Love and Magic

By Kyra Halland

Three novels of fantasy, heroism, and romance, together in one ebook collection:

Urdaisunia: In a land torn by war and drought and abandoned by the gods, a widowed rebel and a prince walk intertwining paths of danger, love, and war to save the land they both love.

Chosen of Azara: In a quest that spans centuries, Sevry, the last king of the land of Savaru, searches for the woman who holds the secret that will restore his destroyed homeland to life.

Sarya's Song: Disgraced musician Sarya dyr-Rusac hears strange and powerful new music on the wind. Torn between the man who loves her, whom she can never have, and a beautiful man in chains who appears in her dreams, begging her to sing him free, she must discover the meaning of the mysterious music she heard before the world itself is torn apart. 

Epic romantic fantasy for adults. Contains adult themes, disturbing themes, violence, language, and mild to moderate sensual content

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyra Halland
• Release date: Jan 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519905710

Kyra Halland

Kyra Halland has always loved fantasy. She has also always loved a good love story. She combines those two loves by writing the kinds of romantic fantasy novels she loves to read, tales of magical worlds where complicated, honorable heroes and strong, smart, feminine heroines work together to save their world - or their own small corner of it - and each other. Kyra Halland lives in southern Arizona. She's a wife, mom and mom-in-law, proud grandma, and devoted servant to three cats.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Love and Magic

Urdaisunia

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Cast of Characters

CHOSEN OF AZARA

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part 2

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part 3

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Sarya’s Song

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Glossary

More Tales of Fantasy, Heroism, and Romance

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Urdaisunia

by Kyra Halland

Copyright 2013 Kyra Halland

All Rights Reserved

Cover Illustration: Mominur Rahman

For release news, special offers, book recommendations, exclusive sneak peeks, free stories, and more, sign up for my email newsletter.

https://www.kyrahalland.com/email-signup.html

In Urdaisunia, a land torn by war and drought and abandoned by the gods, a widowed rebel and a prince walk intertwining paths of danger, love, and war to save the land they both love.

Chapter 1

RASHALI TRUDGED BAREFOOT across the dusty road to the river, her back bent beneath the wooden yoke. Though it was still early in the day, the sun beat down on her shoulders. Yet another rainy season had passed with barely a smattering of raindrops, and today there wasn’t even the faintest wisp of a cloud in the sky. The bed of the River Uz was nearly empty, and this year’s barley crop would be the worst in living memory.

After years of drought and famine, the shrines to the gods near the riverbank were nearly bare of offerings. Soon there would be nothing left to give, nothing to persuade the god of water and the goddess of air to finally mate and make the rains come again.

More likely, plague and famine would take them all before then. Rashali’s husband and small daughter had died five months before, and Rashali had nearly died too, and still the sickness lingered, killing off the people of Moon Bend and the other nearby villages one and two at a time. Some days it seemed that the funeral pyres burned without ceasing.

Why under Heaven had she been spared? Rashali wondered as she did so often. The ones who had died were the fortunate ones. In the House of Araskagan, the dead no longer suffered from sickness, hunger, thirst, and sorrow.

At the river, under the watchful eye of the Sazar guards assigned to the watering place, Rashali unhooked her buckets from the yoke. She waded into the muddy water, joining the handful of villagers who were already there. Most of the riverbed was exposed to the air, rotted fish corpses and water-plants embedded in the drying mud.

Closer to the shallow stream of water, the dead fish were still rotting. The stink was overwhelming. The disease-spirits the dead fish released into the river were so powerful that the water had to be boiled to drive them out. It was a shame to lose precious water to steam, but that had proved to be the only way to bring the plague under control.

Squatting in the river, Rashali filled her hardened clay scoop with muddy water, then poured the water into the sieve made of woven grass which she held over the bucket. Patiently, she watched the water trickle, then drip, into the bucket. She dumped out the spent mud, poured another scoop of water into the sieve, and let it drip into the other bucket. She did this over and over, more times than she could count, careful to alternate buckets so that they would balance on the yoke.

It took her until the sun had gone a quarter of the way across the sky to fill each bucket nearly half full. Enough water to last her, her widowed sister Kinna, and Kinna’s three surviving children for the next two days, if they used it carefully. The guards wouldn’t let you fetch water more often than that, and if they thought you were taking more than your share they made you pour out half of what you had onto the dusty ground.

Rashali picked up her buckets, wincing at the pressure of the handles on her still-tender palms. In her frenzied grief, she had tried to beat out the flames of Tigun and Lalana’s funeral pyre with her bare hands; the burns had taken all these months to heal. Cursing the Sazars silently and fervently, she waded out of the river, the muddy hem of her dress clinging to her shins. On the riverbank, she hooked her buckets back on the yoke, put the yoke on her shoulders, and stood up slowly, her back protesting.

It had been the Urdai who built the system of canals and dikes and pumps that had turned this desert into a rich green oasis. The Urdai had been a wealthy and noble people, the greatest civilization in the world, until three generations ago, when the bloodthirsty, barbaric Sazars had come screaming down from the northern mountains. The Sazars had taken for themselves the narrowest, richest place between the two rivers, where the great city Zir and the fertile northern farmlands lay, and kept the dams there closed, allowing barely enough water to flow south for the Urdai living in the dry, rocky Gourd to scratch out a living.

Rashali paused to let one of the Sazar guards, stern and invulnerable in his hardened leather breastplate and helmet, look into her buckets. She stood stiffly, hating him. If it weren’t for the Sazars, the water would be flowing in the river instead of trapped behind the dams. If the Sazars hadn’t defeated the Urdai, the gods would not have turned their backs on the Land of the Two Rivers. If it weren’t for the Sazars, Tigun and Lalana would still be alive.

Go on, then, the guard grunted in poorly-pronounced Urdai.

