The Road to the Future - 6. Part Six

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Chapter Sixteen: Attack

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It was during the second month of the siege that the Confederacy began its real assault on the city. Men carrying large planks of wood rushed forward to build bridges over the moat surrounding the walls while their archers sent volleys against the Centurions watching from above. Still, even as the sky was nearly blocked out by missiles, the Centurions were able to send out volleys of their own, killing many of the archers and the men building the bridges. In the end, however, the enemy’s sheer numbers allowed them to place seven bridges over the eight-foot deep moat.

 

Next, siege towers, thirty foot high structures on wheels, moved slowly up to the walls of the city. The Centurions sent hundreds of oil lit arrows at the towers, but each of them was covered by thick animal hides, soaked to the point of having turned green. With dozens of men pushing the towers from behind, they were unreachable for attack.

 

It took almost an hour for the towers to reach the moat. While the towers were moving, the Confederacy sent their arrows against the walls to keep the Centurions down. When the towers reached within twenty feet of the city walls the arrows stopped so as not to hit their own men. That was the moment the Centurions had been waiting for. All along the two mile wall, thousands of Centurions appeared out of hiding. Dropping boulders off the walls, they blocked the paths of the towers. Four of the towers were stopped this way as the rocks jammed up against their wheels.

 

Only eight towers successfully made it to the walls, their drawbridges dropping over the parapets. Another siege tower almost made it, just a five foot gap between the tower and the wall, a boulder stuck in its wheels.

 

With eight towers against the walls, the Confederacy troops that had been pushing them from behind began climbing them and pouring onto the parapet to meet the long spears and crossbows of the Centurion warriors. Less than a dozen Confederate soldiers ever set foot on the stone walls, as the Centurions quickly overwhelmed them. When the Centurions pinned the attackers in their siege towers, they sent in men carrying heavy barrels of oil. Inside the towers, the Centurions cracked the barrels open and poured the fuel down over the dry wooden interiors. After dropping a torch, each tower burst into flames, black smoke billowing out from its top like a chimney.

 

During all this fighting, the Confederate generals were not idle. Under the clouds of smoke more bridges were built and additional towers sent toward the walls. With the Centurions busy fighting on the walls, the boulders blocking the other towers were soon removed. Where there had been eight towers against the walls there were soon twelve, sending hundreds of men to the walls.

 

In the midst of the chaos of battle, a wagon lead by six horses raced toward the city’s gates. It almost reached it before Centurion archers from the gate towers shot the horses down. Still, the heavy battering ram in the back of the wagon was now within a few yards of the gate with Confederate troops nearby. Soon the iron shod ram was beating against the heavy gate, the wood cracking. Arrows, hot oil, and boulders rained down on the men manning the ram but as one fell it seemed two more would take his place.

 

Three times the Centurions killed enough of the attackers to force the ram to be left unmanned, surrounded by the dead. Each time, however, the Confederate troops surged forward and took up beating against the gates again. As Sirrus watched his men's progress, things were not happening fast enough. Already eighteen thousand men were involved in the attack, mostly from the weaker kingdoms. Neither Huron nor Tal Sith was willing to risk their best men until victory was assured.

 

Turning to one of his messengers, Sirrus sent orders that the archers were to start firing again, even though the arrows would hit more of his own men than the Centurions on the walls. The commander in charge of the archers knew this and sent the messenger back for clarification. Sirrus did clarify his orders… he had the commander killed, sending a lieutenant to replace him. Yes, many of the Confederacy's own men would die but, then again, the arrows would stop the Centurions from harassing the men trying to break down the city gate. Sirrus was certain that the death rate for his men would drop once the city walls were breached and the Centurions crammed into the palace. He was so sure, he could already imagine receiving his reward.

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With his men engaged with thousands of Confederacy troops, the last thing Darius had expected was to see the rain of arrows darken the sky again, killing friend and foe alike. This time the Centurions, engaged in combat with the enemy, could not duck and hide behind the stone parapets of the city’s walls. With wave after wave of arrows falling on the city, the total number of people standing quickly dropped. Seeing that the city’s gates were now buckling, Darius ordered the gate guards to start moving the large stone blocks in front of it. It had become clear, however, that nothing he could do would prevent the enemy from breaking through.

 

“I do not understand how this commander thinks!” Darius shouted with disgust. What sort of general would sacrifice his men in such a reckless manner?

 

“You have to admit, however, it is effective,” Varrus groaned.

 

“Killing thousands of your own men to kill hundreds of ours?”

 

“With the numbers they have they can afford this blood sacrifice. You have to remember; we are not fighting against a Centurion… moral standards do not apply.”

