Chapter 11: Chapter 10: The House of Al Hamiroon

Chapter 10: The House of Al Hamiroon

With Tamu’s help, the servants who had come through the door had carried Arash inside and placed him upon a sofa. By now the great ruckus from outside had attracted others from inside the apartments, their bearing and manner of dress—even in the hastiness of the night, was altogether different from that of the typical Ashahnai Imperials, signifying to Tamu that they were in fact visitors to the palace.

“Annushkah,” said the man, “call for the palace physicians.”

She nodded, pulling her robes tighter as she trotted across the tiles. The man then turned to her and thrust his chin out toward Arash in the bed. He had developed a cold sweat and he was shivering violently. “What is wrong with him.”

Tamu looked at him, her heart torn between watching over Prince Arash and Achujam outside suffering on the tiles. “I do not know,” she said, her voice almost cracking.

She moved closer to Arash and touched his cheek. “Please,” she said, “stay strong.” Turning, she rushed outside and back through the door to Achujam. The pegasus was barely moving.

Her heart had settled, but even now a knot had formed inside her stomach. She she felt her gorge rise somewhat, but she managed to hold it down as she approached Achujam.

She already knew that her pegasus would never fly again, not with the terrible break in her wing, and two of her legs were broken, the bones shattered and splintered, had protruded through her flesh.

Hot tears came anew.

“Achu,” she said, reaching out as she bent near the pegasus’ neck. She whinnied pitifully as she tried to raise her head, but failed. Tamu touched her snout and brushed her fingers over her short fur there. “Your poor girl,” she keened. “I’m so sorry.”

She glanced about, her vision completely blurred as she remembered what had happened. Tamu had meant to land, but upon seeing Arash bolt out onto his balcony with a strange man chasing him, she immediately knew something was wrong, and went to him.

They were far enough away to have some measure of safety here, but they had been attacked, and Achujam was dying, her bones broken and her blood seeping out of her body.

The wound on her wing, the original one, was somewhat bloodies and black and blue where two puncture wounds seemed to be. Surrounding those wounds were all manner of tendrils—some kind of taint. Poison?

She glanced back toward the apartments. Someone was shouting. She lifted herself up and lurched back inside. The servants had their hands to their mouths  and their lord’s eyes were wide as she glanced between Tamu and Prince Arash.

“What is happening?” she demanded.

Arash was shaking violently. His hand shot out and hit a vase on the table near the sofa and it shattered across the floor.

“Hold him!” the man said. “He may injury himself.”

Tamu, her throat thick and her face wet, scrambled over the bed and looked at Arash, and since he had no nightshirt, she saw it—the wound in his lower neck where his muscles met his shoulder.

Two puncture wounds, black and blue with tendrils like roots.

“He has been poisoned,” she said.

“Poisoned?” the man asked. “How?”

“Ruslanni,” a voice called, and they turned to her. It was the woman called Annushkah, returned with a physician. He moved quickly to the med and gasped. “This is the royal Prince!”

“See to him, you fool!” barked Tamu.

He shook himself. “Right!” he moved to Arash, telling the servants to remain holding him as he bent over.

“He has been poisoned,” Tamu said. “Look at his wounds!”

The physician examined Arash, who stopped shaking. “Yes,” he said, quite clinically. “Yes, I believe that you are right.” He looked into the prince’s eyes.

“Is he…?” said Ruslanni, but he trailed off.

The physician’s voice became suddenly grave as she lightly slapped Arash on the side of the face. “He is barely breathing.” Turning he snapped, “We need the court sorcerers! Someone—go for them—now!”

Both Annushkah and Ruslanni flinched, “Yes,” he said. “We are going!”

The physician glanced at Tamu, then back to Arash as she started pumping the prince’s chest, and it was then that Tamu knew he would not survive the poison. Oh gods—he is dying!

She covered her mouth. Tamu had never seen a person die before, much less by something so insidious as this poison coursing through Arash’s veins.

“We need magic,” breathed the physician between gasps as he pushed against Arash’s sweaty chest. “We need it now.”

Tamu swallowed, remembering something, but her mind was so foggy as her limbs shook and her body trembled. “Magic.” She said. “Magic!”