Rashali bit back the anguish that still, after all these months, threatened to overcome her at the thought of her husband and daughter, and started back across the dusty trade road towards the village. Tigun and Lalana were gone; Araskagan had sung them into the House of the Dead. Her grief would not bring them back. Even if she knew the Name of the Mother of the Gods, she couldn’t bring them back. All she could do was go on living, and somehow, someday, see them avenged.

All at once, a rush of pounding hooves sounded from her right and a voice shouted, You, Urdaina! Watch out!

A wall of black struck hard against her right side. She tumbled to the ground, the yoke sliding from her shoulders, the buckets spilling their water onto the thirsty ground.

Rashali got to her feet, stumbling on a twisted ankle. Three Sazar warhorses stood in front of her, a huge black beast flanked by two slightly smaller dark brown horses. From atop the mounts, three Sazar warriors clad in silver-trimmed black stared down at her.

Hate and rage clouded her senses. These sallow-skinned, narrow-eyed barbarians had degraded and destroyed her people. They were responsible for the deaths of her husband and daughter and countless others. And they had spilled her water. Rashali drew up precious moisture into her mouth and spat at the man in the middle, the man whose black horse had knocked her down.

The three horses danced and snorted like demons. Two of the men raised their long, curved, gleaming-sharp swords above her head. The third man, on the right, jumped down from his horse and grabbed Rashali in a choke hold. The point of a knife pricked the skin beneath her chin.

Tears of terror filled Rashali’s eyes and her heart raced painfully, but she refused to look away from the warrior in the middle, whose richer silver trimmings marked him as superior to the other two. She would not bow down, she would not give way, she would not grovel before a Sazar, even if it cost her her life.

The moment hung suspended as the warrior gave her a long, hard, searching look, as though he were trying to peer into her mind and learn how she dared to defy him.

Then he sheathed his sword.

Rashali stared at him in disbelief, as did the other two men. Surely he couldn’t have decided to show mercy. The Sazars had no mercy in them.

He spoke a few sharp words in the Sazar language, his tone that of a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience. The other man on horseback returned his sword to its sheath, but the man holding Rashali tightened his grip around her neck. He pressed the knife harder against her throat, and said a few words that sounded like a protest.

The leader repeated his orders in an even harsher voice. After hesitating for several heartbeats, the third man let go of Rashali, sheathed his knife, and climbed back up on his horse. The commander gave Rashali another long, searching look, then flicked his horse’s reins to go on his way, leaving Rashali standing in the dirt where her spilled water was rapidly drying.

Lord Sazar! Rashali’s heart pounded at her daring, but her desperation overcame her fear. The leader looked at her again. My water spilled when your horse ran into me, and the guards at the river won’t let me have any more.

It was you who ran into my horse, Urdaina, he said in accented Urdai.

The water isn’t just for me. It’s also for my widowed sister and her children. She’s too weak to come to the river herself. She waited for his response, hardly daring to breathe.

He looked at the damp patch where her buckets had fallen on the ground, then reached into one of his saddlebags and flipped something small and round into the dust at her feet. Give that to the guard, and he’ll let you have more water.

So she was forced to abase herself before him, after all. Her face burning, Rashali stooped over and picked up the object he had tossed to her. It was a copper medallion half the size of her palm, stamped with two mountains, a wolf overlaid with silver, and some Urdai writing. She could read the writing but couldn’t understand the words; they must be in the Sazar language.

Was this the man’s personal seal, or simply a coin to bribe the guard with? Rashali had seen few coins in her life, and none this big. Clutching the medallion and keeping a wary eye on the warrior, she limped over to her yoke and eased it onto her shoulders, then started back to the river.

Wait, the Sazar lord called to her. Rashali looked back, certain that he had changed his mind. What is your name? he asked.

Surely she had already used up all her luck today; she couldn’t afford to test the gods’ patience, or the warrior’s, by refusing to answer him. Rashali, Lord Sazar.

He seemed to consider her name for a moment, then nodded once. Go on. He and his companions rode off, heading south along the road.

Gripping the medallion in her shaking hand, trembling from the aftermath of fear and humiliation, Rashali watched them ride away. If it took all of her life and everything she had, she vowed as she had so many times before, she would see the Sazars crushed down into the dust.

~ Heaven ~

WE HAVE A duty, brother-husband. Hanisar, the goddess of air, glared at the god of water across their cloudsilk-draped chamber in the Palace of Heaven. The mortal world depends on us for rain!

I’m sick of duty, sister-wife, aqua-faced Anki replied. I’ve got more interesting things to do. Things that aren’t entirely pointless.

Perhaps this time it will be different. Hanisar softened her voice as she switched from nagging wife to pleading lover. Perhaps this time we will have the son Mother promised we would have.

Thanks to that prophecy, Mother got herself banished to the Nether, and Father cursed us to be childless. And so we will be.

Father thinks he can control what happens, but Mother always saw true. If she said we will have a child, then someday, somehow, we will. But we can’t if you won’t cooperate. The nagging note crept back into Hanisar’s voice. It rankled at her that Usu and Ninharsa, god of fire and goddess of earth, had been blessed with many sons, thousands upon thousands of fire and earth spirits that lived in the mortal world below. Hanisar and Anki had no one, only the promise from their mother – which had resulted in her being cast out of Heaven by Father Ar – that one day they would have a grandson, born of their son and Usu and Ninharsa’s daughter, who would rise above Ar himself.

Can’t we talk about this later? Anki asked petulantly. I’m busy now. My new civilization is reaching a critical stage. He returned his attention to the viewing-crystal in his hand.

Anki!

What?

The people are becoming desperate down there. They need rain! Hanisar grabbed the fist-sized crystal sphere from him, and turned it to show the Land of the Two Rivers. See how bad it is?

They watched a thin woman, her dark skin smeared with dust and mud, labor to collect water from the dying river, watched her trudge on weak and weary legs back towards her village, saw her near-disastrous run-in with the enemy prince…

The sullen boredom on Anki’s face gave way to a thoughtful look. Hanisar waited, holding her breath. Usually, when Anki thought, little good came of it. Like that ridiculous new civilization of his. The last thing she needed was for him to think of something else to distract him from his duties and her desires.

