Yes, Behold the Void is probably right, Eriond wouldn't have erased their memories. I'll go back and change that. How long has it been? Quite a while, I think. Around two months? I was actually preoccupied with my original story... and school, of course. Anyway, let's go to Zakath. I also left a thread hanging from After the Prophecies, I found. Besides the whole issue of the identity of HIM, of course.
Chapter 3
Zakath's boots tapped on the floor as he paced the stone room restlessly, stepping around the low couches and the small table, crossing in front of the cold fireplace and back. His face was preoccupied, and his eyebrows were drawn down in a frown, irritation showing at his mouth. The birdsong from outside and the warm golden sunlight pouring in the window did nothing to appease his mood, and he kept on pacing.
Cyradis, lounging on one of the couches, was watching Terath, their young son, play with a ball on the floor. Her face was turned towards her son, but the slight flicker of her eyes as she watched Zakath was noticeable.
Terath giggled as his ball went rolling, and toddled after it on sturdy legs. He caught his ball in Zakath's path, and the Mallorean emperor was forced to stop pacing in an effort to avoid tripping over his son. Terath looked up at him, an innocent smile on his face. "Dada?" he asked.
Zakath smiled at him despite himself, and picked up his son, carrying him over to Cyradis. "Here, Terath. Play with mama."
"Mama," Terath said, grabbing the hem of Cyradis' soft white gown.
Zakath slumped down on the couch beside the young, beautiful Dal, his irritation back on his face. "It's been a year, Cyradis. And he hasn't spoken."
"You could always resort to the finer arts, your Imperial Majesty," Zakath's adviser spoke up, from where he was standing, ever watchful, in the corner.
"Torture, you mean?" Zakath asked. "I would, but-"
"No," Cyradis interrupted firmly. "No torture."
"And Eriond says no, as well." Zakath scowled. "Why can't you both see? He'll never tell us anything this way."
"He shalt never tell thee anything if he's tortured, either," Cyradis insisted.
"He's a Melcene, Cyradis. A Melcene bureaucrat. He's never been tortured in his life. He'd tell us everything if you'd only give me an hour. We could use Senji. Senji wouldn't do any lasting damage, and he'd still tell us."
Cyradis shook her head. "Thou hast already used Senji, Zakath. Right after we captured the Melcene, thou hadst Senji question him."
"And he told us everything," Zakath said. "Well, almost everything."
"Going over the facts might help, your imperial majesty." The advisor stepped forward from the corner, his sober face inquiring. "If you put together what we know and what we don't know, it might help clear your mind."
Zakath took a deep breath and massaged his temples. "You're right." He sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then stood up again, resuming his pacing. "It was five years ago or so when HE appeared among the Morindim and the Karands, with HIS servant. HIS servant was supposedly a renegade Grolim with a talent for illusions, and he used the illusion of a horde of demons in order to back up HIS power." He looked at the adviser. "Everything so far?"
The adviser nodded.
"HE gathered the Morindim and Karands about HIM, as well as various other people of different races, namely Angarak and Melcene. HE offered the Morindim the western continent, the Karands back their seven kingdoms, and told the Angaraks and Melcenes that HE was out for purging the world of all other races. HE trained them to fight with knives of poison, in a method that eliminated all hand-to-hand combat. HE had such power over them that they followed HIS every command.
"HE gathered them into a great army and dressed them in black. Then HE sent the Karands to attack Mal Zeth from the Karandese kingdoms, to distract the Mallorean army from HIS real campaign. HE sailed more Karands down to Cthol Murgos to burn Rak Cthan and blockade Rak Urga to capture Urgit and distract the Murgo army. Then HE and HIS main force of Morindim marched downward, burning the Forest of Nadrak."
He stopped for a moment, and the adviser nodded.
He resumed pacing. "They burned Yar Gurak, marked through the Escarpment down the North Caravan Route toward Boktor. From there they turned and took the Great North Road southwest to Sendaria. They grew the poison in one of the Karand kingdoms. That was all Mescan told us." He slammed his fist down on a table nearby. "He won't say what HIS real motives are, or who HE is. He won't tell us anything about HIM." He slumped. "He insists he doesn't know anything."
"Maybe he's telling the truth," Cyradis put in. "This is no ordinary man. HE would hardly allow underlings to know his real reasons."
"But the identity of HIM? It's not possible for him to be ignorant of that!" Zakath pressed his fingers against his temples, hard.
"It is a rather irregular case, your Imperial Majesty," the adviser ventured. "In fact, the only accurate sources of information have right now--" he nodded to Cyradis, "--are the Dals."
"The Dals?" Zakath's head came up. "That's true, isn't it?"
"It's been a long time since an Emperor of Mallorea and a spokesman of the Dals have met," the adviser suggested.
