In the Pyramid Lands
To the Lady, Queen Mesmira of Stygia, our royal greetings.
It is with greatest joy do we announce the royal union of
His Majesty, Conan I of Aquilonia to The Lady
Jezmine
of
Tarantia.
Those were the words
that she had read, burned black into her mind.
Why?
She had offered him Stygia!
Had she not read the omens?
Had she not promised him a son?
Why then, the Tarantian wench?
She cloaks her face in night-black hair,
hides her tears,
and weeps
for the blue eyed boy who could have been, but will never be.
She forgets that only a Queen would have the power to bend
the land of the pyramids to her will
and feels only sorrow for what she can never have.
He would have been the perfect consort; a general to lead her armies
as she leads her people,
and that wretched Naga leads their faith.
Worthless beast!
But
it is past, and it has passed
her by
and left her in its wake.
And so she sits in this filthy tavern, hooded in silky shadow,
trying hard to drown herself,
or at least forget.
And maybe, if she's lucky, she'll find
some poor sap and make him
lucky too.
He sits,
wrapped up in layers of cloth and darkness,
hiding from the world and its judgement,
trying hard to lose himself into
the black depths of his tankard.
On nights like this, the inky brew is the only thing that keeps him
Windfang;
that quiets Venturas and
puts him to bed like a small child.
Because he doesn't want to remember
the sunlight on his human skin,
and the feel of her hair or her warm, soft lips.
He doesn't want to think about that other girl,
the one who looks just like her,
who didn't look at him with fear,
but with
respect
and how she walked away with that Cimmerian pig
who can, only now, offer her a kingdom.
And for a time, he forgets, until
he hears a broken voice
mutter "Tarantian wench"
and he nods to himself, because it's nice to know
that even a stranger feels the same,
so that maybe this pain in the chest region
that's so sharp right now,
doesn't actually mean that he's dying
and that maybe tomorrow will come and that life
will
go on.
But until sunrise, he doesn't plan on letting the tankard out of his sight,
because,
even a raging hangover will help him forget.