Let’s make a wager, Anki said. If the woman we saw marries that prince, I will be at your command, whenever you want. If she doesn’t, you’ll leave me alone.

Hanisar’s mouth dropped open. It was impossible. Ridiculous. There was nothing under Heaven that could bring those two, peasant and prince, sworn enemies, together…

Which was exactly what Anki wanted her to think. She closed her mouth as she reconsidered the wager. She had spent enough time with Innina, the goddess of love, to know that where the hearts of mortals were concerned, nothing was impossible. Agreed, she said.

Anki smirked; of course he would think he had already won. Hanisar returned the smirk with a smug inward smile of her own. Far from being settled, the contest was only beginning.

* * *

IN THE HALL of Heaven, a vast space of pure white stone and flawlessly clear crystal, the debate that had been going in circles for three generations of mortals raged on. They are weak! Martuk, the god of war, thundered yet again. They cling to the ways of the past without ever trying to become stronger; they thought that, because they were favored of us, they didn’t have to do anything but pray and we would do their fighting for them. They let themselves be conquered!

We failed in our duties, Shaz, the god of wisdom, said. How could they have known that these barbarians would be so strong, or so desperate, or pay so little heed to the established rules of warfare?

War is war, Martuk replied, and only fools expect their enemies to hold to the rules.

But the Urdai are the only ones who still remember all of us, the goddess Niuz said. If they are destroyed, most of us will be forgotten.

There will always be madmen and dreamers, Uzoma reassured her. Just as there will always be beer and wine and men who love to drink them. He patted his expansive stomach happily. And these so-called ‘barbarians’ are extraordinary brewers. We won’t be forgotten.

There will always be madmen and dreamers, drunkards and wine-bibbers, Niuz retorted, but the mortals will forget that madness and dreams and drink are gifts from us, and they will no longer offer their thanks.

But can their lack of gratitude truly cause us to no longer be gods? Shaz asked. Does it matter what or who the mortals worship, as long as we remain here in the Heavens?

It would be so boring, with no one asking us for help, said Birku, the patron of thieves and tricksters.

They could do quite well enough without your help, Shaz muttered.

The Urdai already have little enough use for me, Kuz, the god of wizards, put in. Unlike the ‘barbarians.’

I’m never bored, Innina said. She cast a sultry glance at Uzoma, Shaz, and Birku. Martuk, for whatever reason, always seemed immune to her charms. And the mortals will always be praying for success in love. Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep up with their desires. I shall be worn down to nothing by all the work. She heaved her generous bosom in an exaggerated sigh. Uzoma and Birku watched her, transfixed, seeming to have forgotten that they were in the middle of an argument.

Idiots, Martuk said. I still say it would be best to let the mortals fight these conflicts on their own, and let the strongest nation win. I am sick of complacent weaklings expecting me to aid them against warriors who are more worthy of my help.

The Urdai kings were anointed by us to hold that land forever! Damuz, god of kings, said. Are you saying we should go back on our word?

The Urdai murdered their divinely anointed king! Kuz retorted. By that action alone, have they not forfeited the right to our protection?

We can raise another king – Damuz said.

Who proves himself worthy in battle! Martuk interrupted.

Enough! bellowed Ar, the Father of the Gods, from his crystal throne. I am sick to death of all this arguing!

You can’t die, Birku said. You’re the Father of the Gods.

I can wish, can’t I? You two! he snapped at Anki and Hanisar. The pair looked guiltily at their father. What is this wager I hear of? Explain why you have failed to carry out your duty!

Hanisar’s beautiful face turned as dark and dangerous as a typhoon. I’ve tried, Father, but he – she pointed at Anki – spends all his time puttering about with some new civilization he’s raising up.

Water-priestesses, Father, Anki said. Naked swimming water-priestesses. He held out his viewing-crystal for his father to see.

Ar dropped his craggy, bearded face into one hand. Ah, Seer, he muttered, why did I banish you? I should have banished myself, and let you deal with our children.

He raised his head again. When we, meaning the Four Firstborn and I, agreed to create a world, we made a covenant that we would each carry out our individual responsibilities in order that the whole would function properly. In failing to abide by this covenant, Anki and Hanisar, you have failed us all. I command that your wager be made void immediately.

We can’t, Father, Anki said. It’s already written. See?

The God of Heaven rose from his throne and stalked across the hall to a clear crystal window. Indeed, a number of stars had been rearranged into a new, intricate constellation, spelling out the agreement between the god of water and the goddess of air. So I see. What is done is done, then.

Come to think of it, Ar thought, the wager wasn’t entirely a disaster, if it meant that the prophesied conception of Anki and Hanisar’s son would be indefinitely delayed. Not that they could possibly conceive, not after he had cursed them to be without issue, but still… Since it is written in the stars, I will have to let the wager stand.

At that moment, a light appeared in the center of the vast hall. It brightened to an intensity that would have blinded mortal eyes, then a white-robed woman crowned with a wreath of green leaves stepped out of the light into the Hall of Heaven. Behind her, the doorway faded.

Ajiha, Ar said, surprised. The goddess of peace had voluntarily followed the Seer into exile in the Nether and had returned to Heaven only rarely in the ages since then. The absence of her balancing influence against Martuk partly explained why wars and contentions raged among the mortals. Of course, the mortals were perfectly capable of getting into trouble without any help from the gods.

Father. Ajiha bowed her head. I bring word from the Seer.

The hall grew silent. The Seer had seldom spoken in the eons since her banishment; those few times, her counsel and warnings had proved to be uncomfortably, devastatingly accurate. The gods didn’t dare ignore a message from her, though they might want to.

The words of the Seer. Ajiha’s face and voice became expressionless as she related the Seer’s message as though the Seer herself spoke through her. The wager stands. The gods are to cease their disputations concerning the fate of our first mortal children and the favored land that was given to them.

