Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

"I am still yabghu of the People Beyond the Rampart of Heaven," said C'hu-lo in a flat voice. "The pawn, the toy of the Chin, he who is named Shih-kuei is a false Khagan. Men follow him because they are sheep-worse, they are children who cannot tell an ewe from a wolf."

Lord Dahak inclined his head, showing his acceptance of this statement.

"Yet," the sorcerer said, "he commands thirty umen of strong warriors and you barely one. His hands drip with Chin gold, and you must murder and rob in poor villages for your supper. Is this not so?"

C'hu-lo had always accounted himself a sane person, and a sane person did not attack an enemy who could destroy him in an instant, so he held his tongue. The blaze of fury at his heart he held, and contained with his will, and turned it to stoke the old anger that he had kept for the architects of his defeat.

"This… this is so." C'hu-lo accounted himself a strong man, but admitting this thing before the slitted yellow eyes of the corpse-feeder made him feel weak and small. "I did not understand the power that was arrayed against me. It was deftly done, and I cannot admit otherwise."

"You were tricked," Lord Dahak said in a companionable voice. "The agents of the one called P'ei Kiu bribed your chieftains and whispered sweet words in the ears of the clan elders. Chin gold flowed in rivers to those who would acclaim the boy, Shih'kuei, as Khagan of the People. It seemed so reasonable to everyone-all but you, and those true men who rode with you."

C'hu-lo's heart burned with shame, hearing his downfall spoken of so easily. He had ridden with his own men for so long-men who knew never to mention the disaster that had thrown down their war chief from the pinnacle of power and made him a vagabond in the wilderness. Memories flooded into him, so strong that he failed to note the sorcerer had begun speaking to him in the tongue of his own people.

"But they were tired of war, those of the people who live on this side of the rampart." Now Dahak seemed to be musing, thinking over deeds and agonies long gone. "No matter that the people had assailed the very walls of the Chin capital within living memory. No matter that when the people were united they were unstoppable. Even Persia bowed down and paid tribute; even the mighty Rhomanoi sent embassies, begging for help. All of those things, they were forgotten, were they not?"

C'hu-lo looked up and froze, meeting the burning eyes of the sorcerer. Hot words failed on his lips.

"Did it please you, noble C'hu-lo, to take food from the hand of the very man-this one named P'ei Kiu-when he had arranged your shame and downfall? Did the wine taste sweet, when you raised a cup to the honor of the Chin Emperor in his very court?"

The Hun's face blanched, blood draining from his cheeks. He tried to stand, but he could not. The shame of his service in the Chin court, the depth to which he had fallen before he could take no more, burned in his throat and tore at his vitals. C'hu-lo gasped for air, hearing a tremendous rushing of blood in his ears.

"Calm, my friend," the sorcerer said in a lazy voice. "All of these things are past you now. Your long wandering in the wilderness-all these years of mercenary service, drifting from one court to another, always seeking some grain of the honor that you had lost-they are at an end."

C'hu-lo felt the cold touch on his wrist and looked down. Dahak had laid a blade-a curved silver dagger-across the Hun's wrist. It was finely tooled, with the markings of the smiths of Issyk-Kul upon it and a hilt of dark red stone. C'hu-lo knew the blade. He had placed it himself-a remembrance of childhood friendship and lifelong loyalty-in the great tomb of the last true Khagan of his people, Tardu, the noble grandfather of the pustule Shih'kuei. Tears, unbidden, sprang from his eyes and leaked slowly down his cheeks.

"How"-C'hu-lo picked up the dagger and held it in both hands-"the tomb is sealed… I rolled the closing stone myself…"

Dahak smiled and stood. "The tastes of the boy Shih'kuei are lavish, I am told. This came to me from a Rhomanoi merchant, who had it in turn from an Armenian. The tomb was robbed long ago, while you were exiled in Chin lands, and the contents sold or traded for slaves."

C'hu-lo could not move. The enormity of the crime threatened to shatter the world.

"You must gather strength to you, my friend." Dahak paced to the window and looked out, finding the view pleasing. He turned back, looking over his shoulder. "I offer you friendship and men and gold and arms. I, too, have been denied my patrimony. I intend to get it back, and you are a mighty captain. You can help me retrieve what is rightfully mine. We can aid each other."

C'hu-lo looked up, tearing his eyes from the dagger that lay so heavy in his hand. The fury he had struggled for so long to contain was close, close to the surface. It threatened to break free, but he held it back and struggled to force it back into the dark places in the back of his mind.

"What have you lost, thing-in-the-shape-of-a-man? What do you know of dishonor?"

"I know this," Dahak said as he paced back to the table. "I am a man, though I have made a dreadful bargain. My throne has been stolen from me, even as yours has. My brother murdered, my family scattered. All that is mine by right of birth, denied me. But I will not slink away into the darkness, I will fight and I will win. Even as you will. We will both win, and laugh to see our enemies dragged before us in chains."

"What throne…" C'hu-lo stopped, coughing, and cleared his throat. "What throne was yours?"

"My true name," Dahak said, and his face changed subtly, his eyes becoming brown and his skin lightening ever so faintly, the ridges along his skull shrinking, "is Rustam Aparvez. My father was the King of Kings, Hormizd the Fourth. I am the younger brother, now the heir, of the great King Chrosoes, called the Second. Now that he and his son lie dead, I am the last of that line. But I will ascend the Peacock Throne again, and I will rule Persia, even as did my fathers. Even as you will once again rule the T'u-chueh."

C'hu-lo felt a shock run through him, and he knew-suddenly and completely-that this was the truth. The corpse-eater, the lich, the grave-walker that stood before him with those damnable yellow eyes was in truth a king. The Hun stood, his legs still shaky from the shock of seeing the grave-gift of his old friend, and he inclined his head to the dark man.

"I will stand by your side, Persian King, if you will stand by mine. We shall be restored, and our kingdoms whole again."

"Yes," Dahak said, his face serene in victory. "And doom to all our enemies."

Against the wall, the man Arad remained, quiet and still, unable to move. His eyes, though, were filled with pain, though he could not cry out.

The City of Yathrib, Arabia Felix

Kurad, captain of the eastern gate, stood, shading his eyes with his hand. Shouts and the sound of horns had risen from the ranks of the Mekkan besiegers. On the barren plain before the wall, he could see spearmen running from their tents, out on the siege line. He squinted, wishing for younger eyes.

A band of horsemen stormed down out of the dun-colored hills behind the line of the wadi. Fifty or more, riding hard. The Mekkan camps were stirring as the sound of the alarm spread. Men ran to horses, or jogged out from the shade of their tents, spears or bows in their hands, angling to intercept the hard-riding horsemen.

"Captain, what is it?"

Kurad looked aside, seeing the clan-lord Al'Jayan come up at his side.

"I do not know, my lord. A troop of horsemen are trying to ride through the Mekkan lines."

Al'Jayan shaded his brow as well, peering out with his dark eyes over the tumbled rocks and scattered fields that lay between the gray-green walls of the city and the palms and scrubby trees that lined the wadi.