Marcus watched the familiar sites of Charn with a mixture of wonder and apprehension as he urged his horse into a trot.
He had come to the capital many times, and still he marveled at the many wonders Charn presented for the awe of her visitors.
The ornate temples and houses of the rich, many decorated with enough wealth to keep a family in comfort for many a year.
The great river which lay at the center of the city, a source of life to all who lived within her walls.
Indeed many honored the river, claiming that it possessed a powerful guardian who answered to no one save the keepers of Charn's destiny.
Behind him came many lords, some on horseback, others in chariots in response to the summons from the king.
They were the last to arrive, as their homes and lands were some distance from the capital and the journey took many days of hard travel.
He had received the scroll two weeks ago, delivered to his door by royal messenger when he had been dining with friends.
Recognizing the royal seal, he had opened it at once, forcing his face to remain impassive as he read its contents.
Only after his guests had departed did he show it to Sara.
Her reaction was immediate.
"You mustn't go."
"I can't refuse a summons from the king; you know that as well as I do."
"But what if the king suspects something?" Her voice was filled with concern and the fear she struggled to govern.
"Then I will do my best to allay his suspicions, and the gods willing return to you soon."
"Do you think someone has betrayed us? I know we were careful with asking others to join us, and I can't imagine any of them turning against us now."
"It's possible, and a risk we took when we started this. But what would you have had me do? Remain silent while our people suffer under the rule of a king and queen who care not for mercy or justice?"
Still she tried to dissuade him, protested that she should accompany him until he had reluctantly pointed out that she hadn't been mentioned in the summons.
She would be waiting anxiously for his return, for she was not the only woman who had chosen to join his cause.
He smiled as he thought of her slender figure and raven hair, and her eyes filled with warmth and affection.
They had been betrothed on his sixteenth birthday according to the wishes of their parents.
Many thought the marriage of the son of a great general, and the daughter of a rich lord to be most respectable.
They had been fortunate. For not all arranged marriages were as contented as theirs.
Sara had been a great help to him when they began planning rebellion.
It was she who had pointed out that it was a pity they had never found a sorcerer to join their cause.
Often when he met with his fellow conspirators in secret, Marcus had wished for one skilled in magic to conceal their plans and thoughts from being overheard.
Thoughts of home were quickly put aside as he approached the palace gates.
The guards knew him well, and offered the commander a respectful salute as he entered the courtyard.
With the ease born of countless hours on horseback, Marcus dismounted and crossed the courtyard to the palace steps where the king awaited his guests.
So focused was he on displaying no outward sign of nervousness, that he scarcely noticed the arrival of the other nobles as they dismounted their horses or jumped down from their chariots to join him.
As one they bowed before their monarch, offering him greetings and thanks for his invitation.
The king smiled upon them all before beckoning them forward.
"I welcome you all according to the ancient law of courtesy as honored guests. Come my lords, all is in readiness and the feast awaits us. I hope that you will find the hospitality of my house to your liking, and while you remain under my roof I ask that you consider all I own to be yours."
A practiced speech, Marcus thought as he walked through the golden doors into the vast entrance hall. It's in keeping with tradition and yet I can't help but wonder if something dark is at work this night.
The king led his guests through many richly appointed rooms, passed the fabled hall of images where statues of Charns' monarchs sat in silent glory.
Marcus recalled one visit he had made with Sara to the palace two years ago, how they had spent some time amongst this tribute to history admiring the exquisite workmanship of the sculptors and artists.
Sara's comment, that the first kings and queens of their nation possessed a warmth and quiet strength had prompted him to wonder.
Had his people fallen so far that kindness or mercy were considered a weakness?
It was then the seeds of rebellion had taken root, and together with Sara he had begun to carefully plan and select people who would be willing to join their cause.
They passed through a pillared courtyard, with a magnificent fountain at its center, up many grand staircases and through endless passages before two slaves pulled open the doors to the banquet hall.
It was the most elaborate feast Marcus had ever attended, containing many exotic dishes and foods he greatly enjoyed.
Course after course of rich and delicious fare was set before the king and his guests, and there was much talk and laughter as the feast continued late into the evening.