She held out her hand to Anki. Though Ajiha was a younger, lesser god, he handed over his viewing crystal without protest. She passed her hand over it to show the woman Anki and Hanisar had seen.

The Seer foresees that because of this woman’s nature and the vows she has made, she will be in a position of influence with many men who seek power over the land, who will desire her. Through the heart of this woman, the land itself will choose its ruler: the man she chooses as a worthy husband will also be the man most worthy to be king. Her choice is not to be forced or interfered with; according to the covenant of the gods, should the gods interfere with the sacred right of mortal free will, they will cease to be gods.

Expression and personality came back into the goddess’s face, and she handed the viewing-crystal back to Anki. The woman remained visible in it. These are the words of the Seer. Ajiha nodded to Ar. Until we meet again, Father. The passageway of light reappeared behind Ajiha, and she departed through it.

That woman? Birku demanded, peering into the crystal as conversation and activity slowly returned to the hall. "She’s going to choose who should rule? She isn’t even very pretty!"

A woman doesn’t have to be beautiful to be desired by kings, Innina said. This could be interesting.

Hear me! Ar bellowed. The gods fell silent again. It shall be as the Seer said. There will be no interference in the woman’s choice. Would you have us lose our godhood? Any who interfere in this matter will be banished to the Nether. Is that understood?

In the cowed silence, rainbow-haired Zashtag, the goddess of birds, stepped forward. The long, feathery spikes of her hair bobbed and fluttered with her movement. Father, this woman was born under my sign, to my protection. Deciding the fate of nations is a dangerous business. I request the right to give her such assistance as may be necessary to preserve her life.

Ar studied his bright-haired, bright-spirited daughter for a moment. Very well. You may aid the woman, but only if her life is in danger.

Zashtag bowed her head. Thank you, Father.

The gods gradually returned to their business. A small group gathered around Anki and his viewing-crystal to observe the woman who had been chosen to determine the fate of a land.

Ar sat back down on his throne and sought to calm his mind. Surely there was no chance that the woman would choose the prince, the descendant of the hated conquerors, the man named in Anki and Hanisar’s wager. Anki and Hanisar would have no son; no grandson would be born to the Four Firstborn to rise over all the other gods. He, Ar, the God of Heaven, the Father of the Gods, was safe in his throne in the Heavens.

Chapter 2

AFTER HE ARRIVED in Kubiz, Prince Eruzasharbat spent several days investigating Sangh activity in the harbor city. The Kus, the great river which flowed east and south through the Sangh Empire, joined Urdaisunia’s two rivers in the vast delta just north of Kubiz, and the Sangh were no longer content to pay fees and taxes for access to the Kus’s harbor. Rather, they had made it clear that they wanted control of the entire harbor and the city.

Though Kubiz had excellent natural defenses and most of the Sangh Empire’s military strength was tied up in a never-ending border war with Xaxa, far to the southwest, the city was still vulnerable. Invasion of Urdaisunia by the Kai-Kalle tribes to the east was a constant threat. If Sazar troops stationed at Kubiz were called away to defend against an invasion by the tribes, Kubiz could be easily overrun by a small Sangh force. On the other hand, if the Sazars had to send troops from the eastern borders to defend Kubiz, that would leave the country wide open to the Kai-Kalle.

Not only that, Eruz had discovered there was also the possibility of a non-military takeover by the Sangh from within the Kubiz.

He spent much of his time in Kubiz dressed as a common Sazar tradesman, observing comings and goings at the city council chambers and Sangh homes and businesses, and making note of who spoke to whom. He didn’t trust ordinary agents to discover the kinds of information he was most interested in; in his experience, they tended to overlook seemingly insignificant details, and often arranged their information to fit ideas they already had. And a Sazar agent was likely to treat a fellow Sazar with less suspicion than he would accord to a Sangh or an Urdai, even if there was evidence the Sazar was collaborating with the enemy.

Or perhaps, Eruz sometimes admitted wryly to himself, his mistrust of agents was simply an excuse to set aside his identity as High Prince and Heir and become someone else for a while.

During his investigation, he found evidence of bribes paid by various Sangh individuals to members of the city council and the city guards, along with hints of a Sangh connection to a group of Urdai rebels. It would be wise, he decided, to keep a closer watch on both the Sangh who lived in Kubiz and those traveling in and out of the city.

The activities of the local Scorpion group also needed to be more carefully watched. It was vital to tread with great caution, though. The Urdai in Kubiz enjoyed more freedom and prosperity than elsewhere in Urdaisunia, and any curtailment of those privileges might lead to uprisings that could potentially spread like wildfire through the villages along the rivers and all the way to the Royal Palace at Zir. His father the king and his brothers refused to acknowledge the risk of such an uprising, but the danger was constantly on Eruz’s mind.

Though while in Kubiz he was occupied with tracking down and untangling the threads of what could prove to be a deep-rooted conspiracy, Eruz’s thoughts kept returning to the Urdai woman he had encountered on the journey from Zir. He could still see her face, thin, dark, filthy with dust and sweat, with a full mouth, strong nose, and large dark eyes – a typical Urdai face, worn with grief and hardship, old beyond her years.

Still, though she wasn’t beautiful in the way of a Sazar noblewoman, he couldn’t forget the way she had stared up at him, terrified yet too angry and proud to back down. When he had looked into her face, trying to decide whether or not to strike her down for her defiance, for the first time in his life he had been forced to choose to act on his principles, rather than simply think and question.

The choice had not been difficult.

The evening before he left Kubiz to return to Zir, Eruz gave his reports and recommendations to his uncle Sumatriganaz, the Regent of Kubiz, and expressed his concerns about coming down too hard on the local Urdai. Sumat was a quiet, scholarly man who shared many of Eruz’s reservations about the Sazars’ treatment of the conquered Urdai.

It is possible to maintain peaceful relations with a people without putting your own people at a disadvantage, Sumat said after hearing Eruz’s suggestions. Your father, in the name of Sazar superiority, continues in the path of his father and grandfather, making the Urdai suffer greatly. Your brothers, as they have told me in so many words, would go even further and simply slaughter all the Urdai. They do not understand that this sort of ruthlessness is not necessary in order to be a strong, effective ruler and can, in fact, turn against the ruler who uses such tactics.