"You're right. How could I have neglected that? I ordered the autonomy of the Protectorates, but then I just sat there and ignored them." He turned to Cyradis anxiously. "You don't think they'll assume I'm only coming to them because I need their help, will they?"
Cyradis smiled. "We can see to thy heart, Zakath. Thou needst not to fear that we shalt see thee as thou art not."
"Good." Zakath began pacing, faster than before. "So we invite them here to meet with us for a council. We make sure they've got every comfort-no, that won't work, they hate ostentatious display, and it would look like we were showing off. Fine, we treat them with respect and courtesy, and we find out what they know about HIM."
"What's this about HIM?" Senji strolled in through the door.
"Senji, there you are," Zakath said absentmindedly, his eyes still distant. "How are things in the west?"
"Well, actually, fairly well. Salmissra has sent osthra to relieve the disease in Drasnia, and the Great North Road is open again. Rekev lek Thun is working out very well in Gar og Nadrak, with the help of our young friend Ayan, and Urgit is stripping the Drojim of its horrible decoration. He's going to have quite a bit of money."
Zakath rolled his eyes. "And by honest means, too. How astonishing."
"Cho-Hag got sick last winter, but it's far from fatal. Still, the Algars are taking that as a warning that their king isn't as robust as he used to be." Senji laughed softly. "They tend to forget he's a cripple once he gets astride a horse, and it's only when he's ill that they realize he's got a bigger disadvantage than most men."
"Hettar?" asked Zakath.
"He's as close to Cho-Hag as he was before he got married, and is helping him through everything. Adara and Hettar are staying with Cho-Hag and Silar, so we can hope that the Chief of Clan Chiefs will be healthy for many years yet." Senji thought. "What else? Ah, yes. Geran just turned ten, and Garion's having him tutored in statecraft. Geran isn't too pleased with that, but Garion also has started Barak teaching him how to use a sword, and Silk teaching him knife-throwing."
"Silk and Barak are both at Riva?" Zakath asked curiously.
"Yes," Senji picked at the bowl of grapes on the table. "Velvet's pregnant again, and since both Ce'Nedra and Polgara are at Riva right now, she wants to be near them just in case."
Zakath nodded wordlessly.
"Barak's at Riva mostly because he decided to go with Silk. Unrak also came with his father, because he and Geran are friends, not to mention the whole Bear-Protector thing." Senji scratched his head. "Hmm... everything is Drasnia is fairly standard, and the Tolnedrans are conniving and scheming for money, as usual. Ah, yes. Mayaserena is pregnant, too. The Arends are rather relieved right now, and Korodullin is hovering over his wife. There are the usual squabbles between Asturian and Mimbrate, but no battles or kingdom-wide disputes."
"Did Mayaserena ever bully the Mimbrates into accepting the Asturian titles?" Zakath asked.
"Yes," Senji answered, popping another grape in his mouth. "The Asturians are disgruntled that they can't call the Mimbrates noble snots any more, and the whole hiding-out-in-the-forest-in-green thing has kind of lost its novelty."
"Arends," Zakath shook his head.
"I agree," Senji said. "Urgit, Rekev, and Belgarath are all working on forming Mishrak ac Thull into a working country. The best thing is that the Thulls are basically peasants, so there's a whole peasant country that Urgit and Rekev are creating."
"A peasant country?" asked Cyradis curiously.
"Peasants make wonderful farmers, and woodcutters, and fishermen," Zakath explained. "Urgit and Rekev now have a source of raw material and produce on their side of the Escarpment, with no aspirations for power or urges to seize the market and squeeze it."
"Nyissa is actually producing medicine, with the few brilliant people they've managed to salvage from the mass of drug-addicts," continued Senji. "I don't think anyone's trying to figure out what to do the Dagashi. They're just sitting there in the middle of the desert, I think."
Zakath shook his head. "That could be dangerous."
Senji shrugged. "I think my Master will take care of it. He mentioned speaking with Jaharb sometime soon." He sat down on a couch. "That's basically it. How is Terath?"
Cyradis' eyes snapped open. "Where is he?" she asked, looking around. "Terath!"
"Terath!" called Zakath, looking under the curtains.
Cyradis wrung her hands. "Where could he have gone?"
"Terath!" yelled Senji, getting down on his hands and knees to peer under the couch.
They went hunting around the room, looking for the little boy. "Terath!"
"He has to be in this room," reasoned Senji.
"Maybe--" Zakath began, looking behind the couch up against the wall, then he laughed suddenly. "Look at this."
They came over and crowded around it, looking behind it in the crack between the couch and the wall, nearest to the cold fireplace.
Terath, sucking his thumb, was fast asleep, soot covering his face and arms, and a half-eaten apple beside him.