Always a shrewd judge of character, Asima had early formed a favourable opinion of this small, hawk-like man. While he was utterly loyal to Pelasia and his satrap, he was a man of reason, with a remarkably light sense of humour and a kindness of spirit that his master lacked. Her eyes locked on him, she quickly and quietly descended the staircase.
Instinctively, as she reached the bottom of the sweeping stairs, her gait dropped into a sweeping, ladylike manner and she flicked her hair back just as Jhraman turned to see her.
“Asima” he smiled. “You are looking as glorious and radiant as the daughter of the sun just as you always do.”
“Master Jhraman” she replied lowering her eyes while flicking her lashes dangerously. “Thank you for your kind words. I believe the satrap has requested my presence? You require so many men to escort me?”
The vizier gave a tight laugh. Something in his manner warned her not to play too many games with him today.
“Hardly, Asima. The news will be circulating soon enough, I am sure but, sadly, I must inform you that governor Talus hanged himself last night.”
In a testament to her iron composure, Asima barely blinked, though her mind raced through many avenues before arriving at a conclusion she daren’t voice. Instead, she feigned shock.
“But why?”
Jhraman shook his head.
“The reason is immaterial. Regardless, he is being cut down and will be taken to a place of burial today with appropriate honours. Sadly, this means that his guard are no longer appropriate here and are being deported back to Imperial territory.”
Asima nodded sagely. Whatever the satrap would secretly have liked to do with the white-clad Imperial guardsmen, he would not dare risk it. Even with the Empire in chaos as it was said to be, Ma’ahd would not push his luck any further. The Emperor had abandoned M’Dahz, but these soldiers were citizens from the north.
Likely their presence in M’Dahz was an ongoing impediment to the satrap. Perhaps that was even the reason Ma’ahd had had the governor take his own life? She blinked as she realised the implications of all of this. No governor meant no guards, but it also meant no sanctuary; no protection. The satrap’s men were here because they were commandeering the mansion. They would then eject the occupants at the very best. At the worst…
That just did not bear thinking about.
She frowned at the vizier.
“May I enquire as to why the satrap has sent for me?”
Jhraman shook his head and sighed.
“I believe your father mistook the request I made. You are not to present yourself to him, child, but to me.”
An alarm went off deep inside Asima, but she maintained her composure, her frown still aimed at the small man before her.
“Master Jhraman?”
The vizier cast his eyes back and forth furtively. They were practically alone, with the few soldiers nearby busy and at the edge of earshot.
“His Majestic and Imperial Highness, the God-King himself is, I fear, displeased with the manner in which the satrap has conducted this affair. I have advised my master that a gift, or donation, to an appropriate value will buy the satrap his majesty’s support for the coming year.”
“I am to be a gift?”
Asima mentally chided herself. Such an outburst was hardly productive, and she had almost shrieked like a fishwife. Several of the guards glanced in their direction and she blanched at the look of displeasure in the vizier’s face.
“Be quiet and calm, child, or I shall have to discipline you.”
His shoulders relaxed a little as the guards went about their business once more.
“His majesty is a good man with a strong appetite for… healthy young women” he concluded, colour rising in his swarthy cheeks.
Asima blinked.
“You mean…”
“Yes,” the man replied with an embarrassed smile. “You and three other young ladies of my choosing will be sent to Akkad, to the harem of the God-King. By Pelasian law no girl of less than thirteen years of age may be taken to a man’s bed, but rest assured that it will take at least two years for you to learn the ways of the court.”
Asima found she was shaking her head.
“You have no choice in the matter, Asima. Accept it and be pleased. Whatever you may think of this now, be assured it is a good thing. You will be taken from this barren cesspool and to a place of unimaginable wonders and delights.”
He smiled a very genuine and warm smile.
“And your father, being the father of someone so potentially important, will be well looked after. I will see to it myself.”
Asima stared at the man before her.
“When do I leave?” she asked in a small voice.
Jhraman pursed his lips.
“Tonight. Take a few hours to say your farewells and gather anything of personal value. Travel light though, as many of your things will be inappropriate and, upon you arrival, you may be made to discard them. An hour before sunset a caravan will leave, accompanied by cataphracti and soldiers. The journey will take many days but, with the consignment being so delicate and valuable, you will travel only in the late afternoon and evening time and early in the morning, when the sun is still cool. Pelasian way stations will shelter you for the nights.”
Asima found she was shaking her head again, thought not in denial. Already, her lightning mind was racing ahead, planning the coming days. She would not be alone. Three others, who would very likely all be beauties and probably wealthier and higher-born than her. But they would not be as bright or as cunning. By the time the caravan reached Akkad, they would be to her as crows are to eagles. She must be, as her father used to say, ‘the best thing on the menu’.
Akkad had best prepare itself. The Pelasian capital held many of the great wonders, but it had never tried to contain someone like Asima.
In which childhood ends
Samir sat by the low table in the common room of what he used to think of as their family home.
“I couldn’t find her, Ghassan.”
The taller of the two boys shrugged.
“That’s probably a good thing, brother. I want to remember her as she used to be, not as how the jackals and buzzards have left her.”
“She needs to be buried.”
Ghassan’s brow furrowed and his eyes took on a hard edge.
“She needs to be avenged, Samir, not buried.”
Samir sighed.
“Vengeance is hollow, brother. Survival is important. That is the lesson she taught us; the last lesson.”
The two lapsed into silence for a moment. Something here felt wrong. It had been days since the horrors that had ended their mother’s life and any hope for a free M’Dahz. The dynamic between the brothers felt strained and odd. Their whole life there had been a third person. Oh there had been occasions when the two brothers had been alone, for certain, but not for a length of time, and never with important decisions to be made. Their father had been there, and then their mother, and uncle Faraj, and even Asima. But now they were utterly alone.
“Do you think Asima will return?”
Samir blinked at his brother’s question.
“Would you?” He sighed. “No, Asima will not return to M’Dahz. The important question, and the one that we seem to continually dance around, is what we should do now.”
Another uncomfortable silence followed as the brothers met each other’s gaze.
Since the deaths, the boys had grieved in their own way, and subtle changes were now evident in Ghassan, who had become quieter and more serious than Samir had even known him and his eyes held an iron resolve that worried his brother. Samir swallowed nervously. This had to play out exactly right.
“Whatever we do, we will need to do it soon, Samir. The supply of food is dwindling and we will not be able to afford to eat in a few days. I have no intention of surviving the invasion and the horrors of Ma’ahd’s reign just to die of starvation in a back alley.”