On my journey here, Eruz said, an Urdai woman ran afoul of my horse. The water she had just collected from the Uz was spilled, and in her anger she spat at me. I’ll admit that my first thought was to kill her. But I couldn’t. When I looked at her, I felt her fear and anger and desperation. She is a mortal creature of the gods just as I am, just as we all are.

Such thoughts had teased at Eruz all his life, as the one brother, out of three, who was destined to inherit the throne. But never before had he put those thoughts into words, not even to himself, let alone said them to another person. The privacy of Sumat’s study was the only place he would dare to say such things, and his sympathetic uncle the only person to whom he would dare say them.

I am the High Prince, the Heir. One day I’ll be king, he went on. But I’m in this position entirely by chance, an accident of birth. What is it that gives me, or any man, the right to take the life of another, or even to rule over others?

The person who is intended to rule is placed by the gods in the position to rule, Sumat replied.

Was it the gods’ will, then, that I emerged from my mother’s womb before Hazram? Eruz asked. Or that I was born to our father’s First Wife, while my elder brother Teshtarg was born to a lesser wife? Even as a newborn, even before I was born, was I more worthy than my brothers to rule?

Such circumstances cannot be changed. We cannot go back three generations and change the events of the conquest, and we cannot go back to living in the mountains. You and Hazram cannot crawl back inside your mother, may her spirit rest in Araskagan’s brightest rooms, and reverse the order of your birth. The best thing, the only thing, that a man can do who is put in the position to rule, is to rule wisely.

Though they didn’t answer his questions, Eruz could find no fault with his uncle’s words. I will do the best I can, Uncle. If you’ll excuse me now, I need to make an early start in the morning.

Eruz started to rise from his chair, but Sumat stopped him with a hand on his knee. "You must remember, Eruz, that it would be wise to hide your doubts and sympathies. Your father disapproves of your reluctance to take aggressive action against the Urdai, and is watching you closely for any hint of disloyalty or weakness.

At the same time, both Hazram and Teshtarg are eager to take your place as Heir. Neither of your brothers must ever become king. Their cruelty would shame our warrior souls and drive the Urdai to an uprising which would lead to disaster for our people. We must maintain control of this land, but we must do so without endangering ourselves or staining our spirits with innocent blood. You are the only one of Nezudanasag’s sons who can do this. But it is only possible if you hold on to your position and one day inherit the throne.

I will remember, Uncle, Eruz said. Not that he needed to be reminded of these things.

He excused himself again and left the study. As he walked through his uncle’s house and then readied himself for sleep, his thoughts remained haunted by dark eyes filled with anger, fear, despair, and pride.

* * *

AS HE ALWAYS did when traveling between Kubiz and Zir, Eruz took the little-used road along the Uz. It was a longer way than the Tabra River road, the route taken by most travelers and nearly all the caravans, which had the advantage of keeping him away longer from the palace and the scheming, plotting, and fretting of his two brothers and three wives.

Travel through the Gourd itself was impossible. The vast, arid desert between the rivers held nothing but the ruins of cities that had risen and fallen over centuries with the rise and fall of other rivers that had flowed through the Gourd at one time or another. Only the Uz and the Tabra had flowed from the beginning of time until now.

And now, even they were dying.

In the Gourd, distant mounds showed through the heat-shimmer; some were hills, and some were the barrows of long-abandoned cities. Would the day come, Eruz wondered, when even Zir, the greatest city ever built by the Urdai, would be nothing more than a forgotten pile of ruins in the desert?

He shivered in spite of the heat, and turned his thoughts to the gifts he was bringing home for his wives: twelve lengths of rose-colored Xaxan silk and a spool of silver ribbon for Nishanara, his First Wife; embroidered slippers, a shawl of green Xaxan silk, and a fish-shaped gold brooch for Gutrarina; and for plump Birsaguna, his youngest and newest wife, thirty silver buttons, hair-combs of Xaxan sandalwood, and a small carved ivory box filled with her favorite almond-paste sweets. There was also a doll that looked like Zashtag, the goddess of birds, for his daughter Mizalilu, Gutra’s child, and silk hair ribbons and rings of jade and carnelian for the women of his zanir.

It wasn’t a shortage of goods in Zir that required him to fulfill these requests; the few things not immediately available in Zir could easily be brought in by caravan from Kubiz. Rather, his wives and zanira demanded presents any time he left Zir for longer than a day as proof of his devotion to them. If he followed the custom of his family and took two more wives, he reflected sourly, he would end up spending everything he had on gifts. It was almost worth it, though, to keep them happy for a day or two. The only gift he truly looked forward to giving was the rainbow-haired doll for his daughter.

Something nagged at his mind. There should be another present for Nisha; there were only two things for her and three for the other wives. What else had she asked for?

Halfway through the second morning of travel, he remembered. The talking bird, he said out loud. Damn it to Araskagan’s cesspits, I forgot the damned talking bird.

His guards glanced at him, but gave no other sign of noticing his outburst. Nisha had heard some tale of a breed of bird that could talk, and had asked Eruz – ordered him, actually – to find one in Kubiz and bring it to her. I don’t care if you have to steal one from the Sangh ambassador’s granddaughter, I want a talking bird, had been her words to him as he was leaving. Eruz had forgotten to even ask about finding one.

It was bad enough that he hadn’t given her a child yet; now he couldn’t even give her a talking bird. He prayed to whatever god who might care for a curse on the person who had told tales in Nisha’s hearing about talking birds.

Again, the Urdai woman came into his mind. Even after so many days, Eruz still wasn’t sure why she haunted his thoughts like this. He remembered the fear and desperation that warred together in her face as she risked death – in her own view, anyway, since at that point he had known that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, kill her – to ask for two buckets of water. Not just for herself, she had added, as though to ask only for her own sake would be unworthy, but for her widowed sister, who was too weak to collect water, and the children.