She jumped off his bed and went to his case of instruments and pulled the leather binder open.

“What are you doing?!”

“I need—I need something sharp.”

“What are you doing?!”

She found a knife-like blade and lifted it out, then she lurched through the chambers, her bare feet pattering over the riles as she reached the kitchens. Once there she went to the wooden racks and snatched a clay cup.

Tamu had shook before, and indeed she shook even now as her limbs and hands felt tingly and weak, but now her heart was racing.

“Stay away, Prince!” growled the physician.

Arash turned his head and his lips moved. He said something and Tamu stopped. “What?” the physician said, putting his ear near his mouth.

“What did he say?”

“No.

“What?!”

“I mean nothing! He did not say anything—he is delirious!”

She ran out to the balcony where Achujam was, and came up short, her eyes falling to the blade in her left hand and the cup in the other. In her haste she had found a way to save the prince, and yet…

To do so, I must kill her.

She approached the pegasus, and her majestic friend’s breathing was shallow—almost nonexistent. She bent her legs and an enormous amount of guilt flooded into her suddenly and she let her head fall.

To save Arash, she would have to let Achujam die.

She swallowed thickly and made a pained sound as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I am so sorry, girl.”

Achujam snorted softly as her eyes began to glaze. She would be dead very soon anyway—to kill her would be a mercy, would it not?

She lifted her hand.

“HE IS DYING!” the physician called, his anger and distress apparent.

Tamu glanced down at the blade in her hand as she brushed Achujam’s fur. Swallowing again, she lifted it to her neck. It was a thin blade, long and not tapered. It was designs to cut through flesh.

It would do the job required of it.

Tamu brushed the fur around her neck, pulling back the hairs to expose her jugular and the place where he thick corded arteries would be found under her skin.

The princess wheezed, her breathing beginning to come in and out far too quickly, and her breaths were becoming ragged.

Everything turned wrongly as dizziness began to overtake her.

“Oh gods!”

“NO!”

She jerked her head toward the apartments.

“STAY WITH ME, PRINCE! NO!”

Sniffing loudly, Tamu tightened her grip over the medical blade, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and with a forceful cut, she dragged it over her pegasus’ throat and a red line appeared as she whinnied weakly with each gout of hot blood that gushed forth.

The princess pushed her arm toward the cup and clumsily knocked it over—cursing in her Urutai language as she shook like a Wind Steppe about to lose flight.

She opened her hand quick and too hold of the clay vessel and pit it to Achujam’s open arteries while the scent of iron filled her nose. Oh gods! What have I done?! What have I done?!

The princess screamed in a sudden fit of rage and emotional outpouring like she had never done before. To lose Achujam was enough—to cut her throat and be covered in her hot gouting blood was another.

She whined wordlessly as she pushed herself to her feet, holding the clay cup tightly in her slick grasp.

“What have I done?”

She turned around and moved toward the apartments.

“Good gods,” the physician wailed. “What are you doing?”

“He must drink—he must—“

The words would not come out as the physician’s face went white as milk. She thrust the cup forward and he looked at it, swallowed and then glanced back toward the other chambers, hoping that the Court Sorcerer would arrive.

No one was there except for the three servants who glanced between them uncertainly.

“Gods!” he cursed. “Is that your pegasus’ blood? Give it to me!”

He took the cup from her and together they almost dropped it, but the physician cupped his hands and made sure to grasp the clay vessel. Glancing between the prince, who mumbled something deliriously again, and Tamu, he said, “I need you to hold his nose shut while I force him to drink it.”

She nodded, almost violently as she circled around him. Then she put her bloody fingers over his nose and pinched his nostrils shut.

“Yes,” he said, “like that!”

He pulled Arash’s jaw down and lifted the cup, allowing a small amount of the pegasus blood to fall over the prince’s tongue, then he growled, “Drink it, Prince!” and shut his chin, forcing his body to react, to swallow the contents before he could take another breath through his mouth once again.

“Is it working?” Tamu samtered. “Is he drinking it?”

“Yes—it is working.”

He let Arash breath again, then he tilted the cup back over his tongue and repeating the process. They continued like this until the cup was almost emptied.

