Brother to Lions

The sun set in a blaze of fire across the hills of Kadesh, illuminating the grasslands below in patterns of light and shadow as the burning clouds drifted across the silvering sky. The light fell on the ancient city of Hatara, turning the stone walls to gold and touching the tips of the high towers with points of fiery light, like the points of spears. Eagles circled overhead in the deepening dusk, and drums pounded to drive away the breath of evil, for a king lay dying.

Arnuzana, the War-lord, the Thunder-breaker, lay in his chambers awash in the dying sun, and all knew he would not see it rise again. The wind from the far seas was cool, and it fluttered the curtains and the horsetails that hung from the pillars of the great bed. Age had sunken the flesh on his lean face, leaving behind his narrow mouth and hawk nose like monuments. His eyes were wide-set and dark, almost slitted from many years of squinting through wind and dust. He was a warrior-king, or he had been. Now time and infirmity robbed him of his strength in his last hours.

Servants and slaves clustered in the shadows of the room, but it was only to his three sons that he spoke, his voice ragged and dry as the wastelands of his desert home, far away to the east and the north. He did not speak the complicated, whispering speech of Ashem, but the jagged words of his native tongue.

“When my father lay dying it was in a tent made of horsehides, and he rose as his last breath came and went forth to the hunt. He rode his horse into the wastes and struck down a lion with arrow and spear, and only when it had been brought down did he fall. He died with his hands red with lion blood, and so always I, his son, was named the Brother to Lions.” He licked his thin lips, and a slave came and helped him to drink from a golden cup, wiped carefully at the thinning gray beard.

He looked at his three sons, and shook his head slightly. “I was the only son of my father to live until the day he died, and so there was no blooding to decide who would be chief. My brother Murso had died years before, and my only sister had been born dead.” He nodded. “I have led us to a new land. I have conquered for us a kingdom. I was born the son of a chief in a tent with a dirt floor, and I die a king on silken sheets.”

He smiled, showing his yellowing teeth. “But there is a cost for all things. Because I have made us great and powerful, so more of us have lived. You are all my sons, and you have all survived to see my last day. None of you have died from fever, or hunger, or the arrows of our enemies. In our old days there would be killing among you until only one remained, and that strongest one would become the new chief.”

Arnuzana paused and caught his breath. “I am less than my father, and more at the same time. I would not have my sons kill one another. I would not have you follow me close to the dark world. Yet still, one must be chosen as worthy. War comes from the southlands, and the kingdom of Ashem is weak. So I shall put my throne in the hands of Ezurhad, god of the sky and the fires of lightning.” He beckoned them. “Come close, my sons.”

“Ammuna, my oldest and most gifted son. You are all a father could wish. Hanta, clever beyond your years, wise as no young man is wise. You are already an elder. Zudur, giant among lesser men, greatest warrior of my blood. You shall become a great lord of war.” He coughed and caught his breath. They three young men gathered at his bedside, the slaves and attendants moving back in respect.

The king breathed for a moment, the air rattling inside him, but when he opened his eyes they were sharp and alive. “You must all three swear to abide by this. Tonight you shall go with your horses to the plains east of the city, and there you shall await the dawn tomorrow. When the first light of day touches the sky, then one of your steeds shall cry out in welcome, and thus shall the will of Ezurhad be known. The prince whose horse first answers the sun, he shall be king. Now swear by arrow and by spear that you shall obey this, each of you.”

Ammuna, tall and straight and handsome, bowed his head and touched his breast. “I swear that I shall obey this.” He looked at his brothers as if daring them to defy.

It was known that Hanta, well-learned and sharp-minded, had little faith in any gods. He gave a dark glance, and then he bowed his head as well. “For the final wish of my father, I shall obey, and I do swear.”

They turned to look at Zudur, the youngest of the three, and he towered over the both of them. He was a giant, but a misshapen one. His shoulders were broad, but one was hunched higher than the other, and when he moved, he walked with a limp on a twisted leg. He met their gazes and curled his lip. “I put no faith on gods or portents. Gods do not make kings, only blood can do that.” He looked down at his father, and then he bent and put his huge hand on his fathers shoulder. “But for my father, I will swear as he commands.” He straightened and looked at his brothers. “I will have no man say that I was less than either of you. I too know honor.”

King Arnuzana closed his eyes and breathed, the sound like dirt inside him, as though his bones were breaking loose. “I am pleased, my sons. Thank you. Follow the gods, and you will be guided to the right path, as I was. From darkness, follow the way of light.”

o0o

The king died in the deep of night, his breath slowing and slowing, the rattle in his chest becoming louder until he let out a long, last rush of air and was still. The slaves and servants pressed their faces to the floor, and the three princes bowed their heads as the drummers on the walls and towers beat out the battle call for their dead chief. He had led his people out of the desert and to rulership of a nation, and now he was gone.

