Heir to the Sand (Oas Cycle 2)

One

Languid smoke hung in tatters and wisps around the chamber, belched out by four huge stone dragons that squatted on the floor. Their gaping mouths and slitted eyes glowed red, lit by the braziers in their bellies that burned incense smelling of sandalwood.

Through this fog, the Sen Emperor entered the small chamber, one of the dozen or so intimate throne rooms here in the Inner Court of his seat of power at Chen-gao Palace. All heads in the room bowed before him as he swept past, giving no sign that he noticed anyone or anything -- no disdainful look or contemptuous toss of the head.

He made it clear by his bearing and demeanor that, as far as he was concerned, no one in this room existed until he noticed them.

Emperor Zhao was a thin man, wide of shoulder, narrow of hips. His arms hung low at his sides, flaring into wide, spatulate hands that clenched and unclenched as if deprived of something long ago; something sorely missed. His face was smooth and unpleasantly glossy, with rather bland features and deep-set dark eyes.

He was not a young man anymore, though not yet ancient. He wore his hair long -- as was the custom among Sen aristocrats -- and braided into twin tails that hung nearly to the middle of his back. His beard, too, was long and braided, also forked into two tails that twitched and twittered like snakes upon his silk-clad breast.

Slowly, he walked to his throne, an unprepossessing wooden seat perhaps nine feet tall and intricately carved with idyllic pastoral scenes and a motif of twin dragons, connected mouth to tail.

Gathering the folds of his expansive aquamarine robe, he lowered himself to the seat, pressed his back against the carvings. Silently, he wondered why, of all the throne rooms within the Inner Court, he was brought here.

For a moment, his eyes seemed unfocused. His nostrils flared, breathed in the dense, aromatic fumes.

A full minute passed.

No one stirred, no one spoke, no one coughed or cleared his throat.

Only then did he lift his head, sweep his gaze slowly across the dark room.

"Why have I been disturbed?" he asked in a quiet, controlled voice.

A figure stepped forward, bowed.

Zhao looked down upon the man.

"You may rise."

As the words left the emperor's lips, the man lifted himself.

"Your highness, forgive me, but a visitor has appeared at the Outer Court and demands to have audience with you immediately," intoned the man, whom the Emperor recognized as one of the chamberlains of the public rooms of the palace.

Indifferently, Zhao realized that his inner ministers must have been unsure enough concerning his reaction to this intrusion to allow this lesser official to address him.

"Demand? And am I to be summoned like a common servant to hold talk with any person who drags himself out of the fields or the dockyards and enters the palace?" Zhao intoned, his voice still level and soft.

Instantly, color left the man's face, and he dropped into a bow again.

"No, majesty!" he cried, staying bowed. "The woman was insistent. . ."

"Ahhh, a woman," Zhao replied, his lips curling the slightest bit into what might have been a smile. "Now, we're getting somewhere. Is she toothsome, this woman? A winsome lass straight from churning the butter or milking the cows, set out to bed me, to produce an heir?"

"Sire," the man now whined, his bowed head bobbing like a cork on water. "This woman is a witch."

Zhao drew back in his throne, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

A witch visiting the Inner Palace.

How interesting.

No wonder they have brought me here, he realized.

His own reliquary of magical arcana lay just beyond this room, protected by a massive, barred door and an invisible demon of the Third Level.

"A witch," he breathed. "More interesting by the minute. And who is this witch?"

"Tsien-si," the man whispered. "She is the witch Tsien-si."

The name alone chilled the air.

Not just any witch, but the dreaded Tsien-si, a malignant old crone who had conjured and consorted for no one knew quite how long.

She was said to be among the most powerful of her kind in all of south Ergelion, feared even by the witches of the Eyrie far to the north beyond the Mountains of Guard.

She maintained a ramshackle hut across the Emerald River from Sen, on the outskirts of the Great Morass. She seldom ventured across the river.

Some powerful need, then, must have called her away from her conjurations and necromancies.

"She brings word, lord, of a prophecy that you must hear," the official continued.

Zhao licked his lips, clenched his hands.

Could it be. . . ? he thought.

The prophecy?

In his experience, witches and wizards visited rulers for one of two things.

They had something they thought the ruler might want.

Or the ruler had something they wanted.

Most often it was both.

Either way, it was unwise to ignore or offend a witch.

"Rise," he said absently.

The frightened official shot up, gazed at Zhao with panic-stricken eyes, half-expecting to be executed at any minute.

