The King's Horse (Shioni of Sheba Book 2) (10 page)

T
he wizened old shemagele
rose unsteadily to his feet. With both hands clasped over the knob of his stick for support, his fingers seemed entwined like gnarled roots, carved in the same dark wood as his stick. His cheeks were hollowed-out pockets beneath his cheekbones. He closed his eyes, summoning words which would have been passed down by his father, and his father before him.

Earlier
, his voice had quavered with age. But now, as he launched into his retelling, his voice took on a fresh, resonant power that transported his audience to a different place and time.

“In ancient times, in the lands of Abyssinia
–where you and I dwell today–there was a great King called Belshalar,” he began. “He commanded armies of knights in dark armour, battalions of elephants, archers without number, and spearmen that moved like a bristling camel thorn forest upon the shoulders of the hills. The sound of their marching was a thunder of doom. When his army destroyed the enemy, they ravaged the land like a plague of locusts spawned in the deserts of Egypt.”

“Belshalar was a King mighty in word
, and mightier even in deed. To the north and the south, he crushed his enemies. From the east and the west, he seized slaves and jewels and spices and the plunder of a hundred lesser kings. Thirty wise men scoured the papyri and read the heavenly signs for him, so that he never entered a battle he could lose, nor set foot on a false path, nor did he fall prey to the poisons and plots of his enemies.”

“
However, Belshalar was greedy. Having conquered all of Abyssinia, from the great rivers to the mountains, and from the sacred lake called Tana to the jungles of the south, he rested upon his throne carved of the ivory tusks of fifty elephants. He cast his roving eye over the great black-maned lions he kept in their cages, over the hordes of noblemen and women and warriors of his Court, and beheld the splendour of his majesty, which was exceedingly great beyond all measure or knowing, and he was not satisfied.”

“No,
his heart was filled only with discontent. For what did he see? His palace had pillars of marble, but they were not leafed in beaten gold like the temple of Solomon. He drank the finest wines from a silver chalice, but it was not pure gold, nor encrusted with the most precious stones of the earth. His nobles were dressed in beautiful white linens and cottons, but not in the gorgeous silks of the East. And most of all, when he entered his royal treasury, he found the room too cramped and too empty for his liking.”

The elder coughed slightly.
Immediately, a clay water jar was offered to him by one of the young men, and he drank deeply before continuing:

“Belshalar
seethed like thunder brewing in the storehouses of the heavens. Summoning his generals and his chiefs, he ordered them to march upon Axum and Nubia and Kush; to ravage the lands of their gold, their finest artworks and delicacies, their aromatic cedar and sandalwood, and all their kingly treasures. But when they returned in triumph, with great loot and slaves and carts piled high with gold, it was yet not enough for Belshalar. It cost much to keep that great army, and to hold magnificent feasts every day, and to send traders abroad to Kush and Egypt and India, to buy all that the King’s heart so desired.”

“The Pharaohs of
Egypt gazed up the great Nile River, and beheld his power. Anxious and alarmed, they decided to raise up an army, led by the son of the Pharaoh himself, Ptolemy. They swelled its ranks with the foot soldiers of Meroe in Kush, and the black-skinned horseback bowmen of Nubia, and marched up the Nile intent on erasing the memory of Belshalar from the earth.”

“There was a terrible battle, in which both sides lost heavily, a battle so
bloody and fearful that Belshalar feared his armies should be overrun and defeated.”

“So Belshalar sought the help of greater powers
–powers more ancient, and mightier, and greedier even than he. No-one knows for certain, but my grandfather’s grandfather told me this: that he struck a bargain with the Dragon-Lords themselves.”

“Whatever he did, it came about that the waters of the Nile rose in a fateful flood and washed away the armies of the Pharaoh, and killed Ptolemy, the finest son of Egypt.
They created the great cataracts of the Nile that today protect Abyssinia from invasion from the north.”

“
And so Belshalar, having won the battle, retreated to his palace to make preparations for an attack upon Egypt itself, declaring that he would enter the pyramids and loot the tombs of the Pharaohs of Egypt and bring back the spoils.”

“But Belshalar had forgotten one thing.
There was the matter of payment to the Dragon-Lords, a payment more dreadful than anything Belshalar could have imagined. They took all he had–all the treasures which were so dear to his heart, including his only son–and vanished with them into their citadel deep within the Simien Mountains. Belshalar was no longer a mighty King. He walked halls empty of all but the stones of their making. He had no treasures to gloat over. He had nothing left to keep his armies. And he had no son to keep him in his old age.”

