AN: I know it has been a while. I have been going through a lot. I joined the military, now just trying to spend time with family and friends before I leave. I would like to send some love to booksnmusic for encouraging me to keep writing, I 3 you! I hope that everyone enjoys this one, let me know. This is a short chapter, it is that way for a reason. BTW I love Metalocalypse, Toki is my favorite! Listening to Dethklok while I write this!
His vision blurred in and out of focus because of the heat. Just put one foot in front of the other, he told himself. Soon they would have to stop for a break. They had to stop; otherwise they would all eventually start to die. They may be people of the dessert, but eventually they needed to rest. This he was sure of. They had entered a desert three days back and if they did not stop to the Scythians would risk losing what men they had left.
He felt the incessant tug of the rope that bound him to the King's horse around his wrists as he started to drag his feet. He immediately picked up pace because he could not afford to fall and be dragged for miles again. His body could only withstand so much damage and he was almost at the brink. It was beyond hope that the King would give him his own horse. Surely the Scythian had to know that he was worth more alive than dead.
Maybe the King liked to see Garsiv in pain. A week prior he had Garsiv chained and beat for spilling wine. The next day Garsiv had fallen behind the horse and was dragged for miles. Which opened some of his wounds from the whipping, and sand entered his wounds. He was lucky they hadn't started to fester, but only because a servant had been kind enough to clean him up.
He questioned the intelligence of the King though. If Garsiv died out here in the desert the King would forfeit his life. Yet as Garsiv was forced to trot behind the horse with his wrists tied before him, he didn't think the King knew that. He struggled against the bonds and was thankful they weren't as tight as they were the day before. The day before the rope had cut deep into his wrists after rubbing them raw. Blood had trickled down his hands for the better part of the afternoon as he stumbled behind the King's horse. Today though they weren't as tight.
His wounds looked as if they were hot with infection. He hadn't the time to actually study them for he was having to stumble around, but if they stopped soon he would have to remind himself to check. That was if they desert heat didn't make him forget first. A man could lose themselves out here in the red ocean with the blistering sun hanging over head. He hoped that if they were infected, that the same kind servant who helped before, did so again.
Resisting the urge to lick his lips again as he thought of the red ocean of sand, it reminded him how thirsty he was. The army was not lacking of water, but they only spared him enough to survive. He sighed loudly and tried to not think about how even hot water would be the most refreshing thing that touched his lips.
Then they finally stopped, the King halting his horse, and holding up a fist signaling everyone else to do the same. Garsiv sighed heavily before sucking in a great gulp of air into his dust filled lungs. He tried not look overjoyed by it. He felt that if the King saw him smile that they would push forward just despite him. Yet he probably couldn't smile anyways, because he was so tired. The muscles of his face were even too exhausted.
The King climbed down from his horse and tossed the rope that bound Garsiv to a nearby guard. Here is where the real work began. It was becoming routine for him to help set up camp. It took hours and it felt like days as the hot dessert sun beat down on him. His skin was taking on a darker complexion now because of it. He wondered by the time he got home would any of his loved ones recognize him, would Shraga recognize him?
He pushed his loved ones to the back of his mind though. He had more pressing issues to worry about. Like not messing up tying the ropes to the King's tent. He had messed up once and he had gone without food for two days because of it. He was already growing too thin, and he didn't know how much longer his body would last without meals and the exertion he went through every day.
For a moment his hand instinctly traveled up as if he were going to grab the necklace Shraga had given him. He stopped mid motion, remembering it was lost to him. He had eventually lost track of what guard had the necklace because he got stationed somewhere else in the vast sea of men that traveled with them.
It was hours later that he was shoved into the King's tent, where he was meant to serve the King. Yet when he started going towards his area where the food and wine was laid out he realized the King was not there. He was alone, or so he thought. From across the tent, where the bed was, came a slight whimper. He looked around and judged that he was not going to get caught if he investigated.
He made his way to the bed, trying to figure out who had whimpered. As he got close enough as he dared, he realized a woman sat on the bed crying. He cleared his throat and she turned to look at him. Her blue eyes caught him and he couldn't look away. He had seen sapphires that weren't as wonderful as her eyes.
"Help me," she whispered gently. She moved closer to him, as close as she could because she was chained in place on the bed. The heavy chains bruised her perfect skin; he could see the dark bruises on her wrists from where he stood. He gave her a sad look, feeling nothing but sorry for this woman. He shook his head, trying to make her understand that he too was a prisoner. Her eyes softened in understanding. She turned away from him, to hide her tears he supposed.
He wanted her to look upon him again though. He wanted to stare into the depths of her eyes again. He glanced to the side where the entrance of the tent was. It was still closed and he didn't hear anyone near the entrance. He almost went to her side, but he didn't, for it would be his luck that he was caught touching her. And he wanted to touch her. He wanted to know if her skin was as soft as it looked.
He felt his chest clench. The cold reality hit him then. The King was going to have his way with this woman. Garsiv studied her for a moment from where he went to start preparing to serve the King. She had silver gilt hair that looked softer than silk. Her skin was alabaster, and he wondered how she managed to stay from the sun. While Garsiv just wanted to touch her, the King would break her.
She was beautiful. She was stunning. He looked away feeling ashamed for not being able to help such a beautiful innocent creature. That was until he caught a glimpse from across the room. There on a heavy wooden table, scattered with maps of the red sand sea, was a dagger. He looked back to the silver haired woman thought about how with that dagger, he could free them both. He checked the entrance of the tent again, it was the same story. No one was near the entrance.
