The Lord Dahak sighed and rose up to stand on the enormous shoulder of the beast. Under him, it quivered slightly, feeling the lessening of his control. He was weary from the effort of maintaining his mastery over the promethean thing and resigned himself to climbing down to the ground, even as Baraz had done.
“Get back,” he snapped at the Persian. “It will make a great wind when it goes.”
The mammoth wings unfurled and blotted out the stars and the moon. A wind rose, like a gale, and lashed the two men with small stones and twigs from the trees that surrounded the top of the hill. The thing gave a mournful call, like an unguessably vast hound, and vaulted into the air. The hilltop shook with the pressure of its flight, and then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness between the stars. Baraz picked himself up off the ground and spat out a mouthful of sand.
“Lord Dahak, don’t take this amiss, but why are you staying with me?”
Dahak’s face was unreadable in the darkness, but he said, “The King of Kings commands, and I obey. He commands that I assist you in this campaign.”
Baraz stared at the sorcerer. But then he caught the grim expression of the Lord Dahak, and instead he turned his mind to plan and action and thought. A wizard to help me, every advantage to my hand! The Romans will suffer greatly with this turn of events.
Dahak wrapped his robe around him, and drew the hood up over his lean head.
“The camp of the Great Prince Shahin,” he said, “is beyond these hills.” He walked off into the trees to the north. Baraz looked up at the moon and then back to the south, whence they had come. He tugged thoughtfully at the bristly mustaches that gave him his popular sobriquet, and then he trotted off into the trees after the sorcerer.
The Boar, now dressed in a heavy cloak over his armor of plate cuirass and mail of iron scales, strode up to the doors of the massive tent that lay at the center of the Persian camp. Around him acres of tents glowed with the light of lanterns and torches. His head was bare, and he had combed his lush curls out to lie on his shoulders like a carpet. His beard was groomed as wejl, though it had been difficult to do in the dim night beyond the sentries of the camp. With some coaxing, Dahak had conjured a pale-white light so that Baraz could see himself in the lead-glass mirror that he carried. The massive sword that he favored jutted over one shoulder in a sheath of wood wrapped with leather. The Lord Dahak limped behind him, his mood bitter. The sorcerer had turned his ankle as they had negotiated the slope of the hill in the darkness. Luckily, he leaned on a tall staff of rowan wood. Still, those men awake in the camp looked upon the two of them and quickly returned to their duties or tents.
Baraz ignored the two guardsmen in light chain mail and russet robes at the entrance to the tent, striding past them with his head held high. The two men controlled themselves, for they recognized the one-time commander of the army. They did not meet the flickering pale eyes of Dahak as he passed, limping. Within the tent, which was divided up into many chambers, a sudden hush fell upon the main room.
“Lord Shahin.” The general’s voice was blunt, like a heavy axe striking meat.
At the center of the chamber Shahin rose, a stoutly built man with a long face and curly beard. The Great Prince, the cousin of the King of Kings, was richly attired in green robes of linen and silk. He wore a small circlet of gold“ around his head and many rings on his fingers. He carefully put down a crystal goblet filled with wine and bowed in greeting.
“General Shahr-Baraz, welcome to my tent. May I introduce my companions?”
Baraz snorted, sounding very like his namesake. Shahin’s eyes, artfully outlined with kohl, narrowed. The Great Prince was accustomed to being treated politely, even by rivals, and here-surrounded by his supporters and his own army-he was not disposed to be slighted. “There is no time for pleasantries, Great Prince. Summon your commanders and allied princes, there.is much to be done before the night is out.”
The courtiers, who had remained sitting until it was clear who held the social superiority, tittered a little, laughing behind their hands. Baraz spared them a glance and saw, to his disgust, that the tent was filled with gorgeously attired men in perfumed silks and rich clothing. His heavy brows beetled over his eyes; the number of pleasure slaves who languidly ornamented the arms of the nobles present told him a tale of a leisurely advance into enemy lands. The general turned back to Shahin, who was gazing at him with a tilted head, much like a swamp crane viewing a tasty frog.
“Your presence is most welcome, Baraz,” the Great Prince said in a smooth and cultured voice, “but it is late, and I was about to retire. Do you bring some news that must needs be relayed before the sun.rises?”
“Aye,” Baraz said gruffly, “but first a simple question- do you know where the army of the desert tribes is this night?”
Shahin was taken aback by the odd question.
“Sadly, no,” he replied, smoothing the lay of one of his sleeves. “We have made good progress advancing into enemy lands but have yet to see more of the Romans and their rabble than a few tracks upon the road.”
The Great Prince returned to the divan that he had been reclining upon. Two of his slaves, clad only in the barest silk, attended to him. Apparently he had been interrupted in the middle of a manicure. The one on the right, with her lush red hair piled up on her head like a stormcloud, eyed Baraz fearfully but bent over the Great Prince’s outstretched hand with her tiny file.
Baraz growled in anger, then spun on his heel and stalked to the entranceway. He noted, in passing, that Dahak had entered the chamber behind him and was now sitting in the corner, unnoticed by the assembly, save for one slave who had brought him a bowl of crushed ice. Outside the tent the general rapped the sentries sharply on their helmets. They spun, outraged, but stopped when they saw the looming shape of the Boar.
“Quick about it, lads, find me the commanders of the cavalry, the light horse, the infantry and anyone else with a plume and half a wit about them. Double-time!”
The two sentries saluted and trotted off into the darkness. Baraz watched them go and grunted to himself. Well, he thought, between Dahak and I, we might yet win…
When he returned to the tent, the courtiers and the Prince had resumed their conversation as if he had never interrupted. A quartet of musicians had taken up a tune in the corner, and the flute player was trilling a light air that sounded like birds in flight. Baraz reddened and strode across the room to the drum player. The man looked up in time to scuttle aside as the general snatched up his heavy instrument and laid into the surface with a heavy hand.
“All right, everyone out! Out! Out! Out!” Baraz punctuated his bellowing with a mighty thump on the drum. He shoved his way through the courtiers, who had leapt to their feet in fear.
“Out! Everyone out!” The Boar punctuated.his shouts with his boot. Tables overturned and the musicians fled. Baraz threw the drum out the front door of the tent, braining one of the poets who had run out into the camp street.
The man dropped like a pole-axed cow and lay still in the dirt. The Great Prince had leapt to his feet as well and was shouting at Baraz at the top of his voice. The other nobles and slaves scattered. Baraz sent the last drunken man on his way with a boot to the fundament that sent him sprawling into the sand. The general turned and a fist ornamented with heavy rings flashed at his face.
Baraz’s meaty hand snapped up, catching the thrown punch, and his fingers squeezed like tree roots digging at a mosaic floor. The Great Prince gasped in pain and crumpled to his knees. The Boar released the crushed hand and stared down at the Prince in undisguised disgust as Shahin struggled to his feet.