I want to learn more about conditions among the Urdai, he said to his guards, unsure, even as he spoke, why he had come to this sudden decision. We’ll stop at the village where I aided the Urdai woman.

The two guards glanced at him but said nothing. They were sworn to him and would never dare to question him openly. But any sign of weakness could erode their loyalty to him, or become fodder for barracks gossip. As Sumat had warned him, Eruz reminded himself, he must never reveal his doubts and sympathies.

Chapter 3

RASHALI SAT IN the curtained-off back room of the house of Sumir the fisherman, with the handful of other men and women from the village who made up the local Scorpions’ Nest. She sighed and shifted, trying to control her frustration.

Sumir was a good man, a widower with three surviving children, and Rashali approved of what seemed to be a growing closeness between him and Kinna. A pledging between them would be good for them and for their children. But he wasn’t a very strong Nest leader. He allowed the other Scorpions to waste time on useless daydreaming and wishful thinking instead of guiding the Nest in making strong, effective plans to destroy the Sazars.

It shouldn’t be so hard to overpower the guards at the watering-place, one man, Pazeb, was saying. There’s only two of them and seven of us.

Those aren’t the only two soldiers in the area, though, Rashali said. Remember, there’s a whole garrison not five miles north of here. If we just killed the two guards, the rest of them would be down here the next day to kill us all. What we need to do is band together with some of the other Nests –

I heard there’s a descendant of the brother of Kianak-Ur hiding in the hills near Dead Frog, another man, Argat, said.

If we had him to lead us, it would be easy to take over the Sazar fort, one woman said enthusiastically.

Rashali bit back impatient words. Kianak-Ur, the last lugal of the direct royal line, who had ruled a hundred years earlier, had had only a young daughter, Iriniz-Az, as his heir. Despite the greatness of the lugala Shairu-Az a thousand years before that, there were those who had thought that a woman was unfit to rule. So Kianak-Ur had been deposed in favor of a cousin and executed. Over the following months, Kianak-Ur’s younger brother, vowed to nameless celibacy as a priest of Ar, and the young princess were hunted down and assassinated.

From time to time, rumors surfaced of a descendant of the younger brother, who would lead the Urdai to freedom and renewed glory. Most Urdai seemed to place more faith in these mythical heirs of the divinely-anointed royal line than in their own abilities. If she knew the Name of the Mother, Rashali would wish for the Urdai to recover not just their pride and strength, but also the intelligence they seemed to have lost somewhere along the way.

Even if there really is such a person, she said, fighting to keep her temper, we would still need to carefully plan the raid and acquire some weapons.

The Nest at Birku’s Rock has a cache of weapons, Sumir said. We could borrow –

Where did they get them? Rashali asked. We need our own weapons, and we need to train with them. Besides, it will take several Nests working together to defeat a garrison.

I think they traded with the Kai-Kalle for them.

Traded what? Argat asked. We got nothing to trade, except dirt, chickens, and our women.

Rashali glared at him. Don’t even think about it. She turned back to Sumir. The Kai-Kalle can’t be trusted, anyway. You know that. However the Scorpions at Birku’s Rock are getting weapons, if they could find a way to distribute them to other Nests, who would donate whatever they could in return, that would be better than every Nest trying to find their own source of weapons.

If we found the lugals’ lost treasure, Pazeb said, we could buy a lot of weapons with that.

Rashali’s patience finally gave out. The treasure of the Urdai kings had been hidden away during the war against the Sazars – hidden so well that no one had been able to find it in over seventy years. It had probably already been found by the Sazars themselves, if it was ever to be found at all. If we knew the Name of the Mother, she could give us some weapons, she retorted. We need to do more thinking and less daydreaming.

I’ll send a message to the Nest leader at Birku’s Rock, Sumir said diplomatically. He used a sharp stick to scratch some glyphs onto a thin slab of sandstone, making note of the decision. Then he took a small scroll of beaten reed from inside his tunic. I got a message from the Nest leader at Kubiz –

He was interrupted by Kinna pulling aside the hangings that divided the round house into two rooms. I’m sorry, Sumir. I need to talk to my sister. She looked at Rashali, her eyes big with fear. Rashali, there’s someone asking to see you.

Who is it?

I don’t know. Just someone. Come quickly.

Rashali followed her sister outside without further question. As they crossed the dusty common, where the village’s scrawny goats and chickens clustered in the meager shade of a couple of thorn trees, Rashali saw three tall Sazar warhorses and two black-clad Sazar warriors standing by the doorway to Kinna’s house. Where’s the third? Rashali whispered.

Inside. Kinna was nearly weeping from fear.

You let him in your house? Rashali asked, appalled.

I didn’t let him in, he just walked in. He has a sword, Rashali. How could I tell him to leave? He said he needs to see you. Kinna looked near to collapsing; one of her three surviving children had finally died of lingering illness and hunger just a few days ago, and she was still fragile and distraught from grief and exhausted from the long day spent lying in mourning before the funeral pyre.

Rashali motioned for Kinna to stay behind her and entered the house. In the light let in by the single window, she saw the Sazar warrior whose horse had run her down squatting beside Kinna’s two surviving children where they lay by the firepit.

Rashali gasped. The Sazar could have done anything he wanted to the children while he was alone with them.

The warrior glanced up, then stood. I will not harm the children. Are they yours?

My sister’s. My only child and my husband died nearly six months ago. What are you doing here? Have you come to mock us or make trouble for us, or are you just curious?

I came because I wish to learn more about conditions in the river villages.

Look around you, Rashali snapped. She gestured at the sick children, the nearly-empty water buckets, the meager stock of food. We need more water, clean water. We need food. We need Anki and Hanisar to mate and bring the rains. We need our land back, and our freedom and our pride. We need our children to stop dying!