 

“Well, if I ever get my hands on this leader I will see he is turned into a pin cushion…” Darius had hoped to hold the enemy back for weeks before retreating behind the palace walls. It was due to their sheer numbers, and total disregard for their own lives, that the Confederacy was overwhelming his Centurions.

 

Seeing that holding the walls was a hopeless cause, Darius ordered his men to retreat. The first to fall back were the archers, a few of whom would be left in the city to act as snipers, looking for any chance to take out an important officer and lower morale. Once the archers were in position, Darius began to call back the infantry using the few cavalry he had kept in the city to hold the city streets. The last to be called back were the gate guards. The city gate was now halfway blocked by stone. Even if the gate fell, it would have to be ripped out before men could pass through it.

 

After all his men were safe, Darius called in all his commanders to receive the casualty reports. Of the twenty thousand men who had been guarding the walls, three thousand had been killed and eight thousand were wounded… Not as bad as Darius had feared. With the Centurion talent for quick healing those eight thousand would soon be ready for battle once more.

 

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“Where were your men?” the general from Forstine demanded, bursting into Sirrus’ command tent.

 

Not for the first time, the Count wished he could place a locked door to the entryway. “My men were occupied elsewhere.”

 

“On some grand field of battle, no less,” the general said with scorn.

 

“They were serving their purpose… just as your men served theirs. Thanks to them we took the city in a day.”

 

“But your archers… how could you have given the order. Hundreds of my soldiers died.”

 

“Hundreds you say… my count is over a thousand.” Sirrus smirked as he made his way to a chest, opening it to show it full of silver coins. “Tell me… do you value your men’s lives so much that you would have been willing to trade yours for one of theirs?”

 

“No… that would be foolish. You do not cut of the head to save the tail.”

 

“Of course… how silly of me. How about ten men for your life… a hundred, maybe a thousand? Is any number of your soldiers worth giving up your own life for?”

 

“…” The general remained silent.

 

“How about this… I give you ten of these pretty silver coins for every man who was killed in battle today? That is ten months’ wages,” Sirrus said as he took up a fist full of coins only to let them slip from his fingers.

 

The general’s anger was suddenly replaced with greed. “That would be quite a sum…”

 

“I think this chest would cover your loss,” Sirrus replied as he slammed the chest closed with a foot. Behind that chest were half a dozen others, just waiting to be claimed by other mourners.

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Chapter Seventeen: The Nature of a Demon

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Philip paced around the Keep's central courtyard, thrashing about, trying to find a way free himself from the leash Jason had tied around him. He had not known it when he sent his Demon Spawn to attack the Confederacy troops, but Jason's bond to Philip had allowed him to see and know what he and his children had done. If Philip had known that, he would have put more restraint on his Spawn. What he had ordered however had been for them to terrify the enemy as much as possible.

 

Jason had remained silent during the early raids, even though his dreams had been filled by the bloody carnage of Philip and his Spawn. It was only after the third time, when Philip had forgotten to bathe and came to Jason covered with blood, that Jason had gone over the edge. He demanded at once that Philip never kill again. Philip at first laughed. He did not see why Jason was so upset. But, when Jason continued to demand that Philip control himself and his Spawn, Philip started to become angry. Yes, a part of him had enjoyed letting go and killing indiscriminately; his children had enjoyed it as well. But the main reason he had performed the attacks was to protect Jason. Philip was sure that, if his Demon Spawn were given free rein, the Confederacy Army could be wiped out in a matter of days. Jason, though, wanted no part of such butchery.

 

It was then that Philip found, to his shocked surprise, WHO had the final say in such matters. He had long assumed that Jason, with his shy and passive nature, would do whatever he said. However, it turned out that the bond he had with Jason gave Jason a certain level of control. When his lover finally put his foot down and demanded that he never send his Spawn out into battle again, Philip had wanted to go straight to Darius and order an all out attack. When he tried to say the words, however, he felt a noose tightening around his throat, cutting off his vocal cords. He tried for hours to give the command, even attempting to write it down, but when he tried to do that, his hands froze with arthritic pain.

 

It took a while, but Philip finally realized that when he bonded to Jason, a leash had been placed around his neck. It was with the bloody raids that Jason had been given a reason to tug at it. Since then, Philip spent hours each day trying to find a way around it, just as he was doing now in the courtyard.

 

Tonight, he was trying to circumvent Jason's control by practicing sentences that would not directly give the order to attack but only imply it. After thrashing about and catching his breath between fits of choking he gave up. As long as his intent was to order his Demon Spawn on a rampage, he could not give the order.