He heart raced too fast with excitement. How stupid of the King to leave something as simple as a dagger lying around. Garsiv quickly retrieved it and hid it in the waist line of his pants. At his quick movements the woman looked at him. He had already hid the blade so she only stared onto him confused. He gave her a simple smile and with that she turned to hide her face from him again.
Tonight, he thought, he would be a free man. He knew he needed a plan, but the first cog was in place, he had a weapon. As he worked, he started to think that this could possibly be a trap. If he were King, he would do something of the sort. It couldn't be though. He had to remind himself that this King of Scythia was not as smart as he, Prince of Persia. So he kept the dagger and continued to work.
After making sure the table where the King dined was ready, he then found himself finding stuff around the tent to set out. The King, he had come to learn, liked to be reminded of his home, where he must have many furs set out. So Garsiv started to set out furs, that way the King would feel more at home. He wanted the King to feel safe. As he was setting out more furs he picked up one that felt like it had something in it.
He unwrapped it slowly and was stunned to find his sword wrapped in it. He had thought it lost. He gripped the hilt, remembering when Shraga had given it to him. His heart felt like it skipped a beat. He may not have the connection to her because of the necklace, but he sure enough had a connection to her because of the sword she had given him. He thanked the Gods that the sword had not been lost like he had thought, and he quickly wrapped it back up.
Yes, tonight would be the night he became a free man. He didn't know how he had come to be so lucky, but he didn't want to question it. To him the Gods had spoken, and he should not question their judgment. He hid the sword near the space he would sleep on the ground, and he then went about his business. He would wait, and then he would strike.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
The palace was in chaos. A few weeks before the King of Persia had returned, handing down the responsibility to Tus to bring home Garsiv. And now the trumpets sounded in the distance to signal the return of the army. It turned the palace into a nightmare to prepare for their return.
Servants ran wildly through the palace to prepare. The palace floors were being cleaned, the golden trim on the marble walls was being polished, and a feast was being prepared to feed the entire army. Even from the bed chambers, the wives and concubines could smell the feast they were preparing, while most of them prepared for the return by themselves without the help of their maidservants, who had been spared to help elsewhere in the palace. There were a few who remained to help their women though, for that was all they knew was how to serve the ladies of the palace.
Shraga sat in Garsiv's room, looking out the window so she could watch the main road entering the courtyard. Tears streaked her face because they would only return this soon without word for one reason, and only one reason. They must have found his body. Her shoulders shook, and she bit the inside of her lip to try and not cry, but she couldn't stop herself.
It had almost been a full year now and she was going to see her husband again finally, but as a corpse. Her lady stood close by, waiting to help her prepare for their arrival. Shraga didn't feel much like moving. Her husband was out there, coming this way, in the back of a wagon. She clenched the soft sheets of the bed into fists.
At this very moment she wanted nothing more than to be home. She wished for that year ago when she lived in the dessert, and sparred with Zolm. Anger bit deep into her heart. She wasn't in the dessert with her people. She was here with her new people, with her corpse of a husband being carried this way. Now her shoulders shook with a different reason. The raw fury ripped through her entire body.
She would make Scythia pay for his demise. This she promised herself. That country would burn to waste, and drown in an ocean of blood. And it would be by her hand that they would do so. Yes, she would make sure that they paid dearly for killing her husband. Another round of tears rolled down her cheeks, and she started to taste blood. Don't fight the hurt, she told herself. Just let it all out before anyone else sees you, she whispered in her mind. She didn't want to be seen as week in a time where she needed to stay strong.
She let her head sink into her hands as she allowed herself to wail in front of the servant. She found herself grateful that the servant came forward to calm her down. "My lady, do not be solemn, I am sure he is alive," she whispered as she smoothed a hand down Shraga's hair.
"They would have sent word if he were alive," Shraga nearly growled. The servant only sighed. She knew not to argue with Shraga. Arguing would only end with more broken valuables. Shraga was a fan of breaking things when she was angry.
"My lady, you should allow me to dress you, the first of the horses are passing through the gate now," whispered the servant. Shraga nodded her head and let the woman do her job. Within moments she was dressed. She turned away from the window, not wanting to see the wagon that had his body. She would wait until they brought him in.
The servant wiped away Shraga's tears. A gong sounded from the court room, signaling that the Prince Tus had returned. Shraga trembled as she thought that everything was happening too quickly. Just a month ago she was sure they would bring her husband home, but she had thought he would be alive. And now she was leaving Garsiv's room and heading towards the court room to receive news that her husband was dead.
She balled her fist up at the thought. She was going to kill the Scythian bastards. She held her head up high, and squared her shoulders. She finally made her way to the tall golden doors leading into the court room. Guards worked hard to open the doors for her and once they opened she stepped over the threshold.
She was stopped in her tracks though when the first person her eyes landed on was her husband. There he stood, living, breathing, and laughing even. She swayed slightly as if to faint, but a guard put a firm hand on her elbow to steady her. "Garsiv," she whispered in disbelief.
There he stood, speaking with his father, after all this time. There was her husband. He was right there! Her heart leapt wildly in her chest and she wanted to scream his name, but she couldn't even make herself do anything, because at that time she saw her husband wrap an arm around a silver haired woman's waist.
"Father, this is my wife; Iryanna," stated Garsiv as he turned to look the lady in the eye. From where Shraga stood, she could see it in his eyes, the love he had for the woman at his side.
Just as she was about to react a heavy hand firmly laid on her shoulder. She turned and looked at Tus. "Be strong," he whispered. Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded. Yes, be strong, your husband is alive, she told herself.
She turned back and when she did Garsiv and her made eye contact.