“All right,” the physician said. “That is enough.” He set thrust the cup to her and Tamu took it.

“Will he live?”

Turning to her, he said in an irascible tone, “How should I know? We just forced a cup of blood down the prince’s throat!”

“The blood,” she said, her hands feeling weaker than ever, “is of a pegasus.”

“I hear they are magical creatures—but truly that is only a legend, yes?”

She glanced toward the open door exposing the blue and silver night. From there, she could not see Achujam, who, by now surely lay dead upon the tiles. Tamu swallowed, then glanced down at Arash distractedly, her feelings a confused jumble and her nerves a wreck, like that of a water ship upon jagged rocks.

“It is true,” she breathed.

 

“Young prince!” Sahar called as they poured into his apartments. “Young prince?!”

“High vizier!” one of the soldiers called from the bedchambers.

Quickening his pace, we crossed through the lounge, as the reek of dark magic that stained the chambers emanated all around them. Sahair’s heart thumped inside his chest as he feared the worst.

He nearly bowled over two of the guards as he entered the bedchamber. “What is it—where is the prince?”

“He is not here, my lord.”

“Did you check the balconies?” he demanded, lifting his scimitar in gesture.

“Yes, my lord,” he said. “The men have searched every chamber!”

“Then he is not here, Usharad said plainly.”

Sahar breathed a sigh of relief. “But if he’s not here, then where the devils has he gone?”

At least he was not dead on the floor. It was clear to Sahar that Arash had not been taken. To do so would have required multiple assassins to lift him out. What’s more, it was clear their designs were to kill the royal House of Al Hamiroon, not to take its members as hostages.

“We must find the Prince Arash!” he said.

“High vizier!” another palace guard called from outside on the balcony. “You must see this!”

Moving past Usharad who kept pace behind him, Sahar stepped out onto the balcony and he saw them immediately. The pegasi and their riders. The Urutai Wind Steppe host rode atop their mounts through the palace towers in force.

“Where are they going?” asked Usharad.

With a heavy sigh, Sahar said, “Away from here… where it is safe.”

“High vizier!” a voice inside then called. “High vizier!”

He went inside as a servant came to him. “High vizier!”

“What is it?”

The servant gasped for breath, breathing heavily as he had evidentially winded himself. He pointed a finger behind him.

“Breathe, man and tell me what it is.”

He nodded, sucked in another lungful of air and spoke. “Two Karnassi guests of the palace! They say”—he breathed—“they say they have the young prince with them in their chambers!”

“Truly?!”

“Yes—but he is wounded. And there is a woman of the Wind Steppes with them.”

His heart jumped frightfully at those first words. Gods, please keep and protect our royal prince, my nephew. Calmly, Sahar said, “Take me to these Karnassi guests.”

 

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Blinking, his vision swaying and blurred, Arash groaned as the deep pain that felt like fire on the surface of his neck smarted.

“Arash! Arash you are awake!”

He groaned as she pressed her face to his chest and sniffed.

“Princess?” he asked.

“Good gods,” someone said in astonishment. “It worked—the blood worked!”

It was painful to turn his head, but turn it he did as the man among stood over him looking at him critically. He smiled. “You are alive, my prince.”

“Who are—who are you?”

“Why, I am Gulzar, Prince. You know me.”

“Oh,” Arash said, his eyes falling to Princess Tamu who held his hand in hers, her other hand upon his shoulder. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she smiled. “What happened?”

“You were poisoned, but we managed to save you, Arash.”

“I feel…”

“Do not move,” said the physician. “We do not know how you are alive. The poison may still be within your body, but blocked by the enchantment of the blood.”

“The blood?”

“Achujam,” said Tamu, her face falling. “She is…”

He reached up with his free hand and put it to her cheek. “I am sorry, Tamu.”

“It is not your fault,” she said, putting her hand over his upon her cheek. “We were attacked. Do you not remember?”

“I…”

What happened? He remembered being awoken by Bahar and then… that shadow and turned into a man, had thrown him across the room.

And he had run.

That was all.

“Do not worry,” she said. “You are alive, and that is what matters prince.” She turned and glanced up at Gulzar the physician.”

