Chapter Two
Zazesspur: Through the Eyes of a Child
The calishite caravan
was pulled into a tight circle. The fluttering and uncertain light
of the campfires within contrasted sharply with the silvery light of the
huge desert moon which hung low above the horizon, making the area within
the caravan circle seem even darker than that without.
A nervous little man,
dressed in expensive finery and flanked by four men-at-arms, sat huddled
over a small glowing campfire. Seated directly across from him was
an old woman, dressed in rags and eating voraciously from the bowl she
held protectively in her lap.
The man watched for
a time, disgusted by the woman's growling and smacking, as she consumed
the stew he had given her.
At length she finished,
and with a grin held out her bowl for more.
"Not yet," said the
merchant. "It isn't good for the digestive system to overindulge.
Let's talk for a while, and if I like what you have to say, you may recieve
more."
The old woman cackled.
"You want to know about the demon, eh? Well, I might have a story
or two."
"I want more than
stories, old woman. Everyone has heard stories."
She cackled again.
"I've seen him. Not once but twice. These old eyes of mine
know what he looks like. Now there's a story I'll wager you haven't
heard yet!"
The merchant leaned
forward eagerly. "Tell me!"
"The first time was
the night before Castle Tethyr fell. I may be the only survivor of
that place. Oh, and the child too - one of the prince's bastards.
That was the reason I left that night, to take the child to safety.
Lucky for me I did. If I hadn't I would no doubt have perished the
following day."
"The Viper!" broke
in the merchant angrily. "Tell me of the Viper!"
"He met with the prince
that evening. I don't know why. I saw him leaving the prince's
quarters. He was dressed as a royal guardsman, but I knew it was
him. I only saw him for a second, but there was something in the
way he moved, something that spoke of danger. He saw me."
"What did you do?"
"What did I do?"
The woman laughed. "I bundled the child up and got out of there as
quickly as I could. I had intended to take the child to the druids,
but the next day Castle Tethyr fell and the the mobs rose. You remember
what it was like? I knew my life would be forfeit if anyone found
out who the child was. Even now, four years later, they hunt down
and execute those rumored to be even remotely related to the royal family.
And there I was with the prince's son in my arms!
"I dumped the brat
with the first old couple that would take him." She reflected.
"They seemed kindly enough, though they might've been planning to sacrifice
the child in some bizarre ceremony, for all I knew. I didn't really
care one way or the other by that point. Much longer, and I'd have
left the child by the roadside to die."
"Devils fly off with
your high-born child!" sputtered the merchant. "I asked about the
Viper! If he saw you, why would he have let you live?"
The old woman shrugged.
"Who knows what goes through the mind of such a one?"
The merchant shook
his head in disgust. "I'm sorry I wasted my stew on you, old woman.
Your concocted story does me no good. How can you even be certain
it was the Viper you saw?"
A craftly look passed
over her face. "I wasn't, until yesterday, when I saw him a second
time. But if you've no wish to hear my tale-"
"Sit!" barked the
merchant as she started to rise. "Tell me, and if your story rings
true, you will be rewarded."
The old woman smiled
and sat again. "It was at that last hamlet. I saw something.
A man, dressed like one of them." She jerked a thumb towards the
four men-at-arms. "I heard him cry out from a back alley. I
only stopped for a moment, to look in. I was afraid the demon might
see me."
The merchant looked
unconvinced. "One of my men? But that's impossible."
Instinctively he glanced up at them. "None of my men are missing."
The old woman shrugged.
"I didn't say he was one of your men. I only said he was dressed
like one of your men. And from the brief glance I stole before hurrying
on, he was being tortured by the Viper."
"Then you saw him?
You saw his face?"
She nodded.
"It was the same man I saw that night in the palace."
"What did he look
like?"
She shrugged
"Ordinary. Nondescript. Average. The only feature that
stood out were his eyes. He had the eyes of a demon!"
The merchant frowned.
"It might have been the Viper," he said doubtfully. "It might have
been him. But why me? I am not important. I have few
enemies. why would the Viper be after me?" He glanced up to
his guardsmen. "Did any of you talk to the man she-"
Only one of the four
still stood the other three were lying in their own blood.
"Gods!" shrieked the
old woman, bolting back from the fire instinctively, not yet aware that
she was already dead. One of the assassin's daggers was planted in
her left eye, the hilt protruding slightly.
"Wha-!" began the
merchant as he scrambled backwards in a movement that saved his life as
the dagger meant to take his life merely took off his right ear.
