This man, this Brutus, is the only Kingman left… and thus his usefulness to us, my love, for if we use him to build the spell-weaving here, then there will be no one who can subsequently undo it. Our land will remain forever protected while all others about it will fall victim to plagues and disasters.”
‘And where is this Brutus from? What manner of man is he?”
‘He is a proud man, and a courageous and skillful warrior, both requisites for a truly great Kingman.
His bloodline comes from a city called Troy, now destroyed… and so thus the Game that he knows is the Troy Game. In that we are lucky, for the Troy Game was one of the most powerful of all the Games about the Aegean. So we shall use the Troy Game to protect this land, my love.”
Aerne shrank away from her wandering hand, concerned. “I have heard of this Troy from the traders who come to buy our copper and tin. Troy was attacked and ravaged, as you say. What manner of protection is this Troy Game then, if Troy itself lies destroyed?”
Genvissa sighed. “Have you not been listening to me, old man? Troy was destroyed many generations ago—Brutus’ line has been wandering seeking a home ever since. Then there were many Kingmen, many men who knew how to manipulate the Game and who knew how to unravel the spell-weaving that protected any given land or city. Troy’s Game was unraveled by a man called Achilles, who knew the means by which to dispel the magical protection that hung about Troy. But Achilles is long dead, as is his line. Every other Aegean Kingman and their lines are dead, save for the Trojan kingline. This Brutus is the only man left who can weave the enchantments needed to resurrect the Game. The only one. There is no one who can unravel the Game this Brutus and I will build to protect Llangarlia, Aerne. No one .”
No one, she repeated in her mind, and smiled at the thought of useless, feeble Asterion raging far beyond the peaks of the great Himalayas.
The instant I dose the Game with Brutus, Asterion will be trapped. There is no need to worry about Asterion. No need at all.
IN HIS DISTANT ALPINE VALLEY, DEEP WITHIN THE DARK heart of his roughly-drawn labyrinth, Asterion lowered his head, and smiled.
Power throbbed about him, so virulent it had devastated the entire valley of all life. One day…
“One day!” whispered Asterion.
… he would fling that power at Genvissa and all her hopes and plans and ambitions.
Meanwhile, all he had to do was sit, and observe.
G6N MESOPOTAMA coRnelia speaksSHIFTED SLIGHTLY, TURNING MY SHOULDER
JUST so, knowing that the movement caused my breasts to catch the morning light as it flooded through the windows of the mega-ron. I had dressed carefully that morning, donning the stiffest and thickest of my flounced ankle-length skirts, knowing that their swaying as I moved drew the eye to my hips. I had begged my nurse, Tavia, to tighten my wide embroidered girdle that extra notch so that my waist narrowed to the span of a man’s hands. And above my narrow waist and my sweeping flounced skirts I donned the very best of my jackets; its stiffened emerald linen fitting tightly to my form. I had tied only its bottom two laces, leaving the rest of the jacket open to frame my breasts, as I was allowed to do as an unmarried woman. My dark hair, although not as glorious as that of some women’s, was nonetheless left to curl and drape over my shoulders most becomingly. I looked my absolute best that morning and, from the admiring glances that fell my way, I knew I was not the only one to think so.
Every man in the megaron who saw me lusted for me. Even my own father, I think, for I saw the tip of his tongue moisten his lips as his eyes lingered on my breasts. It was not unknown for a king to take his own daughter to wife, especially when she was his only heir, but if my father had thoughts in that direction, then I should shortly have to disabuse him of them. There was only one man I wanted, and that was my cousin Melanthus.
Eight paces away, Melanthus’ mouth lifted in a knowing smile as he beheld me, and he shifted, aroused.
He would be mine within the week. I knew it.
Suddenly happy, I relaxed, slipping away from my provocative pose. My mind slipped into one of my frequent fantasies about my life with Melanthus: the long hot nights spent in wild abandon in our bed; the children I would bear him (many strong and courageous sons… I would not waste his time nor my strength on mere daughters); the extravagant feasts and celebrations we would preside over when he was my consort; the epic poems Melanthus would compose in my honor; the… “What is this?”
So startled I could not repress a small jump, I looked to my father Pandra-sus. He stood before his throne on the raised dais of the megaron, one of his legs thrust back as if to retain contact with his golden throne, a piece of somewhat tatty parchment in his hand.
His shoulders were back, and stiff, as if in affront. His belly was thrust forward, as if in challenge, and his face was flushed, his eyes bright, as if in outraged anger. On the wrist of the hand that held the offending parchment gleamed the thick gold and ruby bracelet of his office, a larger and only slightly richer version of the similar bracelet that encircled my wrist.
He looked magnificent—all the women in the chamber must have been set a-trembling, and even I felt my tongue circle about my lips in appreciation, but I managed to turn my mind away from my father’s undoubted sexual appeal (besides, what was it when compared to Melanthus’ youthful beauty and prowess?). When I was young, a mere four or five, a prophetess had said I would marry a great king and bear him many children, but that great king was surely not my father. She must have seen Melanthus…
perhaps in our bed, getting one of those many children on my body.
Again my mind threatened to drift off toward yet another fantasy about my cousin, but then my father shouted again, and I forced my mind back to the matter at hand.
“What is this?”
Several servants cowered before my father, falling to their knees, and the soldiers about the walls of the megaron had stiffened, hands to their swords.
My father waved the parchment about, still shouting. I had no idea what it contained, but it was undoubtedly the reason my father had summoned his court early this day. I hoped it would not detain us long, so that I could draw Melanthus into a private corner, and test just how deep his desire ran.
I glanced again at Melanthus, and I saw that he had eyes for no one else but me, and the linen of his waistcloth bulged most promisingly.
Perhaps he would be mine before the morning was out.
‘Listen!” my father said, and began to read.
‘i, 6Rutus, leaden op all chose tuho survived the p all op tRoy, send gReetings to pandRasus, King op che doRian £Reehs in mesopocama. i am come co demand chac you immediacely pRee all CRojans pRom youR slaveRy, POR i find ic incoleRable chac you should CReat them in any uray otheR Chan that which cheiR nobilicy demands. 6e moved Co picy them, and bescow upon them cheiR poRmeR
lib-eRCy and gRant them peRmission co live uiheResoeveR they please. puRCheRmoRe, as example op youR gRand benefice, i demand chat you shall also gRant youR poRmeR slaves che means to Remove themselves pRom mesopo-cama… five SCORC op ships, well scocHed uüth pood, cua-teR, mine, and
cattle, that chey might begin cheiR neai lives paR away pRom heRe in gRand manneR. i await youR
decision in the poRests Co che ease op mesopocama, knowing chac you mill do whac is besc POR
youR people, and youR own gReatness.”
I paid all this little attention. It had nothing to do with me… Melanthus was all that mattered.
My father finished with the detestable letter, then threw back his head and roared with laughter.
‘I have heard of this Brutus!” he said. “Cornelia, shall I tell the court of what I know?”
Startled by the direct question, I gathered my thoughts. “Of course,” I said. “Unless what you know is unseemly.”
‘Oh, it is unseemly enough, but I think you should hear it.”
Somewhat interested now (scandal was always delicious), I lifted my eyebrows—newly plucked and darkened to just the right shade to complement the rich blueness of my eyes—and hoped that Melanthus was close enough to see their full effect.