Arash swallowed thickly. “Where is my father? My uncle?”

“We do not know,” she said. “All I know is that I came to see you, Prince, and when I neared your apartments, you were running from a man. I do not know if what I saw was even true, but he seemed to have shrunk into…”

“A shadow?” asked Arash.

She nodded. “He slithered like a snake when we got away.”

“Gods,” Arash said, his heart paining him for a moment. He winced.

“Are you well?”

He almost laughed at her question, but the sharp pain took him again and he winced.

“Gulzar! What is wrong?”

Arash groaned.

“I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps the poison is being pushed out of him.” He reached over and lifted Arash’s eyelids. “Your pupils are becoming more normal, Prince. This is good. I believe you are getting better every moment.”

“Thank the gods,” breathed Tamu.

And as if she had called them down, the wind of gliding pegasi filled the air outside above the balcony and hooves beat against the tiles.

Tamu turned her head and got up.

“What is happening?” asked Arash.

“I do not know,” she said. “Prince—please, do not move.”

She stalked to the door, but before she reached it a man came through, his movements fast and his shadow stretching out ominously.

Tamu flinched, stepping back in sudden fright.

It was Prince Dzhambul, flanked by a dozen of his officers.

“Brother?” she said in surprise.

He lunged at her, his arms going around her as he pulled the princess into an embrace. “I thought the worst,” he breathed. Then more sternly he added, “What is the meaning of this? I see Achujam outside dead, and you are here, in these apartments. Explain—“

He glanced up and saw Arash on the couch, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I came to the prince,” Tamu said.  “I…”

“She saved me from certain death,” Arash said quickly as he pushed his feet and sat upright against the couch arm at no easy expense of to himself. “If it were not for Tamu”—he glanced toward her, and she to him—“the princess, I mean. I would be be dead now.”

Dzhambul glanced between his sister and Prince Arash in sudden surprise and bafflement, unable to believe the course of events of this night. Would she truly risk herself to save this spoiled young man? “Are you well, Prince?” he asked.

With a groan, Arash nodded. “I will live,” he said, “thanks to your most venerable sister, Prince.”

Dzhambul breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you not know that your palace is under siege?”

“What?”

“Yes,” he said, narrowing his slender eyes. He was much older than his sister, perhaps twice her age.

“What do you mean, brother?” Tamu asked.

Just then Baya came into the room and squeezed between the men in their fur trimmed cloaks. “My lady!”

“Baya!” Tamu exclaimed, taking her in an embrace.

“I was so afraid for you. I saw Achujam—“ She was distracted suddenly. “Why are you…” She looked at Tamu’s hands covered in dried blood.

“It is not mine,” she said sadly, and a pang of emotion threatened to break her calm. She needed to say no more as Baya embraced her again, her touch gentle and compassionate for the princess’ loss, which was no small thing.

“You spoke—” said Arash, and he paused for the stitch in his chest. “You said—“

“Do not speak,” said Prince Dzhambul, “for it is clear you must recover your strength.” He paused for a moment. “There are men in black garb wielding strange magic throughout. Some of them attacked us. We lost Oktyab.”

Tamu gasped. “What? Oktyab?!”

Bayarmaa nodded stoically.

“Prince,” said Dzhambul. “You must get yourself to safety. I do not think your palace guards even realize what is happening. These men—they are dangerous, and it is clear they have come for something most dire. Perhaps even your life and that of your father’s.”

With his heart beating harder because of these sudden tidings, the stitch returned and he groaned.

“Stop!” Tamu commanded. “Do you not see you are upsetting the prince? He was just poisoned not long ago.”

“Yes,” said Gulzar with a nod. “His heart must rest.”

Dzhambul sighed heavily, then dipped his chin. “We must go.” He turned to leave the apartment, then over his shoulder he said, “Come, sister.”

“What? No—I am staying with Prince Arash.”

“Do not be foolish—we must leave here at once!”

“And allow those men to do as they please?”

“We are here as guests of the palace. They are not our allies!”

“Should I marry the prince they will be!”

“Enough!” He turned to his officers. “Batu, Oktai—bring her.”

