Helplessly, she turned away and called to her guardsman.
The lover that occupied Zara’s bedchamber had not been coerced. He had volunteered. The guardsman and his queen had an understanding that he would be the next sacrifice should the army’s attack against the tower fail. That understanding made the intimate hours he shared with his queen all the more intense and passionate.
Zara’s tears stained the silken sheets and pillows. When the guardsman’s energy was spent the queen wrapped her arms around him in a powerful, grief-stricken embrace.
When daylight peeked into her room, the guardsman was dead, a dagger thrust through his heart, his lips parted in a smile bespeaking contentment. His blood splotched the silken sheets and pillows, mixing with Zara’s still moist tears.
The guardsman’s companions entered the bedchamber at Zara’s call to remove his body. The other guardsmen bore no animus toward their queen for what she did. They understood why she had to do the demon-sorcerer’s bidding. If the circumstance called for it any one of the queen’s Imperial Guardsmen would have willingly sacrificed himself to prevent the deaths of innocents.
Zara felt encapsulated in a stifling shell of guilt as she held in her hand the dagger she used to murder a good man. Her advisors had pleaded with her to delegate that horrible task to another. But the burden of actually committing the act was one she was not willing to lay on anyone else’s shoulders. This was her burden—hers alone to carry until she either slew the demon-sorcerer or he slew her.
From inside the tower a peal of cruel laughter broke the morning silence.
“With the help of the One True God, we the Acolytes of Ajahh, will destroy this demon and his followers.” That declaration was made with sound conviction to match the zealous fervor of the black robed, black turbaned figure standing before the queen’s throne. Mamid Mahoj was a lean man with dark eyes that blazed the fire of his faith. He bore the pale complexion and narrow features of the far northern desert peoples. But the Acolytes did not all resemble Mamid. Two of his three officers behind him were as dark as a typical Zanjiian, the third one much lighter than Mamid. The religion of the One True God originated in the north and expanded outward in a wave of conversion.
Zara was not much taken with the Acolyte’s religion and the stringency it demanded. But she was desperate for any kind of assistance to rid her land of the demon-sorcerer.
The queen peered down upon the Acolyte leader from the cushioned perch of her throne. Huge iron plaques engraved with images of Zanjiian gods lined the walls of the throne hall. Zara could only imagine what the Acolytes must have been thinking, surrounded by so many displays of pagan grandeur. Standing next to the upraised platform upon which the throne rested were an assortment of Zanjiian ministers and military officers. Each man regarded the Acolytes with a range of emotions, from hopeful to skeptical to outright hostility.
“How powerful is your god?” Zara asked.
Mamid’s expression hardened even as a softening smile spread across his desert- scoured face. “He is all powerful, your majesty. He created all things...even the creature who plagues your land. As he created so he can smite. Through our actions, on your behalf, the glory of Ajahh will be revealed to all.”
“Name your reward should you succeed.”
“We only ask that you allow us to spread the message of Ajahh throughout your kingdom.”
Zara nodded her acknowledgement and respect. The Acolytes had no desires of the purse or the flesh. Surprising. Perhaps the purity demanded by their single god would indeed gain them victory. “Fair enough.”
Mamid bowed slightly, turned and walked away followed by his officers.
Falufa, the queen’s senior advisor, looked up at Zara when the Acolytes exited the hall. “Your majesty, the Acolytes are not to be trusted. If they defeat that demon, they’ll turn on us and try to bring us to their religion at the point of a sword.”
Zara reclined on her throne cushion. She thought for a moment then grinned. “Falufa, if the Acolytes are successful, they won’t need a sword to bring us to their religion.”
The Acolyte army, one thousand strong, approached the tower of the demon-sorcerer. Half of the Acolytes were on horseback, the other half on foot. All were armed with an assortment of bladed weapons from scimitars, common in the desert lands to straight swords and spears, adopted from peoples the Acolytes had converted . . . or conquered. There were bowmen among the Acolytes, but they were dispersed amid the uncoordinated mass of their brethren.
Mamid rode at the head of the army, mounted on a majestic white steed. He eyed the tower like a big cat eyed prey. His lips moved rapidly in whispered prayer chants to his deity. Then he drew his scimitar and held it up. The blade’s razor edge captured the glint of the sun. “Oh Ajahh, give us the strength to slay the demon! We are your righteous servants!”
The words were barely out of Mamid’s mouth when the ground began to shake. Horses pranced in fright. Men shouted consternation.
Mamid, momentarily distracted by the tremor, redirected his attention on the tower. “Steady, warriors! The demon is trying to frighten us. But his efforts are mere parlor tricks compared to the might of Ajahh!”
Suddenly creatures emerged from the ground less than fifty yards in front of the Acolytes. A mass of enormous, brutally muscled monstrosities with ape-like bodies. Their faces resembled rhinoceroses with bulging insect eyes. The rhino-apes let out a frightful roar, their wide-open mouths revealing rows of block shaped molars more suited to crushing rocks than rending flesh. The rhino-apes wielded massive clubbed weapons with metal spikes sticking out the ends.
The rhino-apes attacked before the Acolytes could recover their wits. Faster than their lumbering appearances suggested, the rhino-apes bounded