"Send the witch in," Zhao commanded, then looked directly at the man. "You did the correct thing in finding me immediately. If you had sent her away, I would have had you killed."

The official bowed again, backed fretfully from the small chamber.

A door at the rear opened, and he disappeared through it.

There was more silence, thick and heady, as Zhao waited for the witch to be brought to him. None of the Inner Ministers, their backs against the wall to his right, their faces as flat and impassive as their emperor's, made a sound or offered an observation.

The clacking of footsteps in the corridor alerted him, and Zhao intensified his mien of perpetual disinterest. It was not wise to let a witch read too much on one's face.

The doors again parted, and the official led a tiny, stooped figure into the room.

They approached slowly, so much so that Zhao felt himself frowning before he could stop the expression from flitting across his serene features.

As they grew near, Zhao focused his attention on the witch.

Tsien-si was not much more than four and a half feet tall, so stooped and bent was she. Her face was an alarming mass of wrinkled and puckered flesh, the sad yellow color of a freshly plucked chicken. Scanty clumps of grey hair jutted out from her balding head, which was dotted here and there with liver spots the size of gold coins.

She wore a hooded robe of red spun wool, which seemed several sizes too large for her. Her thick, crabbed hands clutched tight onto a gnarled stick that she used to steady herself as she hobbled toward him.

But her eyes were the most noticeable thing about her. They were wide and milky with cataracts, reflecting the dim light of the room. And where her pupils should have been, there floated two small circles of blood.

Zhao noticed that she was muttering under her breath as she approached, but what she said or whom she spoke to he could not tell.

It definitely wasn't the shaken outer court official who walked slowly by her side. He was too frightened to have paid attention to her even had she been speaking to him.

Finally, the strange pair stood before him.

The official bowed again, looked over and hissed at the old woman to bow.

She did not.

Zhao made no notice of the breach of protocol.

"Rise and depart," he told the man, who quickly did just that.

The emperor turned his full attention now to Tsien-si.

"Witch, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?" he asked.

She uttered a thick sound, which might have been either a laugh or a bark.

"To countless couplings with demons too rank and numerous to name here. To the imbibing of a daily concoction brewed from the menstrual blood of virgins and the droppings of the sweet nightingale. To eating only the choicest portions of a decaying black cat at least once a week. And to smoking the mummified finger of a dead Khutish king no more than once in a moon. These things have ensured that I would be alive to present myself to you here today, emperor," she said in a crackling, strong voice.

Zhao felt himself begin to grit his teeth.

While he considered himself somewhat of a student of the arcane arts, he had no real love for its true masters. Always they loved to talk in riddles and circles that befuddled and confused at least as much as their chicanery.

"Allow me, lady, to rephrase my question. Why have you summoned me?"

At that, the woman cackled, clutching hard onto her stick as she fought to regain her breath.

"Ahh, to see and to hear, emperor. Naught else for us mortals. Only to see and to hear."

"Of course, but to see and hear what?"

"Is that not always the question, highness? Oft we miss the most important things in life whilst we struggle to see and hear the things that make little difference."

"Undoubtedly," Zhao answered, a trifle more terse than he would have wished. "But still, now, here, what would you have me see. . . or hear?"

The crone hobbled a step or two forward, fixing him with the twin spots of blood atop her white eyes.

"I have nothing for you to see, majesty. And, alas, you have nothing I could see for I am blind," she chuckled, thrusting her head forward at him so that he could be sure of getting a good look at her dead eyes.

Against his will, Zhao recoiled somewhat on his throne, which produced another round of cackling and coughing that wracked her small frame.

Now, Zhao was angry. This ancient witch had pierced his thin shell and stirred the yolk within.

"Woman, out with it! I have not all day to be gibed with riddles and nonsense by witches. If there is something you wish, ask and we shall make an end of this," he barked.

For a moment, Tsien-si did nothing but mutter under her breath, looking this way and that.

"I desire something you possess. For the giving of this, I will tell you the secret of a prophecy I learned from the demon who shared my flesh last night," she said simply, awaiting his response. "It is a secret you desire very much to hear. . . or so I am told."

"What is this thing you wish of me in return?"

"A trifle. . . a bauble, nothing more. A small stone of purest lapis, the size of a hen's egg. It was found in the tomb of a Khutish king a thousand years ago and is said to be the eye of a basilisk. This is what I desire. This and nothing more," she said, lifting her head a little coyly to him.