The assassin frowned
at the man's incredible luck, then stepped forward slowly. There
was no reason to hurry. "It's the walk," he said, almost conversationally.
The merchant was dumbfounded.
"The walk," the assassin
repeated again. "Every person has a way of walking that is entirely
unique to that person. Once you've mastered a person's walk, it becomes
quite a simple matter to emulate their mannerisms. You hardly need
any other form of disguise. Watch."
For a moment the assassin
was gone; the guardsman had returned. So perfect was the impression
that even though the merchant knew that the man who stood before him was
no guardsman he was fooled, just for a second.
"You see?" asked the
assassin, back again. And the merchant did.
"Please," he moaned,
clutching his mangled ear, "I want to make a deal!"
"Oh?' A sword
came into the assassin's hand. The point nudged the merchant's throat.
"I'm listening. Who do you want me to kill?"
"I.. I'm willing to
pay!"
The assassin nodded.
"You will pay. My services are very expensive, but my work is absolutely
guaranteed. I never miss. Who do you want me to kill?"
The merchant was weeping
softly. "I don't want anyone killed! I'll pay you whatever
you want if you will only spare my life!"
The assassin smiled.
His sword darted forward, taking the merchant through the heart.
The merchant looked
down at his wound in shock and amazement, then looked dumbly up at his
killer.
The assassin shrugged.
"I am in the business of assassinations. I don't intend to let a
perfectly good contract go unfulfilled."
The merchant's eyes
glazed as he died.
* * *
Joram and Hyullis never
asked where the child came from, and the nursemaid never volunteered the
information. It was a troubled time; questions were dangerous.
The old couple never even asked the nursemaid's name. The child was
enough.
They named him Athos.
The old couple had
never been able to have children. To them, the infant represented
a second chance at the family they had hoped for in earlier years.
And they were certainly
good parents, gentle and kind. Perhaps they spoiled him. Certainly
they tried to.
But Athos was strange,
even in his youngest years. He was a quiet child, even when he was
a toddler. He tended to be thoughtful. And, when Joram or Hyllis
spoke, his listened. Certainly not traits common to young children.
He was quiet when
he moved too. He displayed an astonishing dexterity. He taught
himself to walk before his first birthday. His hands were nimble
and quick, and his coordination was surprising for one so young.
Once, when he was playing with some of the older children from the nearby
farms, he was dared to balance on one foot atop a high wooden fence which
had been greased. The other children had never really taken to Athos,
and had devised the prank as a way to humiliate the boy. Once he
had climbed up onto the fence, they rushed forward and began shaking it.
Unconcerned, Athos had maintained his position, never even placing his
other foot down. (The other children were not pleased with this,
especially young Bilyth, the oldest of the lot, whose grip had slipped
on the grease, causing him to fall and wrench his shoulder painfully.)
But, more than that,
Athos was intelligent. He had learned to speak before his second birthday
- cohesive sentences with properly pronounced words; no babytalk.
Even before he learned to speak he was putting together fairly intricate
puzzles. By his fourth summer he had already learned writing, reading,
and basic mathematics - at least as much as Joram had been able to teach,
which was far more than what most grown men had mastered.
And he was mature.
Sometimes he was even somber.
He was a small boy.
Not scrawny or undernourished really, but slight. Hyllis sometimes
worried about him. Wasn't he too thin and oughtn't he eat more?
Joram would shake his head when she voiced her concerns, explaining that
Athos was just a boy yet, that he would get bigger, just give him time.
Hyllis would muble
something about how men didn't understand children, and would worry anyway.
Indded, Athos did
look fragile, as if he were cut from fine porcelain. He was an attractive
child. He was never cute; never cherubic. Nor was he truly
handsome. He was beautiful, with features so perfectly and finely
cut that he could almost be mistaken for a girl. His only physical
drawback, if it could be called that, was his pale skin. Both his
hair and his eyes contrasted with it, and it simply refused to darken,
even under long hours of sunlight.
Still the old couple
loved him. His intelligence and accomplishments made them proud.
And even if once in a while, late late at night one or the other of them
wondered who his natural parents had been, or pondered whether or not royal
blood flowed in his veins, it didn't matter. Whoever he might have
belonged to before the nursemaid came, he was theirs now. And they
were proud of it.
And so the days went
by and the seasons changed; winter into spring into summer into fall.
And life remained the same for Athos.
Until the day Joram
allowed Athos to journey with him into the nearby city of Zazesspur.