“He fell upon his cunning and greed.
Belshalar sent his armies and slaves into the hills and valleys of Abyssinia, seeking to mine the golden veins of the earth and return his glory to what it once had been. He would count every coin, every gold bar, and every grain of gold that entered his treasury. Soon he was taking his meals amongst his growing pile of treasures. He took no pleasure in life, but only in the cold, metal things that so filled his heart. He declared he would raise up a new army to defeat the dragons and bring back his son and his treasures.”

“Soon
, Belshalar had to build new, bigger treasuries to house his growing wealth. But he was fearful that the dragons would swoop down and demand it all from him again. So he determined to hide his treasures in caverns deep beneath these mountains. In his agitation and distress, he even began to sleep with his gold and his treasure chests and vases and mirrors and jewels and necklaces. Fed every day with the finest delicacies, none of which could satisfy his greed, he grew bloated and sluggish, living like no more than a great worm atop those heaps of gold.”

“Year upon year, his kingdom saw less and less of Belshalar, until his people began to wonder if he was even still alive, hidden in his
stronghold beneath the earth. They lived separate lives under new rulers, with only the King’s taxes to remind them of him. Rumours flourished like weeds amongst the ruins of his once-great kingdom–that Belshalar had died, that he too had been taken by the dragons, that he had turned into a worm and crawled away into the bowels of the earth, or that he was grown so enormously fat that he could no longer walk upon his own two legs.”

“What became of Belshalar, you ask?”

“There was a slave called Girma who held the King dear to his heart. And his testimony, his sworn word, is this: that one year in the King’s later life, he was struck down by illness. At first Girma thought it was the river fever, and after, a plague of boils. He tended the King for many days. Belshalar suffered greatly from fevers and ghastly aches and cramps in his limbs, so that he would scream and cry for relief night and day. Girma noticed a change that gradually came upon the King. A foul-smelling slime began to ooze from his skin, to weep from the sores all over his body, from the crown of his head to the last toe on his left foot.”

“
The faithful slave tried to clean him. But Belshalar was grown so massive that it was not possible for a single man to lift him up. And the ooze was sticky, worse than honey, like vile grey snot that stuck to everything it touched.”

The children all chorused ‘Ew!’ and wriggled in disgusted delight at his choice of words.
The adults quickly hushed them, but the elder only smiled.

“The other servants fled, but Girma remained.”

“As Belshalar suffered, the slave observed that the gold was beginning to stick to his skin. The more it stuck, the more ooze seemed to leach forth. Soon, his skin was so thickly encrusted that it looked like he was plated in golden, jewelled armour, and it was becoming difficult to recognise the man within. He smelled so sickening that Girma could not bear to come near him without covering his mouth and nose with a cloth dipped in myrrh. Though Girma brought plate upon plate of the finest meats and delicacies the King’s gold could buy, he would no longer eat.”

“It was all the greed, oozing out of Belshalar’s heart.
Year upon year upon year of uncontrolled, miserable greed.”

“One morning Girma entered the
treasure cavern to find all of the plates emptied of food and Belshalar gone. The gold and jewels in the cavern had been piled into a high tower. Atop that tower lay a creature of golden scales and claws and a snake’s fangs. In Belshalar’s voice, it cried for the slave to bring more food, mountains of food, for it was weak and famished from its night’s labours.”

“Girma fled.
But before he left, he carefully locked the seven great doors leading to Belshalar’s treasure chambers with seven great keys, so that the dragon within might never escape to vent its greed and wrath upon humankind.”

“And he told this story to his son, and he to his sons through the generations, that all might know the fate of Belshalar, the mountain king.
And I too am called Girma, descendant of that faithful slave who tended Belshalar to the last. And now I charge you who hear: heed the lesson of Belshalar! Never let greed be your master, or you too might turn into a dragon.”

“
D
on’t get too close
or you’ll need an eagle’s wings.”

With Tariku’s warning ringing in her ears, Shioni let Star pick her way between the cliff
top boulders. He had admitted he did not know the trail south. But Girma directed one of his sons to show them where they could make their descent.

Shioni could gladly have been an eagle.
They had descended only a little way from the village when they found themselves suddenly clear of a sullen layer of cloud, and only two or three paces from the edge of a gigantic cliff, which made Shioni feel as though God must have taken a spear to hack a deep and jagged gash through the mountains. The trail wound along the very brink of the precipice. At times her right foot dangled in the open air. A mile’s drop beneath her foot was the greenest of valleys, with a river winding through it like a crumpled strip of glistening ribbon. Being a dull day, their eagles’ view was merely spectacular. But on a sunny day? Her heart would drink itself full of splendour!

She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy.
One misstep from Star…

Despite the loan of Annakiya’s fine cloak in which to wrap
herself, she could not seem to get warm. Just before they departed the village, she had overheard the elder whispering to Tariku and Talaku, ‘Kalcha has two of the keys. Perhaps she seeks the accursed treasure? Or worse–might she seek to awaken Belshalar himself?’