Zhao thought a moment, then remembered the stone. It had come into his possession when he was forced to slay the minor wizard Herpecio on the failure of an important mission. Upon his death, Zhao claimed the wizard's entire grimoire for himself, adding this apparatus to his own collection of paraphernalia and arcana.

He had no use for the blue stone at the time, so he had relegated it to an unused portion of his reliquary, there to gather dust until he could determine its true value.

As far as he knew, it still lay there, nestled in crushed velvet within a small, carved ivory box.

"And for this. . . bauble, this trifle, what would you provide in return?" he asked.

"As I related, emperor, I have information of a most delicate and peculiar sort, relayed to me by the demon whom I satiated with every hole of my body last evening. Pillow talk, as it were, between lovers," she said, smiling a toothless and thoroughly unwholesome smile.

Zhao returned it in his own manner, forcing from his mind the image of this twisted hag locked in sexual congress with some demon.

"And what is this information, Tsien-si?"

The woman cackled, stepped forward, leaned in as if to speak privately to the emperor.

"Ahh, but if I told you now what the great demon Nunchai said to me as he held me in the crook of one of his seven arms then where would be my treasure, eh? Still locked in your vaults while I lay dead here in your Inner Court. No, I will await the bauble. When it is mine, then you shall have your answers," she explained, toying with a loose wisp of her spidery hair.

"So, you do not trust me, the Emperor of all Sen?" he asked in a magisterial tone.

"Take no offense, dread sovereign. I trust nothing in this world and little in the next, save myself. And increasingly there are days when I'm not too sure of my own judgment."

Zhao screwed his face into a mask of frustration.

The witch was powerful. Who knew what she was capable of?

And what of the demon's words. . . ?

"What if I give you this Khutish gem and the words of your demon lover mean little to me? What then?" he asked brusquely.

"Why, then, kill me as you no doubt wish to, anyway. But I think you will benefit from knowing this dire prophecy before it comes to pass."

Zhao allowed himself a small chuckle. "So, now it is not just pillow talk, but prophecy. Does the asking price grow, too, with the telling?"

As if enjoying the joke as well, Tsien-si joined the emperor in light laughter.

"A lover's whisper breathed across a pillow can become prophecy, if the lovers are true and the gods are smiling. A lover's whisper can be a powerful benison. . . or bane," the witch said.

Zhao considered this for a silent moment, breathing deeply the calming balm of the incense.

After a moment, he snapped his finger.

A tall, ascetic man with skin the color of old parchment stepped forward in a swish of silk robes. He bowed his bald head low.

"Majesty."

"Rise and retrieve the item she requests from my reliquary, minister," Zhao commanded.

The man rose silently and left the room.

Tsien-si smiled a rank hole of a smile, leaned heavily upon her twisted stick.

Zhao flicked his gaze through the darkened, fog-filled room, found a pair of flat, dim eyes staring back at him from a far corner.

The man, barely visible, was dressed in black silk from head to toe. Only the thin strip of his face housing his silent eyes was visible.

Zhao inclined his head slightly, as if in silent greeting.

The dark figure made no movement that hinted he had noticed this.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed until the minister returned through a door behind the throne. He bore in his long hands a small box of polished ivory.

Bowing again, he presented this to Zhao.

The emperor waved him away negligently, seated the box on his lap.

With a small movement, he undid the brass clasp that held it shut, opened the box.

Slipping one hand inside, he lifted the stone.

Tsien-si leaned forward eagerly, her mouth moving rapidly around unheard words all the while.

Zhao lifted the stone and, indeed, it was the color of a cloudless sky and the size of a goodly hen's egg.

Seemingly unable to control them, Tsien-si's hands fluttered out before her, as if calling the stone to her.

But it stayed resolutely in Zhao's hands.

"So, woman, what does it do?"

Tsien-si hissed in frustration.

"Naught for you, my king. Without me, it will simply be a blue stone to return to its box and sit on your shelf and the shelves of your heirs, collecting dust," she whined. "Give it to me!"

"And you will vouchsafe the information promised?" he asked, rolling the stone upon his palm.

"Yes, yes!" she snapped, watching the stone roll back and forth as if mesmerized.

Zhao stopped the blue stone, seemed to consider the bargain.

Then, without warning, he negligently tossed the stone to Tsien-si.

The witch gasped, dove to catch it with a spryness that belied her apparent age and physical deformities.

"Mine!" she crowed when it rested safely in her own dry, withered palm. "At last!"

"Now, this prophecy you spoke of," Zhao reminded her.

The dark figure stepped from the shadows.