Seated at the right of the king, Marcus ate well, but made sure to drink only a little wine with his meal.
Outwardly he was calm and relaxed, as he forced himself to eat and carry on conversation, but inside his thoughts were frantic with worry and the sense that death was close.
As the king called for the best wine to be served, Marcus's suspicions grew.
His warrior's training had honed his talent for observation, and what he glimpsed in the eyes of Charn's ruler as he smiled upon his guests was deadly.
Marcus had seen that look before, in soldiers who reveled in the chaos and violence of battle. He also knew what it was to be tempted by the siren call of darkness, the urge to take delight in the ease of a kill and the spilling of an enemy's blood.
It was a struggle which never ended, for as his Sara had once told him when he had spoken of his fears, all men were capable of dark deeds. What mattered in the end was the choice made whenever temptation grew strong. It was a choice which would confront every human being until the moment of his death.
Now as his gaze met the king's across the laden table, he thanked the gods for Sara's wise counsel.
King and warrior saw in that brief moment of contact the truth of an ancient saying.
For what the ruler of Charn glimpsed was a soul of courage and honor, determined to do all in his power to end the reign of his king.
Marcus looked beneath the outward mask of pretended friendship and welcome, and saw a mind steeped in corruption and darkness, and the chilling knowledge that he and his fellow conspirators would meet their end this night.
How did he know?
Marcus knew from the moment he began planning rebellion, that a betrayal was a very real possibility.
He had carefully chosen the men and women who would advise and support him, and knew that they shared his convictions.
But trust was something rarely found in Charn, an empire hardened and corrupted by cruelty and malice.
His mind considered and disregarded many possible answers before arriving at the one he feared the most.
For centuries stories had been told of the royal family's command of sorcery, though many claimed that it was the women who possessed a stronger talent for the darker magics.
Indeed he had often wondered if the ruling family were not wholly human as they claimed, but carried the blood of those born to sorcery in their veins.
Could those rumors be true?
It would make sense. If the king had even the smallest trace of magic, he would be able to seek out and find those disloyal to his kingdom easily.
A choked cry at the furthest end of the table drew every eye in the hall, just in time to see one of the noble lords fall from his seat in mortal agony.
Others who had drunk from the silver pitchers of wine soon joined their comrade in a slow and horrific death.
The king stood and motioned to the warriors he had chosen to begin their bloody task.
Some said afterwards the killings were by poison alone, others that the nobles who planned revolution were executed by the sword or struck down by an expertly cast spear.
The truth was that many were sacrificed to a king's lust for power on that ancient winter's night, victims of sword and arrow, dagger and poison mixed with the best wine.
So swift and deadly did the king's warriors act, that not even the slaves had the chance to heed Mara's advice.
For the king wanted none left alive to speak the names of those he had chosen to play the part of assassin.
Marcus was the last to die.
He watched in horror as the banquet hall became a place of death, as the sounds of merriment were soon replaced with the clash of weapons and the screams and groans of the dying.
Around him many of his friends fought grimly, and though he tried valiantly to save a few in the end his efforts proved futile.
Soon the floor was littered with the corpses of the fallen, pools of spilled wine mingled with the blood of the slain.
Knowing that his only chance of surviving the carnage around him lay in his skill with the sword, he had quickly snatched one from a fallen lord and fought for his life.
The king watched as Marcus cut down warrior after warrior, awed at the man's skill with a blade.
Truly this was a master of the sword, a warrior who deserved an honorable death.
At his side the queen sat continuing her meal as if nothing had happened.
Only when she glimpsed the indecision in the eyes of her husband did she rise from her throne.
Withdrawing a dagger from her robes she took careful aim, feeling no remorse at the prospect of slaying her instructor.
For it had been Marcus who had acquiesced to her request to teach her how to defend herself with a dagger; spent many hours with his queen until he was convinced she would become a capable fighter.
She struck with the speed of a deadly serpent, driving the dagger deep into his throat, meeting his look of shock and betrayal with a cold smile of triumph and joy in her first kill.