The shamans took his body away. They would see he was wrapped in cloths soaked in fine oils and then sewn into a horsehide. In the morning he would be laid upon a bier decked with flowers, and when the sun was high they would call on Ezurhad to bear his spirit away to the land behind the rising sun, the golden pastures on the other side of the winds. Then they would burn him, and his flesh would be consumed and carried away upon the smoke.

By then there would be a new king, and the three princes left the city at midnight with the sickle moon overhead. Each of them rode his finest horse and was accompanied by a single groom on his own light steed. They had agreed that no one else should witness the choice of the gods. It was an oath and a compact to be kept among the sons of the king. Even the grooms were chosen from only among their own people, for no one not of the blood of the Hadad could be favored by Ezurhad the stormfather.

They rode through the eastern gate, past the greening mounds of earth where those who had fought against them when they took the city were heaped and buried. It had been twenty years since the invasion, and only Ammuna, the eldest son, even remembered it. They followed the road that led outward and through the irrigated fields, winding their way beyond the environs of the city until the ground rose and became rougher. They passed sheep and goat pastures now, and there were more trees. As the night waned they made their way through the stony hills and out into the highlands where the horizons vanished into hazy distance, and looking to the east they saw nothing save the shadows that led toward the lands where their race had been born, far away.

They came to a place where the ground was rugged and great stones jutted up from the earth among high grasses, like pillars in some primordial temple. There was a hollow here that looked toward the east without obstruction. Here they would see the sun the moment it touched the horizon, and the choice would be made. Together their grooms withdrew behind them and the three princes sat on their steeds alone, facing the eastern lands. The stars were still a river of silver light overhead, but the east had begun to pale as the day came closer.

The moon was gone, and they said nothing to each other as the sky grew lighter, and the stars began to fade away. The chill that comes before dawn made their steeds shiver and dew gleam on grass and stone. Birds began to sing as the winds shifted and blew across them all, bearing the scent of the sea, far to the north, beyond sight. Somewhere, out in the darkness, a lion called.

The horizon paled, and the sky turned silver, then orange. The first ray of sun blazed at the edge of the world, and then Ammuna’s horse shuddered, stumbled, and collapsed upon the earth. The tall prince leaped free and fell hard to the grass, gasping in shock as his horse stretched out on the grass and vomited forth blood in a torrent.

It was Hanta’s horse who tossed his head and screamed forth as the sky turned to fire, and the middle prince laughed. “It would seem the gods do not favor you, my elder brother.”

Zudur snarled and turned his steed. “I saw you.”

Hanta looked at him, watchful. “Saw what?”

“I saw you jab your steed with a needle hidden in your hand just as the sun rose,” the giant brother said from astride his heavy horse. “Did you poison Ammuna’s beast?”

Hanta smiled. “I poisoned yours as well, but the heavy thing seems to be slower to succumb.”

Zudur felt his steed shift under him, and then he was thrown aside as it crumpled, groaning terribly as it was consumed by the poison inside it. The giant prince fell hard to the grass, his lame leg folding beneath his weight. He looked up at Hanta and showed his teeth. “You will die for this.”

“I will? I will be king by noontide, and neither of you will return from this place.” Hanta turned and looked down at Ammuna. “Have you anything to say to me?”

Ammuna smiled. “I would say the same thing.”

There was a sound of arrows, and the grooms cried out as they were cut down. Their horses screamed and scattered, arrows sticking out of their necks and sides. There was a sound of hooves, and armed men rushed from the dark. Hanta ducked as arrows came for him, and then he spurred his horse to speed. Zudur struggled up and hurled himself back among the rocks, taking cover as humming shafts sought his life.

He heard Ammuna laugh then. “I had planned to kill you both,” he said. “But it seems Hanta has begun the blooding early, though it will not save him.” A knot of men rode off after Hanta’s steed, dust rising in their wake. “It will not save you either, my beast of a brother.”

Zudur shifted back into the shadow between the towering stones, and he drew his sword and held it ready. The horizon was a kingdom of fire, and now there would be blood for the gods.

o0o

They came for him then, two men pressing into the rift between the boulders, while three more rode out to the side. Zudur knew they would try to find a way to come in behind him and strike while he was facing down the men in front. He could not wait for them or he would be pinned in between them, and if he went into the open they would fill him with arrows.