Something small and metallic glinted in the dim light of the braziers.

"A moment," she said, raising the blue rock to her face as if regarding it.

Then, she pressed its smooth surface against her forehead.

There was no flash of light or puff of smoke or even an unusual sound to mark it, but the stone slipped through the flesh of Tsien-si's skull as if it were nothing more than a will-'o-the-wisp.

Her mouth hung down in a slack-jawed expression of amazement as the stone penetrated her head, seated itself just at the bridge of her nose.

Instantly, the withered skin of her face drew up as if grasped by invisible hands, covered over her own dead eyes, formed a single socket around this new, unblinking orb.

Zhao raised his eyebrows in wonder at the spectacle.

So, this is what it does. . .

Grimacing, she lifted her head back to the emperor, bowed slightly before him.

"It is. . . efficacious, sire," she breathed heavily, her small frame trembling. "I see into all of the Levels now. It is. . . disorienting. . . and wonderful."

"That is good, Tsien-si," he answered politely, not having any true sense of what she meant. "Now, as to our bargain. . ."

The witch turned the stare of her new single eye toward him.

"Listen well, for this is the truth spoken by a demon of the Ninth Level, where the truths of this world are strewn about like gems for the taking," she began.

"The son of a ruler of one of south Ergelion's cities will soon rule over Southern Ergelion and all its cities. He will be king."

Silence reigned in the room again, and this time it was broken by laughter from Zhao.

"Is that it, woman?" he bellowed. "Which son of which ruler?"

"There are so few to choose from, highness. Surely you can solve this riddle on your own, with no further help from me."

"I knew as much on my own. I expected more of a demon of the Ninth Level."

"Mock if you will, emperor. But this knowledge is already cast into reality," she warned, pursing her ancient lips. "You would do well to listen to it. But it is all the same to me. With its utterance, I have paid my balance with you in full. Good day to you!"

She turned to leave.

Zhao flicked his eyes at the dark figure.

"I say that your information is worthless and the payment is hereby refused!" he yelled. "Since the stone has been taken into your body, your very life is forfeit."

The dark figure moved quickly.

A flash of metal zipped through the room.

Tsien-si made no movement to acknowledge it or avoid it.

The serrated disc passed through her form as if it were water, sank halfway into the soft wood of Zhao's throne.

Zhao recoiled in horror from the shak, tumbled out of his throne.

"Hah!" the crone laughed, her figure already beginning to fade. "Do you think I have lived for centuries by trusting kings or putting my physical body in jeopardy? I no more trusted you than you trusted me, Emperor of All Sen!" came her voice, sounding increasingly disembodied.

"But I have what I came for, so I will tell you the rest of the prophecy, for, lo! There is nothing you can do to avoid it. The prince you seek can neither be harmed nor killed by you nor any of your agents. Nor can you hope for his death before yours!

"This prince will rule all of south Ergelion, and there is nothing that you can do to thwart him! Retain your title while you can!"

And with that, the stooped little figure swirled into the incense smoke that filled the room, disappeared.

The black-clad assassin stepped forward, bowed.

Shaking with rage, Zhao looked over to the razor-sharp shak stuck into his throne.

"Rise, Lo-tun," Zhao whispered.

The assassin rose smoothly, faced the angry emperor.

"Did you hear the words of that witch?" he demanded.

"Yes, sire."

"What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Lo-tun's eyes narrowed as he considered his next words. Already, his life was forfeit for his failure to kill the witch. The wrong word now could ensure that his death would be long and painful.

"If she is to be believed, sire, this prince presents a threat to your continued rule," the assassin said thoughtfully.

Zhao smiled, nodded at the bland obviousness of what the man had said.

"This witch's words have disturbed me. Do you know how I wish you to restore my equilibrium?" Zhao asked.

The man thought about this for a second.

"Yes, sire. Where should I go first?"

Zhao considered this for a moment.

The witch had been right. There were so few rulers with children in southern Ergelion. It had to be one of only three or four of the brats.

"Go first to Oas. There, the newly minted Sultan has a wife who is soon to deliver a prince to him."

"It is already accomplished."

"Good. Take whatever you need and be swift," Zhao ordered, taking his seat, careful not to catch the fabric of his robe on the blade of the shak.

The assassin bowed again, swept from the room.

"Let us put the crone's words to the test," he said to himself. "I may not harm or kill this unknown whelp, but mayhap I can warp this prophecy to my own means once I find him."

Copyright © 1998 by John F.D. Taff