I cannot give you all of that, he said calmly, seeming unaffected by her anger. Even if I were the king, I couldn’t tell the gods what to do. But I do have some influence, with the king if not with the gods. I may be able to see that additional food or water is made available to you.

Don’t mock us with false promises, Sazar.

He shrugged. You may believe what you wish, Urdaina, but I assure you that I do not mock you. Your name is Rashali, if I remember correctly?

Yes. Fear chilled her heart; she must have made quite an impression on him, for him to remember the name of an Urdai peasant. It was dangerous to come too much to the attention of a Sazar warrior.

Do you still have the medallion I gave you?

I do. The river guard hadn’t kept it for himself, which Rashali guessed must mean that it wasn’t a coin or anything of value to anyone but the warrior it belonged to. So she had kept it as a reminder of the vows she had renewed that day, to do everything in her power to destroy the Sazars, even at the cost of her own life.

If you ever need anything of me, bring that seal to Zir. Show it to the guards at the city gate, and they’ll tell you how to find me. With a final nod to her and Kinna, who stood behind her, he left.

As the three horses galloped away, Kinna said, Zashtag must have been smiling on you indeed the day you met him.

Damn him for giving Kinna false hope. He’s a Sazar. Sooner or later, I know I’ll curse the day I met him.

Chapter 4

"IDIOT! NISHA SNAPPED at Eruz when he presented his gifts to her the evening he arrived back in Zir. How hard can it be to remember one simple request?" Her lovely face twisted with disdain, she crumpled up the costly silk and ribbons Eruz had brought her and threw them onto the floor, flounced into her bedroom with a few disparaging remarks about his manhood, and slammed the door behind her.

Gutra, heavy and uncomfortable in the late months of a difficult pregnancy, and disappointed because she was going through all this only to have another girl, had hardly two words of greeting for him. Eruz deposited her gifts on the silk-brocade couch where she lay, received a curt Thanks for them, and went to see his youngest wife.

From Birsa, he learned why his other two wives were even more unhappy with him than usual. I’m going to have a baby, she said. He could have cut the smugness in her voice with his sword. The sorcerers say it will be a boy.

Eruz set the gifts down on her couch, took her hands in his, and kissed one and then the other in the correct formal display of affection. Your words gladden my heart.

The news did more than gladden him; it was momentous. The birth of a son, a full six years after he married his First Wife, would finally put to rest his brothers’ claim that he shouldn’t be the Heir because he was incapable of siring an Heir of his own. Even if Nisha and Gutra never had boys, at least he would have this son. He let go of Birsa’s hands. I’ve brought you some gifts. He picked up the box of almond paste sweets, uncovered it, and offered it to her. Your favorite, I believe.

Almond paste? Oh, Eruz. I think I’m going to throw up. She ran into her privy-room.

He got no warmer welcome in the zanir. The gifts of ribbons and rings were barely noticed; such trinkets could be easily obtained by sending a servant down to the plaza in front of the palace. Each woman had been hoping for something special that would show that he favored her above the others and would raise her to be his next wife. As soon as he could, Eruz fled the perfumed, spite-thickened air of the zanir for the nursery. At least his daughter would be glad to see him.

But Mizalilu was already asleep. Her nurse offered to give her the doll when she woke up in the morning, but Eruz wanted to see his daughter’s delight at the present for himself. So he took the doll with him and sought refuge in the Jewel of Zir.

The extensive gardens, which rolled half a mile from the palace to the banks of the Tabra River, represented the pinnacle of Urdai engineering and horticultural skill. Water pumped in from both rivers flowed through winding canals disguised as streams, bringing cool green life to the garden. Hundreds of varieties of plants had been imported from the world over to be tended by the best gardeners to be found.

After the Conquest, the Sazars had added the skills of their sorcerers, who were now free to develop their talents beyond what was strictly necessary for survival, to those of the Urdai engineers and gardeners. As a result, the Jewel shone more brightly now than ever before

Eruz followed a white-graveled path, lit by the moon and carefully-placed torches, into the heart of the gardens, to a stone bench by a small artificial lake. The bench was screened from the path by a low tree with hand-shaped leaves and fleshy white five-petaled flowers. The blooms gave off a sweet, complex scent. He breathed deeply of the fragrant, moist air, and listened to the soft sound of the water and the singing of night birds, and tried to bring his scattered emotions into order.

If, as the Urdai said, he knew the Name of the Mother, he would have wished for a wife who saw him as more than a provider of babies and presents and prestige. He thought of the Urdai widow Rashali, asking not for rich gifts but for food, water, freedom. Asking for the children of her people to cease dying.

Which of those things was it in his power to give her without exposing himself to accusations of weakness and disloyalty? There was barely enough water behind the dams for the needs of Zir and the Sazar farmers north of the city. Sorcerers who had been sent into the mountains had reported that the snowpack was nearly depleted; another winter with no snowfall would see the Uz completely empty. If that happened, there would be little enough food for the Sazars without Eruz giving more from their stores to the Urdai.

Perhaps if he issued orders for the guards at the watering places to be more lenient…

Eruz laid the doll he was still holding on his lap and looked down at the scars shaped like twin mountains on his palms. They had been cut at the moment of his birth, to mark him as the older twin, and had been re-cut periodically as he grew to ensure that the marks remained clear.

Hazram sometimes claimed that he was actually the firstborn twin and that Eruz had been marked because of a conspiracy between their mother, the midwives, and the priests. Teshtarg, who looked more like the king than Eruz and Hazram did, taller and thinner with a more prominent nose, had been known to say that this resemblance to their father meant that he should be the Heir in spite of his birth to a lesser wife. A ridiculous line of reasoning, and offensive in the implication that Eruz and Hazram might not really be Nezudanasag’s sons.

Regardless of how their claims absurd their claims were, either Hazram or Teshtarg would be a perfectly acceptable replacement for Eruz should the king decide to disinherit him. And, as Sumat had rightly said, Urdaisunia could not afford to have either Hazram or Teshtarg as king.