They moved forward immediately and put their hands around her upper arms. “Stop!” she said. “Release me. I wish to stay!”

“What are you doing!” yelled Arash. “Take your hands off of the princess!” He moved to get up, and Gulzar tried to stop him, but Arash swatted his hands away. “Stop!” he commanded.

When his feet touched the floor, he tried to stand. Suddenly he grunted, gritting his teeth with the pain of the stitch in his heart. It felt like a blade rending him open as he fell back onto the couch, unable to pursue the Urutai Sky Steppe host.

With each beat of his heart, the stitch in his chest seemed to worsen. “Do not move!” Gulzar said, both his palms facing Arash. “Please—do not move, young prince.”

“Does it look like I am moving, Gulzar?!”

Tamu glanced back as Batu and Oktai pulled her forward. She tried to shirk them off, but their grips were far too strong. Her heart was racing.

Achujam dead, the prince nearly killed, and now her brother was taking her away before their reason for coming could even be accomplished.

“Arash!” she called, jumping in an attempt to see him one last time before she was taken away.

Arash stretched his neck. “Princess—akh!”

“Prince—do not move like this, please, I bet you!”

“Arash!” she called. “Speak to your uncle! Arash!”

She was taken away, her protestations and her calls to him broken as they left the apartment. Then after a little time, the hooves of their pegasi beat and the sounds of them alighting away from the palace sounded outside.

Arash lay back on the couch and sighed heavily.

“Young prince!”

He jerked up. Was that…?

“Young prince!”

“Uncle!”

He cried out and pushed his fist to his chest as the high vizier, his uncle Sahar came into the room, his face a mask of worried grief as he was flanked by guards and servants and the Royal Protector Usharad.

“Uncle—” he said, his tone almost a whine as he broke off. “Uncle, they almost killed me.”

“I know,” he said, quickly as he came to Arash. He stepped down onto his knee. “I know, young prince.” He smiled. “But I am here now, and we must leave—we must get you to safety immediately. The palace is not safe.”

“Why not? Uncle—akh! Uncle, what is happening?”

“Hashashins of Dar Shaq, Prince Arash.” He looked at Arash and put his palm to his chest. “You have been bitten!”

“Yes.”

“How are you still alive?” His eyes were wide, and his surprise so evident that Arash had never seen him react so—never in his life.

“Tamu,” he said. “She saved me.”

“What?” he asked, his widening. “She was here?”

“Just moments ago,” said Arash with a painful grunt. “They took her away—her brother and his men. They are gone from the palace now.”

Sahar blinked. “But… but how did she—“

“We put the blood of her pegasus down the prince’s throat,” said Gulzar.”

The high vizier turned his head and looked up at the physician. “I am out of words…”

“With the help of the princess,” added Gulzar with a weak smile as if to shift any possibly blame that may later come his way onto her.

“Then I thank you,” said Sahar, “and I think Princess Tamu—a most venerable girl, indeed.” He stood.

“We need to leave,” said Usharad gravely.

“Yes,” Sahar said with a nod, completely sobered from his surprise and astonishment. “You—Gulzar—you will accompany us.”

“Of course,” he said with a bow.

“Prince Arash,” asked Sahair, “can you stand? Can you walk with us?”

Arash grunted as his uncle helped him to his feet and he breathed in deeply, the pain of exhaling great, but not so greatly that he could not walk. He nodded. “I think I can, Uncle.”

“Good,” said Sahair. Then he turned to the palace guards. “You and you,” he said, pointing his sword—and Arash was shocked, for he had never seen a blade in his uncle’s hand before—“you will assist the prince, should he need it. Give him a sword.”

The stitch in his heart reacted somewhat as his blood pumped just a little faster. It wasn’t that Arash had no experience with swords… it was just that he had never had to use one before.

The palace guards came forward immediately, their faces grave and somber, and wary as one of them handed Arash a sword. He took it, wrapping his fingers around the black ceramic hilt with a weak-feeling grip.

The weight in his hand—it felt good, and yet heavy.

“Now let us go,” said Sahar. “We must be far away from here! Keep an eye on our young prince.”

He led them out of the apartments.

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