Marcus's last thoughts were for Sara, and a prayer to any gods listening that he and his friends might someday be avenged.
After it was over the king left that hall of death, following a complicated route only the royal family was privileged to know, until at last he stood in a secret chamber where the knowledge of dark magic was kept.
Stories regarding the exact details of the sacrifice were scarce, so he had decided that the killings must be done in a number of ways so that the magic he was about to learn might be satisfied.
He spoke into the darkness, words laced with the power of all those he had ordered slain this night.
"I have performed the sacrifice according to the tales passed down through my family. Let me hear the word of power, one which is death to mortal flesh and spirit.
I seek to know and wield its strength against my enemies, so that I will rule unchallenged and forge Charn into a mighty empire.
By the blood of those slain and the power of dark sorcery I ask for this knowledge."
To an observer it appeared as if nothing had happened, for there was no visible evidence that the king's petition had been received.
But within the king stirred the knowledge that he had been heard, and now was the time for judgment.
That part of him that was sorcerer was keenly aware of a growing sense of power.
Something ancient, perhaps formed at the birth of all worlds was awakening in response to his call.
Willingly he opened his thoughts to this presence, reveling in the darkness and the promise of death it bore.
So long it had waited for this moment, when a mortal king would dare to corrupt the ancient law of courtesy.
At the dawn of creation, it was conceived out of darkness. Woven out of the forbidden thoughts and passions of men, it lay sleeping at the heart of the empire which was to be named Charn.
Shaped over the centuries like the most intricate of sculptures, it became a word which could never be uttered in the tongues of men or beasts.
It made its presence known in a thousand subtle ways, allowing a faint echo of its power to be heard in the thoughts of those it deemed worthy, to give voice to its hunger for death and destruction.
Always those of royal blood were chosen, rulers who held within their souls the power and will to give the word form.
The first monarchs of Charn it ignored, for they did not demonstrate that unique combination of determination, cruelty and callous indifference to suffering which a speaker must possess. Nor did any of Charn's ancient kings succumb to the siren call of the dark, to the extent that it would be able to flourish within the kingdom.
This one however, was worth examination.
And so it weighed and pronounced its judgment of the sacrifice this ruler offered
Yes, he had been creative when it came to the slaughter, and the desire for power and conquest was there.
But beneath it all was the barest flicker of regret that those who had served him well and possessed noble lineage must be sacrificed.
Regretfully it decided to reject this mortal's petition, reluctantly deciding that it must wait until one was born who had a hunger to match its own.
This ruler was a monarch to be feared, a mortal capable of many cruel and violent acts. But deep within him were thoughts which a speaker must not possess.
For he sought this power not because he felt its siren call, but out of a desperate hope that by using it he could conquer every enemy of his empire with ease.
So it reasoned, and spoke to the mind of this mortal king who had awoken it from its long sleep.
"You are not worthy. For there is a part of you which regrets the death of so many who were of noble blood.
Your sacrifice has lent me strength, and there will come a time when a speaker will be born who will be strong enough to wield me with ease.
She will be a woman of strength and power, ruthless in her desire to rule through fear and the dark ways of sorcery.
In thanks for your sacrifice I will tell you this much.
She will be of your lineage, three generations hence."
Fury stirred within him that a woman would be blessed with the strength to speak this sacred word. His queen would be pleased, for she firmly believed that women were far more capable of using the darker magics than men.
At least he would have the honor of being an ancestor of this chosen speaker.
That knowledge brought him some comfort amidst the disappointment that he had not been selected.
Also he knew that the chances of another rebellion would be rare when word of the killings reached his people.
In that knowledge he went to find his queen, hoping that she would be content with the honor of being named ancestor to the word's chosen speaker.
Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but my computer was in for repairs after a couple of major harddrive crashes, and I only got it back a couple of days ago
Some of the descriptions of the forming of the deplorable word are taken directly from my story The Two Sisters, I just changed a few things to fit with the context of this chapter..
Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate all of your comments.
Next we are introduced to Tash, and two other goddesses of Calormene Lewis mentioned in the Chronicles.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Thanks for reading.