Stinking hyenas, now there was a thought to put the chills into anyone!

The boy stopped, checking the trail. “Wolves,” he said.

Tariku stopped to examine the tracks.
“You think?”

“Wolves like horsemeat,” said the boy.
“See? Horse runs.”

Sh
ioni had thought of fox-spoor, but she saw now that the pad-prints were too large and splayed to belong to a fox. She had never seen wolf tracks before.

“Horse fast.
Wolves not give up easy.”

And there before them
, plain as though it had been inked on a scroll, was another giant hyena-print. Shioni and Tariku’s eyes met over the spoor. The warrior licked his dry lips. “Kalcha. She’s all too busy in these mountains for my liking.”

“Where
will we find the descent from the cliff?” asked Talaku, flexing his fingers as though he were itching for a fight, be it wolves, hyenas, or Wasabi warriors. He shifted the goat from one shoulder to the other.

“Trail down to
gorge just there. See five trees like hand?”

“What if the King’s horse carries on south, along this trail?”

“Trail no very long.” The boy smiled, revealing that all four of his upper front teeth were missing. He made a chopping motion with his hand. “Big gorge. Then mountain go on. Horse no fly.” His smile curled up engagingly at the corners. “Giant fly?”

Talaku’s laughter bubbled up.
“Giant no fly, boy.”

The downward trail was a mess of prints.
Shioni and Tariku eventually decided that the horse had first headed south, and then doubled back when it found its way blocked. The wolves must have been snapping at its heels as it galloped down that narrow defile.

“Down we go,” said Tariku.
“Dismount.”

“I hope you don’t mind heights,” said Talaku, bringing up the rear.
“Thanks, boy.”

The boy waved. “No fly?” He seemed disappointed.

The rains had left their mark. Long-fronded, dripping ferns made homes in whatever tiny niche they could find, and gnarled, spindly little trees were trying to eke out a living here and there amongst the rocks, spreading their moss-slick roots underfoot like cunning, twisted fingers, or making the travellers duck and weave through veils of damp tree moss and old-man’s-beard.

The pa
th was nothing more than a goat track clinging to the side of the cliff like ivy to a wall–not for the faint of heart, as the elder had said. To their right the ever-present drop into yawning space seemed to exert its subtle call upon every decision; every footstep ventured and handhold seized was fraught with the realisation that a mistake could see them joining the eagles circling below, for a brief time at least. Shioni wished she had the wings of a Fiuri, or the graceful gliding strength of those majestic masters of the air!

They had been descending for about half an hour when Tariku chortled unexpectedly,
“Giant fly on giant wall!” He seemed to find the idea hilarious.

“Oh, stop it,” said Tal
aku.

“You giant fly.
Buzz! Giant fly!”

Shioni glanced back past Star to the big man, thinking she had heard an odd note in his voice.
Just as she did, he shouted, “You’re so childish!” A clod of mossy earth whizzed past her right ear and smacked Tariku square in the back of his head.

By
Tariku’s indignant bellow, she realised it might not have been just moss Talaku had thrown. But Shioni was stunned by the red-faced, tendon-stretching snarl on the giant’s face. He looked ready to kill with his bare hands.

Hoplite, always a more restive beast than gentle Star, shied at Tariku’s cry.
He tossed his head and pranced about, dangerously close to the edge. “Watch out!” cried Shioni, dodging his stamping rear hooves. But her ankle turned on a mossy stone and she fell to one knee with her own cry of pain.

Once the men had settled Star and Hoplite, Tariku examined Shioni’s ankle.
“A fine mess,” he said, touching the swelling gently. “A bad sprain, I think. Not broken.”

“Sorry,” said Talaku.
“I don’t know what bit me.”

Shioni nodded, trying to swallow her fright
and anger. “I understand.”

“You can probably ride
down if you keep your head low, Shioni.” Tariku rooted through his pack like a warthog seeking a tasty root. A note of irritation entered his voice. “This is bad, bad news. I guess I’ll have to teach you how to strap an ankle, right? And hope you can carry on.”

“
I’m not giving up now.”

Talaku put in, “
As an apology, I’ll make us a goat roast tonight.”

As if it unders
tood its fate, the animal slung over his shoulder suddenly struggled and bleated piteously. The giant guffawed loudly. “Guess who knows he’s headed for the pot?”

Soon, they were filing along the cliff
-edge trail again.

From about halfway down they
could already pick out the larger trees rising above a canopy of lush greenery, which filled the gorge like a sprawling blanket that even spilled up the sides. Shioni thought it looked a bit like a bowl of Mama’s vegetable soup, only much greener. The air grew warmer by degrees and a loamy, humid smell rose to their nostrils as they picked their way down into the great gorge.

