"Wait!" Dahak stepped closer again, and Khadames could see that there was the seeming of honesty in that face. "I mean no disrespect, my lord. You are bereft of a wife and these young women- our most precious possession- are desperately in need of a husband to defend their patrimony. All that they stand to inherit, you built in the name of Chosroes. Without your strong arm, he was nothing, a penniless refugee in a foreign land. Defend his name, his house, his family. Take his daughters as your wives and honor them. In your household, no harm will come to them."
Dahak paused, searching for words. Khadames made to speak, his voice hot, but the man at his side made a slight motion with his hand and the general subsided. The big man waited.
"At one stroke," said the sorcerer, his words and stance free of guile, "you restore Persia. If you do this thing, then there will be no war among the spabahadan. No one will dare resist you. One choice and all that is now lost is regained."
Khadames expected the big man to turn on his heel and leave, but the dark-cloaked figure remained. The moment stretched and the general felt a strange silent tension grow in the air. The man at his side seemed to be bending his will upon the sorcerer and, as grains slipped past, the Lord Dahak seemed to shrink and become less.
"Yours was royal blood," said the big man after a long time. His tone was sour. "You were their uncle, a long time ago. Would you drive them to the market to be auctioned to the highest bidder?"
"Is that not the way things have always been?" The sorcerer's voice was equally bitter. "Each of us pays a steep price for what we desire. You, of all of us, have sacrificed the most for Persia. Now the time of your reward has come- the foundation of a strong new dynasty, a crown of gold, peace at long last."
The big man stirred, raising a scarred hand to smooth down the thick, tusk-like mustaches. Khadames swallowed, sensing that his old friend was now seriously considering the situation.
"There will be no war with Rome," said the big man, at last. "We shall bide our time. Too many have died in the service of Empress Maria's revenge. The people must have a reprieve, harvest must be gathered, earthworks repaired, order restored in our own house, the borders strengthened. I have heard that the Huns grow bold."
Dahak bowed in obedience, his arm sweeping out. "As you command, O King of Kings."
The big man laughed at that, a huge booming sound like a temple bell ringing.
"King of Kings! I had not thought to hear that:"
The sorcerer smiled, seemingly genuine. He knelt on the hexagonal slabs that covered the floor, and the Sixteen knelt as well. Even the brown-skinned man in the beast mask knelt.
"Hail the Light of the World, Shahr-Baraz, the Mighty Boar, King of Kings, shahhanshah of Persia. Hail!"
The words rolled around the chamber and then died away. Shahr-Baraz tugged at his mustaches, looking down upon the sorcerer and his minions with interest. Khadames scratched the back of his head, unable to speak. The world was turning upside down.
The Boar turned to his old friend and grinned, his big white teeth gleaming in the torchlight.
"Well," he said, his voice bubbling with merriment. "The mule of fate kicks like a very devil, does it not? Come, old friend, I must send a message to my men in the hills lest they think that I have been taken captive."
"You have men in the hills?" Khadames' eyebrows rose in dismay. His patrols had been tasked to quarter every copse, valley, and draw for twenty miles in all directions for possible enemies. The gathering of strength to the twin Empresses would gain the attention of many enemies. "How many?"
Shahr-Baraz squinted and counted on his fingers. At last, he smiled and held up both hands.
"More than ten thousand. All of my Immortals who made it out of Kerenos River and whoever we picked up on the way home."
"Ten thousand? The Immortals?" Khadames sputtered in astonishment. His scout commanders would feel the lash on their backs if this were true. "Where are they?"
"Here and there," shrugged Shahr-Baraz. "Many are in the camps just outside the city." He wagged a finger at Khadames. "Your lookouts and scouts are spending too much time looking for armies of men. We trickled in ten and twenty at a time, all hidden in the cavalcade of petitioners, jumped-up provincial governors, and second sons who have been flocking here."
Khadames sighed. At least he wouldn't have to bear the burden of command any longer. Just having his old commander at his side made him feel relieved. The Boar turned back to the sorcerer, who had stood silently, his hands hidden in his cloak.
"Let us leave this noisome pit," said Shahr-Baraz. "Let us go up and speak with these Empresses and see about the business of a wedding."
Dahak bowed again, smiling. "As you say, O King of Kings."
Near Ottaviano, Southern Latium
Long shadows fell across the ashy gray surface of the Via. Men in plumed helmets, brassy armor, and dull red cloaks rode slowly, their eyes searching the fields on either side of the road. The sun was dim, shrouded by a thick brown haze in the sky. With each step, the horses' hooves raised little clouds of fine gray-black dust. Tiny flakes of ash drifted down from the sky in a constant slow fall like snow. Charred trees jutted from the fields like black posts. The hedgerows and low fieldstone walls were scorched or burned down to the roots. Nothing moved in the dead land save for the party of soldiers on the road.
Amid the red cloaks, Anastasia rode on a brown mare, her face veiled and a hooded robe pulled over her head. Her violet eyes, dark with exhaustion, stared blankly out at the wasteland. She was covered head to toe in dark russet with black edging. The silk over her mouth and nose was already thick with ash. Her escort trotted along at a steady pace.
A cluster of bodies appeared at the side of the road, scattered like fallen logs at the entrance to an estate. All that remained were lumps on the ground, covered with ash, and a burned and twisted hand reaching for the sky. It seemed that they had sought shelter in the arch of the gateway to the villa, though against the firestorm that had swept over them, it had been no protection at all. The Duchess had seen hundreds of these pitiful scenes. Farther from the mountain, there had been whole villages of the dead, only lightly touched by fire. From what she could see, there had been some poison in the air that followed the burning. It seeped into cellars and basements, killing those who had taken shelter there. Nothing was spared, not the birds in the trees or the snakes in the brush beside the road.
The search party clopped into a crossroads town. The buildings were gutted, ripped by fire and buried in drifts of ash. The roof of one building- a public stable by the look- had been smashed in. Anastasia had seen that before too, though it was becoming more common the farther south they went. Great burning stones had been flung from the mountain and had fallen far afield. Two days before she had read a dispatch from the commander of the Imperial fleet base at Misenum. It had been the first report to reach Rome.
In an unsteady hand, on parchment that still reeked of sulfur, the tribune had written:: the cloud was rising from a mountain- at such a distance and in the darkness we couldn't tell which, but afterward learned that it was Vesuvius. I can best describe its shape by likening it to a pine tree. It rose into the sky on a very long «trunk» from which spread some " branches." I imagine it had been raised by a sudden blast, which then weakened, leaving the cloud unsupported so that its own weight caused it to spread sideways. Some of the cloud was glowing like an ember in a fire, in other parts there was only darkness.
The legate (Tacinus Marcus Liva) ordered a boat made ready to investigate. I heard that a cousin of his lived on the slope of the mountain and he feared for her safety. He launched the quadriremes and embarked himself, a source of aid for more people than just Rectina (the cousin), for that delightful shore was a populous one. He hurried to a place from which others were fleeing, and held his course directly into danger. Was he afraid? It seems not, as he kept up a continuous observation of the various movements and shapes of that evil cloud, dictating what he saw.