’s offer, and quite surprised. Morgôs wanted to swear fealty to him? His largest objection was that he did not know if it was really right, being that his father was still king. Should one swear fealty to another who was not king? He could be king, though, someday, and he supposed that changed things. Assuming that it would be right (if not quite proper), having the support of the General of the Pashtian army would be a huge advantage over his sister. He had vowed that his sister and her inept fiancé would not gain the throne, and this would be a step in achieving that goal. He did not entertain the possibility that the General could swear fealty to him yet his sister be named heir. There would be no good in worrying about it. He nodded to himself, his mind made up. He had no other reasonable choice than to accept.

His father left shortly, and the General turned his attention back to the prince. “Well? Do you accept?”

In a voice more steady than he felt, Siamak replied, “I will.” Siamak could see that Morgôs was pleased with the decision. The Elf knelt down on one knee and said, “I, Morgôs, General of the Pashtian army, do so swear fealty and service to Prince Siamak of Pashtia, to support him and to be in alliance with him.”

“And I, Siamak, Prince of Pashtia, do so accept the fealty of General Morgôs of the Pashtian army, and this alliance with him.” The words felt awkward in his mouth, but he did not regret it. He felt a new kind of feeling inside of him, a new insight to the workings of palace life. In the past, he had stayed away from formal alliances with nobles, and a new sense of direction had been awakened in him. In this one night, he had experienced many new things, and the foremost of these was his newfound ability to take matters into his own hands to shape his own future. Being named the heir to the Pashtian throne had become more than a dream; it was a reality.

Morgôs rose, the formalities having been completed, and Siamak said, “I should like to speak with you in greater depth sometime soon, tomorrow or the next day. It is late now, and tomorrow will be busy, I think. We both know that these coming days will tell many things of the future of this country, for better, or for worse.” The last was said quietly, and Siamak felt a feeling of foreboding. If he (and his sister - he could not forget her) chose ill, the entire kingdom of Pashtia could be in shambles. He hoped it was an exaggeration, but feared it was not. The responsibility was crushing, suffocating.

Morgôs nodded in both assent to meet and agreement with Siamak’s statement. “There is much that we might speak of, but, as you say, that is for another day.”

“There is. That will be all, then, for the night?” he asked. The General responded that it was, and Siamak walked with him back out to the courtyard.

“I will look forward to meeting with you again, General,” said Siamak. “Good night.”

“Good night,” replied the General. “Until we speak again.” And so they parted. Siamak entered the palace to head to his quarters for the night, but he was intersected and stopped by the Chamberlain.

“Prince Siamak, the Queen has requested that you and your sister go to speak with her in her quarters mid-morning tomorrow,” said the Chamberlain, relaying the queen’s message. Siamak did not have to wonder what it was that they would talk about - unless he was completely mistaken, it would be the Emissary and their decision.

“Thank you, Chamberlain,” answered Siamak. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Jarult replied, and then hurried off, presumably to find Gjeelea. Siamak continued on to his rooms without further interruption, his mind fully occupied with thoughts of the day. These coming weeks would indeed tell many things of the future, and a certain sense of power that was as yet uncomfortable had come over him with the knowledge that he had the ability to determine the outcome.