Eruz wasn’t satisfied with the idea of ordering the guards to let the Urdai take more water from the rivers. But it was the only thing he could think of that would allow him to keep his word without harming his own people or endangering his position.

The question settled, at least for the moment, Eruz finally let the peace of the garden soothe his tangled thoughts and gave in to his weariness after six days of hard riding. His eyes drifted closed and his mind wandered. Idly, he wondered if the Urdai woman’s husband had ever given her gifts. Probably not, given the extreme poverty of the peasants along the rivers. But if he had, Eruz imagined that she would have been grateful. Perhaps she would even have given her husband a kiss. He pictured her face tilted back, her eyes soft and shining instead of old and filled with grief, her lips parting –

Eruz shook himself. What was he doing, having such thoughts about an Urdai woman? He had thirteen impeccably suitable women contracted to him: wives for duty, zanira for pleasure, as the saying went, and wishing for anything beyond that was foolishness.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the doll, and headed for his chambers and his bed. Where, unless one of those thirteen women had softened her heart in the last little while, he would sleep alone tonight.

~ Heaven ~

IN A CLOUDSILK-DRAPED chamber of the Palace of Heaven, Innina was feeding tiny starbeam macaroons to Anzub, god of the fresh waters. Anzub, reclining on a couch of pure white stone cushioned with heaps of cloudsilk, eagerly accepted each exquisite morsel from Innina’s delicate fingers.

You are extremely devious, my darling, he said between bites, indicating the viewing crystal sitting on the low table next to the couch.

Innina shrugged her smooth, bare shoulders. Can I help it if his wives look spoiled and selfish compared to a peasant woman?

Can you indeed? Anzub lifted one dark blue eyebrow.

Innina drew back in mock offense. Do you think I’m a fool? Father would banish me in an eyeblink if I tried that. You know the rules.

Of course I don’t think you’re a fool. I just think that you know the thoughts of men better than they themselves do. Now, let’s have a kiss.

Innina leaned forward and obliged. You’re so much more entertaining than some of the others, she said. Like that gloomy Araskagan. He won’t stop singing the names of the dead long enough for even one little kiss.

He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

If I spent as much time singing the names of mortals who are in love as he does singing the names of the ones who have died, they would be much happier down there.

But we up here would be much less happy.

Hmm. You flatterer. Now, what next?

What next? Anzub asked slyly. I thought you knew.

I’m talking about the wager, Anzub. The prince needs to do something very grand to help, or she’ll hate him for breaking his promise. Innina picked up the viewing crystal and tilted it this way and that, studying it, until something caught her eye. She beckoned Anzub to look.

The crystal showed a deep, blue-black lake winding through a long valley between ranges of steep peaks. The snow on the peaks was sparser than it should have been, but there was enough that the lake would be fed through the coming summer. On the northeast shore, a stream ran out of the lake, joining a river that ran down to a sea on the far side of the mountains. A second streambed opening out of the southwest end of the lake, which would normally feed into the River Uz, was blocked by the rubble from an old rockslide.

Innina pointed out the blockage with one finger. Won’t these rocks eventually clear away?

Anzub shrugged. Eventually. After a very long time, for the mortals.

Supposing you hurried it up a little. Say, over the time of one or two earthly nights. Maybe Trannarnit could help you; a small earthquake would clear that right out. Then the water could flow down the river to where that woman lives. Her fingertip traced the Uz. It would eventually happen anyway; no one will ever notice it was you.

Absolutely not, my love. I am not going to interfere in this.

Innina drew away from him and pulled her white and gold gown back up onto her shoulders. Why not?

You told me yourself, it isn’t worth being banished. Besides, Anki will give in eventually. He’ll get bored and go back to Hanisar.

But not before most of those poor people are dead. They’re dying so quickly already. And when they’re gone, we’ll be forgotten. Besides, wouldn’t it be lovely, the prince marrying the peasant woman? Just like in a romantic tale!

I’m supposed to be on Anki’s side. He gives me my power.

I like Hanisar. You like me. Therefore, you are on Hanisar’s side.

I can’t risk making Anki angry at me.

Anki is being an idiot. It’s no favor to him to encourage his idiocy. Besides, what would you rather have, Anki’s friendship, or mine? Innina loaded the question by letting her gown slip down again.

Anzub smiled in defeat. My darling Innina, that is not a fair question. You already know the answer.

Of course I do. Now, those rocks, if you don’t mind…

Chapter 5

IN THE DAYS since Eruz’s return to Zir, his reports on the situation in Kubiz had been delivered and analyzed. Now the council, consisting of King Nezudanasag, Eruz, his brothers, and a handful of civilian and military advisers, was discussing how to deal with the situation.

The council members who took bribes must be arrested, of course, the king said.

How do we know the rest of them didn’t take bribes? Teshtarg asked. Arrest all of them.

Eruz sighed. Teshtarg would cut off his own arm to cure a hangnail. We don’t want to punish the honest ones. We want to encourage them to remain honest.

Arresting them all will make sure they’ll stay honest, Hazram said.

Or turn them completely against us, Eruz said. Punishing loyal men unjustly is a sure way to lose their loyalty.

We’ll arrest the ones we know took bribes, punish them severely to make examples of them, and appoint new council members to replace them, the king said. Teshtarg and Hazram scowled at their father’s agreement with Eruz. And we’ll depend on our own agents rather than the Regent to tell us who is loyal. Sumatriganaz may know the laws, but he is far too trusting and lenient.

We should appoint some of our men in Zir to the Kubiz council, Hazram said. We can count on their loyalty.

That will only inflame the rivalry between the cities, Eruz said. It will make the councilors from Kubiz more willing to take bribes from the Sangh if the Sangh promise increased independence and prestige for Kubiz.

Regardless, the king said, it would be best to have men on the Kubiz city council whose chief loyalty is to me and me alone.

Hazram shot Eruz a smug look as the king now took his side. Eruz sighed. This council meeting was turning out like all the others, with Hazram and Teshtarg doing everything they could to undermine Eruz in front of their father. On occasion, the