“Mmm, that
smell reminds me of home.” Tariku rubbed his hands. “Monkeys, vines, and tasty fruits or I’m the whelp of a hyena.”

“I thought you grew up in the mountains?”

“In a forested gorge like this one, only smaller, Shioni.”

“
Careful through here.” Talaku’s hand on Star’s rope halter steadied a slide. “Keep your head down or you’ll have a bump like Tariku’s, or worse.”

Shioni winced at a particularly jarring step from Star.
Her ankle was throbbing properly now, even though Tariku had rooted out a few bitter herbs Mama Nomuula had supplied him, which she was chewing to deaden the pain. Every jolt sent pain stabbing up her leg. Every time Star sidled around a boulder or brushed against a bush, her ankle lolloped about until she tried sitting with her left leg folded in front of her.

Seeing this,
Tariku growled, “Don’t be stupid! You need both knees to hold your pony’s back, or one little slip…!” A puff of air through his clenched teeth left little to the imagination.

As they plodded along, Shioni thought that w
ere it not for General Getu’s tale of finding the dragons and losing his arm to one, she would not have imagined they were real. Well, she and Annakiya had oftentimes played princesses and dragons when they were younger–but that was different. She trusted Getu. When Hakim Isoke had been lecturing Annakiya about ‘integrity’ just last week, which was a new word to her, it was General Getu she had thought of first. He was so upright, so honest, and so altogether fierce about his opinions!

It was all too easy to believe in dragons when you looked out over a landscape like this.
What a contrast to her previous years, spent in the palace at Takazze, and her early warrior lessons on the broad, flat river plains!

But she had been careful not to repeat the mistake of calling
General Getu ‘my father’. ‘My Lord’ it was. Even if he seemed to take a special interest in her doings. Did he truly see her as the daughter he had lost, as she suspected? That would be strange–like living someone else’s life.

Tariku was picking his way down a hairpin turn.
“I’m not sure I’d take horses down here again… what do you think, Talaku?”

“It’s barely passable,” he agreed.
“Useful in a pinch though. But this escarpment makes for a long ride around to the north.” He shaded his eyes. “I make the gorge maybe three or four miles wide, and then there’s another cliff like this on the other side. Our scouts did try to come up the Mesheha from further south, but it wasn’t passable. It’s like a maze up here–all these crevices and hidden gorges and caves. Handy place to hide a Wasabi army, wouldn’t you say?”

“Too handy by far.”
Tariku scowled as though the gorge had committed an inexcusable offence. “At least we’re closing in on the King’s horse. These tracks are as fresh as a steaming cow pat.”

“
Nice. As long as he stays clear of the wolves.”

Tariku and his way with words.
Most of the Elites were gruff men of few words, but he seemed rather more easy-going. She had heard he had family back in Takazze.

“Tariku, where’s your family?”

“You mean, why have you never met them, you nosy little vixen?” He laughed at his own joke, which Shioni did not find very funny. “My wife was worried about bringing two children up to the mountains.”

“You let her decide?”

“Not all men are despots and tyrants,” said Tariku, an edge creeping into his voice. “Perhaps you think that because as a slave-girl, you get the brunt of it.”

“I didn’t mean
it that way.” Shioni glowered at his back. “Um… so, how old are your children?”

“Tensi is thirteen
–about your age, right?”

“I’m eleven.
As best we can guess.”

“Hmm.
I suppose the slave trader just wrote down a random age. They often do that.” Tariku pulled back a tree branch. “Watch out when I let this go. You look older. You’re taller than my Tensi, anyhow. And my son Gion is fourteen. He has just been accepted as a full warrior.”

“Oh–I hadn’t heard. I train with him sometimes. He’s quick with a sword and fearless.”

“Just like his father.” He let a grin appear over his shoulder–briefly, because they all had to keep their eyes firmly on the trail. “But since you ask, my wife sent word last week to say they’ll be arriving with the next supply train. They might already be there when we return.”

He sounded happy, Shioni thought.
How wonderful it must be to have a family.

She brooded upon this all the way to the base of the trail, where they broke out suddenly into
a lush riverine grassland. White egrets and black-headed herons stalked along in the shallows, while the grasses came to their horses bellies and the tufted reed-beds soared to twice Shioni’s height. The Mesheha River was a seething flow in this part, too fast and wide to contemplate swimming.

“Good hunting here,” said Talaku, rubbing his belly. “Keep that bow handy, Shioni.”

“You’re a stomach on legs,” said Tariku. “Here, girl, what’s this spoor?”

“Hippo, I think.”

“Right. Hippopotamus. Don’t forget they have the temper of a wounded lion and will attack anything that moves. Keep away from them on land or in the water.”