David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

Chorin-Tsu bowed to his countryman. 'May the Lords of High Heaven grant you blessings,' said Chorin-Tsu, speaking in Chiatze.

'It is unseemly and discourteous to use a foreign language in the Royal Chambers,' admonished Garen-Tsen, in the Southern tongue. Chorin-Tsu bowed once more. Garen-Tsen's long fingers tapped at the second knuckle of his right hand. Then he folded his arms, his index finger touching his bicep. Chorin-Tsu read the sign language: Do what is required and you will live!

'My apologies, Lord,' said Chorin-Tsu. 'Forgive your humble servant.' Bringing his hands together he bowed even lower than before, touching his thumbs to his chin.

'Your skills are needed here, Master Embalmer. No-one else will enter this room until you have completed your. . craft. You understand?'

'Of course, Lord.' The guardsmen placed Chorin-Tsu's trunk by the door. Garen-Tsen opened the door just wide enough for the elderly Chiatze to enter, dragging the trunk behind him.

Chorin-Tsu heard the door close behind him, then gazed around the apartments. The rugs were of the finest Chiatze silk, as were the hangings around the royal bed. The bed itself had been exquisitely carved, then gilded. Every item in the room spoke of riches and the extremes of wealth only monarchs could afford.

Even the corpse..

She was hanging by her arms from golden chains attached to rings in the ceiling above the bed, and blood had drenched the sheets below her. Chorin-Tsu had seen the Queen only twice before — once during the parade at her wedding, and then, two weeks ago, when the Fellowship Games began. In her new role as Bokat, Goddess of Wisdom, she had blessed the opening ceremony. Chorin-Tsu had seen her closely then. Her eyes had seemed vacant, and she slurred the words of the Blessing. Now he moved to a chair and sat, staring at the still body.

The old man sighed. Just as at the Games Ceremony, the Queen was wearing the Helm of Bokat, a golden headpiece with flaring wings and long cheek-guards. Chorin-Tsu was not well versed in Gothir myths, but he knew enough. Bokat was the wife of Missael, the God of War. Their son, Caales, future Lord of Battle, sprang fully grown from his mother's belly.

But that was not the myth that inspired this insanity. No. Bokat had been captured by the enemy. The Gods of the Gothir had gone to war, the world burning from the flame arrows of Missael. Bokat had been taken by one of the other gods, and hung from chains outside the Magical City. Her husband, Missael, was warned that if he attacked she would be the first slain. He had taken his bow and shot her through the heart, then he and his companions rushed forward, scaling the walls and slaying all within. When the battle was over he drew the arrow from his wife's breast, and kissed the wound. It healed instantly and she awoke, and took him in her arms.

Here in this room someone had tried to duplicate the myth. The blood-covered arrow was lying on the floor. Wearily Chorin-Tsu climbed to the bed, loosening the bolts that held the golden chains to the slender wrists of the dead Queen. The body fell to the bed, the helm rolling clear and striking the floor with a dull clang. The Queen's blond hair fell free, and Chorin-Tsu noticed that the roots were a dull, mousy brown.

Garen-Tsen entered, and the two men spoke in sign.

'The God-King tried to save her. When the bleeding would not stop he panicked and sent for the Royal Physician.'

'There is blood everywhere,' said Chorin-Tsu. 'I cannot perform my arts upon her in these conditions.'

'You must! No-one will be allowed to know of this. .' Garen-Tsen's fingers hesitated. . 'this stupidity.'

'The physician is dead, then?'

'Yes.'

'As I will be when my work is done.'

'No. I have arranged for you to be smuggled from the palace. You will flee to the south and Dros Delnoch.'

'I thank you, Garen-Tsen.'

'I will have a chest left outside these apartments. Place all the. . soiled linen within it.' 'How long will you need to prepare her?' he concluded, aloud.

'Three hours, perhaps more.'

'I shall return then.'

The Minister left the room and Chorin-Tsu sighed. The man had lied to him; there would be no escape to the south. Putting the thought from his mind, Chorin-Tsu moved to the trunk by the door and began to remove the jars of embalming fluid, the cutters and the scrapers, setting them out neatly on a table by the bed.

A gilded panel at the rear of the apartment slid open. Chorin-Tsu dropped to his knees, averting his gaze — but not before he had seen the gold paint on the royal face, and the dried blood on his lips from when he had kissed the wound on his wife's breast.

'I shall awaken her now,' said the God-King. Moving to the body he knelt and pressed his lips to hers. 'Come to me, sister-wife. Open your eyes, Goddess of the Dead. Come to me, I command you!'

Chorin-Tsu remained on his knees, eyes closed. 'I command you!' shouted the God-King. Then he began to weep and for long moments the sobbing continued. 'Ah,' he said suddenly. 'She is teasing me, she is pretending to be dead. Who are you?'

Chorin-Tsu jerked as he realized the King was addressing him. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the face of madness. The blue eyes shone brightly within the mask of gold; they were friendly, and gentle. Chorin-Tsu took a long slow breath. 'I am the Royal Embalmer, sire,' he said.

'Your eyes are slanted, but you are not Nadir. Your skin is gold, like my friend, Garen. Are you Chiatze?'

'I am, sire.'

'Do they worship me there? In your homeland?'

'I have lived here for forty-two years, sire. Sadly, I do not receive news from my homeland.'

'Come, talk to me. Sit here on the bed.'

Chorin-Tsu rose, his dark eyes focusing on the young God-King. He was of medium build and slender, much like his sister. His hair was dyed gold, and his skin was painted the same colour. His eyes were a remarkable blue. 'Why is she not waking? I have commanded it.'

'I fear, sire, that the Queen has. . moved to her second realm.'

'Second? Oh I see, Goddess of Wisdom, Queen of the Dead. Do you think so? When will she come back?'

'How could any mortal man predict such a happening, sire? The gods are far above mere mortals like myself.'

'I suppose that we are. I think you are correct in your assumption, Embalmer. She is ruling the dead now. I expect she will be happy. A lot of our friends are there to serve her. Many, many. Do you think that's why I sent them all there? Of course it was. I knew Bokat would return to the dead, and I sent lots of her friends ahead to welcome her. I only pretended to be angry with them.' He smiled happily and clapped his hands. 'What is this for?' he asked, lifting a long, brass instrument with a forked end.

'It is an. . aid to me, sire, in my work. It helps to. . make the object of my attentions remain beautiful always.'

'I see. It is very sharp, and wickedly hooked. And why all the knives and scrapers?'

'The dead have little use for their internal organs, sire. They putrefy. For a body to remain beautiful they must be removed.' The God-King stood and wandered to where Chorin-Tsu's chest stood open by the door. He peered inside, then lifted out a glass jar in which were stored many sets of crystal eyes.

'I think I shall leave you to your craft, Master Em-balmer,' he said brightly. 'I have many matters to attend to. There are so many of Bokat's friends who will want to follow her. I must prepare their names.'

Chorin-Tsu bowed deeply, and said nothing.

Sieben was wrong. When Majon broached the subject of the prophecy with Druss, there was no immediate refusal. The Drenai warrior listened, his face impassive, his cold, pale eyes expressionless. As the ambassador concluded, Druss rose from his chair. 'I'll think on it,' he said.