The Dark Lord

reclaim the throne, which had been stolen from him by the Wooden King.

'Now, in those days, the Khazar people were ruled by a kagan whose name was Sahul Ziebil and despite his short years, he was very wise. Sahul saw Khusro was a man of honor, with a great heart, and—perhaps—peace might be struck between the two nations. Sahul himself was not without daring and when spring came he sent a strong party of riders to guide the prince, and Shahr-Baraz, to the Roman port of Chersonessos. With them went a letter, for the Khazars and the Eastern Empire long maintained a correspondence, particularly in regards to matters of Persia, their common foe.

'So it was that Prince Khusro and his champion, Shahr-Baraz, came to Constantinople, the city of gold, and met in secret with Emperor Maurice. The Emperor was astonished—he had thought to be meeting a Khazar delegation—not the lost king of Persia! Yet he treated Khusro with honor and as an equal, placing a seat at his side for the young prince. All three realms were exhausted by endless war and longed for peace. Maurice and Chrosoes made a pledge that summer in Constantinople and Maurice sealed the pact with the marriage of his daughter, Maria, to the young prince. An Eastern army, and Maurice's aid, were her dowry. Khusro would yet be king of Persia.'

Shirin stopped speaking, her voice grown hoarse. It had been years since she told such a long story. The crowd of young Romans had grown again and some sailors hung from the rigging to listen. She smiled at Florus and Marcus. 'Your pardon, I am tired and my voice is failing. I will finish the story tomorrow.'

With that she stood and left the circle of faces. In the darkness outside of the lantern light, Florus stopped her, his face shadowed and indistinct. Shirin stiffened, wondering if he would try and overpower her. The iron knife was in her hand, hidden under the robe.

'That was well told,' Florus said gruffly. 'Takes their mind off this cursed voyage. Here.'

Shirin felt something thick and woolen press into her hands and she took the blanket. 'Thank you.'

The centurion mumbled something, then padded off into the darkness on his bare feet. The centurion looked a little bilious in the poor light. Shirin curled up among the crates, glad to lie out under a starry sky, in the open air, the blanket folded under her head as a pillow. Sleep stole over her gently, and for the first time since she woke on the Pride of Cos to a vast rumbling sound, like giants banging on a bronze gong, she slept without nightmares.

—|—

Shirin settled on the deck, at the edge of a rough circle made by Florus' soldiers. Marcus, blushing a little and ignoring the comments of his fellows, passed her a blanket for a cushion. Shirin was a little disappointed the great crowd of soldiers and sailors who listened the previous night were nowhere to be seen. But, really, it didn't matter. The group of young soldiers fed her again and she felt pleasantly full. That was welcome change enough!

'So,' she began, 'Prince Khusro invaded Persia at the head of a Roman army, accompanied not only by his boon companion Shahr-Baraz, but by his father-in-law Emperor Maurice and many other Persian exiles. The Wooden King was not well loved and as Khusro marched against Ctesiphon from the west, many lords who loved his father flocked to his banner. There were battles in the land between the two rivers and Bahram Choban was defeated, his supporters scattered, and Khusro set upon the Peacock Throne, adorned with gold and pearl.

'There was peace too, between Persia and Rome—for Khusro found a new father in Emperor Maurice—and between Persia and the Khazars, who had rendered him such timely aid. Khusro became a great king—he restored order and law to the Persian lands—and he defeated the T'u-chueh who so plagued his father. He was happy with his wives and Empress Maria bore him a son. The wise men of the court named him 'Anushirwan'—he of the great soul. In all things, it seemed the young king would preside over a glorious age of peace.'

Shirin's face darkened, and she stopped, taking a drink from her copper cup. There was a sour taste in her mouth.

'One day, a messenger arrived in haste from the West. The man brought terrible news—Empress Maria's father, Emperor Maurice, had been overthrown and murdered, along with his entire family. A base-born centurion named Phocas seized the Eastern purple. Khusro was outraged—a man he honored as a father was dead—and Maria was distraught. Her own brothers and sisters strangled, her mother hacked to bits on the highway, their heads displayed in the Forum. She demanded Khusro punish the murderer Phocas. He demurred—there was a treaty, an honorable peace... Maria did not care, she wanted vengeance and more, she wanted her son Kavadh- Siroes to sit on her father's throne.'