The two came in with their spears held up and ready, thinking they would force him back. Zudur grunted and reached up, ripped a branch from the tree beside him and hurled it at the man on the left. Even one-handed, he threw a branch as thick as a man’s leg, and it struck the soldier and dashed him to the ground. Even as the other man turned and swore an oath, Zudur lunged forward.

He was not fast on his feet with his lame leg, but once he was moving, he was not easy to stop. He dashed the spearpoint aside and seized the man as arrows splintered on the rocks around him. He lifted his opponent off his feet and used him as a shield, feeling the impacts as arrows punched through the scaled armor and buried themselves in flesh. The soldier gasped and twisted, but then he sagged as his lifeblood ran out of him.

Zudur roared and stomped on the other man as he tried to rise; one blow of his twisted leg snapped the soldier’s spine and crushed him to the ground. He screamed and Zudur let him, retreating back into the narrow pass between the rocks as arrows pursued him into the shadows. The sun was rising higher, and more light would be his enemy now.

He heard men coming through the thicket behind him, and he turned and rushed toward the sound. With the corpse held before him as a shield, he could not see his enemies, only hear them in the shadows. He thundered through the scrub brush and twisted trees, snapping off branches as he went, and they shouted when they saw him coming.

A spear slammed into the body, the point emerging red from the corpse’s breastplate just a hair from his red-stained hand where it was knotted on the belt. He hacked through the haft with his sword and then he was among them. He hewed at their forms in the half-light, felt his blade strike home and then hot blood splattered his face.

He hurled the body onto another man, and then he struck at the third soldier and his sword split the edge of his shield and carved a piece from it, the force of the blow driving the man to his knees. He put his foot on the upraised shield and crushed him down to the ground, snapping bones with his full weight.

The last man shoved the corpse aside and struggled to his feet, hand fumbling on the ground for his fallen sword. Zudur reached out and caught him by the front of his armor, scales snapping loose under his grip, and then he just lifted the man and drove his sword into his mouth and through his skull.

They were coming behind him now, and he didn’t know how many men his brother had brought with him. His horse was dead, and none of the small steeds the others had brought with them would carry his weight. Even if he could get to a horse, he would not escape them. More than that, now he was angry.

He heard a new sound behind him then and he turned, sword held ready, and then he saw eyes glowing in the shadows. Something huge moved in the dark, growling, and he saw it was a lion. It was immense, as tall as a man, with a black mane, and it moved with a curious, slow gait. He realized its rear right leg was partly lame, and it limped as it stalked forward. It was a young lion, but he saw scars on its muzzle and heavy limbs. It was a fighter, like him.

Zudur felt no fear, not of this beast. He did not question why it was here. Perhaps it had lain in a hidden hollow among the rocks during the night, and now it rose to the scent of blood. It looked at him and licked its heavy teeth, and he smiled. Unafraid, he turned away and caught up two spears in one hand, a fallen sword in the other, and then he rushed out into the open, moving as fast as he could, filled with fury and the hunger to kill.

He found himself facing a half-circle of six riders, his brother at the center of them. With a roar, Zudur hurled a spear at Ammuna. He threw with such force that as his brother’s horse reared and twisted, the shaft passed cleanly through the animal’s neck and then impaled the man on the next horse, spraying blood into the air like a hot geyser.

And then the lion burst from the shadows behind him, its roar overshadowing even his. It was a blur of golden hide and flashing teeth, and it hurtled upon a rearing horse like a bolt of fire. Claws raked through the tough hide, and he saw the long fangs plunge into the horse’s skull and crush it in a flood of crimson.

Men and animals screamed, and the horses reared and fought to get away. Ammuna’s horse crashed to the earth, blood pouring from its torn throat, and Zudur limped toward his brother as he rolled on the grass, clawing for his sword.

Soldiers rushed him from the sides, and Zudur impaled one on his second spear and ripped him from the saddle. A spear smote on his armor and he turned and cut at the man with his sword, splintering the haft. The horse shied away and Zudur caught the man with a backhand stroke that almost cut him in half, spilling entrails as he slid from the saddle and fell to the ground in a bloody mess.

The lion moved like his shadow, one swipe of a claw ripping a man apart, another tearing the leg from a horse that came too near.