A stir went through the circle of Romans and Shirin heard them hiss in surprise.

'Yes,' she said softly, 'the boy was heir to the Eastern throne, the grandson of an Emperor, son of the king of kings. In him, by blood, both Persia and the Eastern Empire united. Yet Khusro heeded his advisors, who counseled peace. Shahr-Baraz was first among them, urging his oath brother to abide by the treaty. Phocas, as fate revealed, was a cruel and rapacious man and quite mad. Shahr-Baraz believed the Romans would soon overthrow him. Then, said the Boar, when Phocas was dead—Kavadh-Siroes might be welcomed as Emperor.

'So Khusro waited and watched events in the west, and Maria became angrier and angrier. One day she was walking in the Imperial gardens, which stretch along the Euphrates for miles, filled with every kind of flower and tree and glorious bird, and she found a young man sitting under a tree. He seemed very familiar to her, but he introduced himself as a stranger, and said his name was Rustam. He said he was a priest and he could help her avenge her father's death.'

Shirin took a breath, and made a sign before her, a warding against evil. She looked around at the tense faces of the young soldiers and her face settled into grim lines.

'You are young, but you must know there are gods not spoken of by pious men. There are monstrous powers who act in opposition to the great gods in heaven. The old Greeks called them the Titans. In Persia they name the king of darkness Ahriman. And he is locked in eternal battle with the lord of light, Ormaz. Now this young man speaking to Empress Maria in the garden was a priest of this same Ahriman and a vessel of dark powers. He was not a priest, as you might think of them, but a sorcerer instead.

'Rustam lived in secret in the palace for some time, while Maria accepted his instruction in the dark arts. Khusro at last relented in this matter of the war against Rome—Shahr-Baraz was sent west to raise an army and test the frontier defenses. Heraclius, who had been nothing but the son of a provincial governor, overthrew Phocas. Khusro wrote to the young general, urging him to accept Kavadh-Siroes as his Emperor, as was proper.'

The Khazar woman essayed a small smile, seeing incomprehension on the faces of the soldiers.

'You must understand,' she said, 'that in Persian lands, the king's descent of blood must be pure. The usurpation of Bahram Choban—who was not of the Imperial line—had caused great outrage. Khusro knew this, as he knew his own lineage for thirty generations. For him, to see a base-born man ascend to the Roman throne, when his own son was the rightful ruler, was a grave insult. Heraclius denied the boy's claim and Khusro determined to see Kavadh-Siroes rule on his grandfather's throne.

'Shahr-Baraz smashed the Eastern armies and broke through the frontier like a maddened bull. He drove on to Constantinople, only halted by the Imperial fleet in the straits of the Propontis. Despite his victories, however, Maria was not satisfied. The sorcerer filled her thoughts with poison, and she conspired with the dark man to raise a terrible spirit, a winged shade to cross the leagues to Constantinople and murder Heraclius. Maria did not think the new Emperor any better than the murderer Phocas.

'She and Rustam set about their blasphemous ceremony in secret, in the old River Palace, but they had not counted upon the sudden appearance of Khusro himself, who had been warned trouble was afoot. The ceremony went awry and there was a great fire. Maria perished and Khusro himself was nearly blinded, his face disfigured and burned. Rustam the sorcerer escaped, carrying the king of kings out of the inferno. Then, gasping for breath in the gardens, as pillars and towers shattered in the tremendous heat, Khusro looked upon the face of his rescuer—whom he had never seen before that moment—and saw his long-lost younger brother yet lived.

'Yes, Rustam the sorcerer was the missing prince, Khusro's own brother, who had vanished so long ago. The king of kings was filled with despair and delight in equal turns. No one knows what passed between the two men that night, but thereafter the king of kings possessed a weapon no ruler had ever dared wield—a sorcerer unbounded by conscience or fear of the gods—a dark spirit to do the king's bidding without thought of remorse or mercy. In this way, my friends, the Persians gained a terrible weapon.'

A hiss of breath met Shirin's last words and the soldiers shrank back from her and from the light of the