Then Ammuna was on his feet, closing on him with a spear held in his hand, and he drove it in. Zudur tried to dash it aside, but he was slow and it tore along his side, drawing a bright gout of blood. He struck his brother on the helm and iron rang on bronze, denting the bright gilding and sending him reeling away. Zudur clutched his side and staggered back to stand beside the crouching lion, and he gripped his sword fiercely, awaiting the final rush.

o0o

Hanta entered the throne hall with an honor guard of soldiers, men of the old tribes with scaled armor and short bows in the cases at their sides. It was night, and he had spent the day putting his city in order, after a hard morning out-riding the men his brother sent after him. He had told the tale that his brothers had tried to slay him, and the arrow-wound he bore on his left arm was a testament he thanked them for, as it proved his claim. He sent criers through the streets to proclaim that the gods had chosen him as the new king, even as he sent riders out into the grasslands to hunt for his brothers.

Now, as night fell, there was unrest in the city. Zudur carried great weight with the armies, and they disliked any speech against him. Riders were gathering, milling in the streets and squares, working themselves into a fury. They had respect for Ammuna as well, and little for Hanta, and so he knew they would be trouble.

The men guarding him were loyal, he knew that, but the rest of the palace was held by native men of Kadesh, who could hold the fortifications against horsemen. Hanta knew riders could not hurl their strength against high walls. When their father had taken the city, it had been by treachery – men who had detested the old king had opened the gates and let them in, and once inside, they could not be stopped.

He went to the throne and looked at it, remembering his father and feeling a flash of guilt for what he had done. Yet Ammuna had plotted to kill them all the same. If Zudur had not plotted for the throne, then he was a fool, as much a fool as they had always thought he was.

Looking down from the windows, he saw torches moving in the streets, and the sounds of clashing iron rose up to him. Fighting had begun, and he cursed. He seated himself on the throne, feeling uneasy yet defiant. “Vizier. Vizier!” He waited for his father’s chief minister to answer him, but no one did. He looked in the corners of the hall for slaves, but none lurked there, awaiting commands. He felt fear race up his back, and he stood. “Guards!”

A shadow dropped from the gallery above and crashed to the floor hard enough to crack the tiles. Hanta reeled back as he looked on the blood-smeared apparition of his brother Zudur. His armor was rent and torn, blood stained his arms and legs. In one hand he gripped a notched and bloodied sword, in the other he held the head of Ammuna by a fistful of hair. The eldest brother’s dead eyes wept blood tears.

Hanta screamed and Zudur hurled his grisly trophy onto the throne, where it splashed red on the golden silks. The guards saw the giant prince there, blooded and terrible, and some of them turned and fled, crying out that the curse of the gods had come to the throne room. A half-dozen of them, pale and afraid, yet drew their swords and rushed to attack.

Now Hanta saw his misshapen brother in full fury, and it was terrifying. Zudur brushed aside sword-strokes as though they were made with reeds, and his own strokes chopped through armor and bone, spilled men on the floor in wreckage. Blood spattered on the floor and the shining pillars, sizzled when it fell on the oil-flames of the lamps. Zudur made hideous, snarling sounds as he butchered the men, the grunts and roars sounding like a beast.

Something guttered behind him like grinding stones, and Hanta turned and looked into the golden eyes of a lion more massive than any he had ever seen. It limped forward, favoring its back leg – the same leg Zudur favored, and he felt a thrill of superstitious dread run through him like a wound. It looked at him with its eyes both unfeeling and hungry, and he shrank back from it.

He stumbled over a body and fell hard to the bloody floor. He looked up and his brother loomed over him, a red-painted shape of terror. Hanta held up his hands, shielding his face. “Please, please. Our father would not wish you to slay me. The gods will curse you if you spill my blood here in the throne room. I beg you, forgive me and let me live!”

“It shall not be me who spills your blood,” Zudur said, and he stepped away as the lion moved in, its jaws opening, dripping red. Hanta screamed and tried to crawl away, but then his world was all teeth, and he was ripped out of himself.

o0o

Zudur watched the beast devour his brother, and he said a small request that his kindred be welcomed in the afterworld. They had both died in battle, and so the Thunder-Thrower might yet show them favor. Hanta had begged for his life, it was true, but surely the gods would overlook that. He had not been a coward.

He moved wearily, feeling his wounds and the weight of fatigue from his long walk back to the city. He lifted Ammuna’s head from the throne and cast it aside, sat down on the golden seat and stabbed his notched sword into the arm, where it quivered. Now he would be the king of Kadesh, as his father had been before him. He had not chosen it, had not sought it out, but it had come to him.

Guards flooded into the room, with his father’s vizier at their head. The lion roared and stood in front of the throne, and the men drew back, terror on their faces. One by one they bowed, eyes cast downward, until even the chief minister made his obeisance.

Zudur smiled, feeling the pain of his wounds, and he put his hand on the beast as it stretched out at his feet. “Now there is a new king,” he said. “Bring me water and a new sword, and we shall do what must be done.”