 

Tired and frustrated, Philip made his way back to the bedroom he shared with Jason. He wanted to try again and convince his lover to release him, if not for his own safety, then for the lives of his friends and Centurion protectors.

 

There in the bed with Jason were Logan and Geoff. Jason had turned to his two Saints for emotional support. Geoff had become the model of the ideal winged guard, totally loyal to Jason and dedicated to his safety. Logan on the other hand was madly in love with his Angel. What had started off as a big brother--little brother relationship had changed to where Logan acted like an eager puppy wanting to please his owner. He had already made Jason a helmet and arm and shin guards to go with his breastplate. When Logan learned that Jason had always wanted to learn the double-bladed sword he had made him three of them.

 

Jason had taken each gift with deep appreciation but did not know what to do with his most devout follower. He was flattered to the point of near embarrassment when Logan started writing love poetry to him, and then showed him his plans to build a giant copper statue of him to stand on the edge of the cliff.

 

Jason did not want to admit it, but he found comfort in their love making, it was passionate without being too serious. Logan for his part took pleasure in both giving and receiving when it came to sex. To have such a handsome young man find interest in him, he being middle-aged, made Logan feel younger than he had in years. It also gave him a parent’s purpose in protecting his Angel.

 

It might have been, that what attracted Jason was his weakness for large, hirsute men, which Logan certainly was. Jason enjoyed nuzzling his face against Logan's warm and hairy chest. After all he had gone through, Jason still had a need to feel safe, and he did in Logan's arms. This in addition to his safety with Philip.

 

Jason had told Philip all this, and he understood. If it had not been for the war and how it cut into Philip’s time with Jason, Jason might not have become so close to Logan. But it had happened, and Philip now had to deal with it.

 

Tapping Geoff on the shoulder to get him to move off the bed, Philip took his place behind Jason, wrapping his arms around him. Jason responded by turning around to face his love, his dark opal eyes a mystery of emotions.

 

Having known exactly what Philip had been doing, Jason looked up at him pleadingly. "Philip... stop fighting me."

 

"Jason... all I want to do is end the war... nothing more. Think of all the lives I could save."

 

"You enjoy killing too much."

 

"I am a Demon and before that a Centurion... so yes a part of me does. My strongest urge is to protect you, however."

 

"Philip, when you and your children kill, my children and I see it all."

 

"I am sorry, Jason... If I knew a way to block those images from your mind I would, but please unleash me," Philip pleaded.

 

"No..." Jason said with finality.

 

"Jason... more than your own life is at stake here. Tens of thousands of Centurions are here with us."

 

"There has to be a better way," Jason insisted, pulling away from Philip and back into Logan's arms.

 

"Jason, please?"

 

"No Philip... not again. I will never let you come back to me covered in blood. You are still a human being."

 

"Jason... I AM A DEMON! I am not a nice person. Even before I was a Demon, I was a Centurion. It was my job to kill the enemy and I have always enjoyed it!"

 

"No...," Jason replied, squeezing his eyes closed as if that would hide the truth of what Philip was telling him.

 

"Jason... I am a killer. I will always be a killer. If I am a good person, it is only because of you. If you were to die, then all that would be left in me would be my urge to kill and increase my children. You keep me human, but you need to let me be what I am."

 

"No... I won't let you," Jason sobbed.

 

Seeing that Jason would not release his control, Philip gave up and left the room, giving one last look to see Geoff return to his spot, sandwiching Jason between him and Logan. Philip then went looking for Varrus hoping to see if he could convince Jason to let go of his leash.

 

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“You and Jason still having problems?" Varrus chuckled when he saw Philip enter his office.

 

"He will not let me do what needs to be done."

 

"I always knew he had the final say in your relationship." Varrus grinned

 

"Is it the same way with you and him?"

 

"Oh no... neither of us have the sort of power over the other like Jason has over you. As his mentor, I do have some influence over him though."

 

"Can you convince him to let me do what needs to be done?"

 

"And what would that be?" Varrus asked.

 

Philip tried to tell Varrus but once again Jason's leash tightened, choking his voice off. "I... I can't."

 

"Well, it will be very hard for me to convince Jason to give you free reign if I don't know what it is you want to do. I do have a good guess of what it is though."

 

"What do you think it is?" Philip asked hoping that Varrus did indeed know.

 

"You want to release your Spawn on the enemy forces."

 

Once again Philip tried to respond but even nodding his head proved too hard.

 

"I see that Jason's hold will not let you respond to that," Varrus sighed. "Your children would wipe out the invaders easily... but, is that a good thing? Does Jason want to be known as the man who ordered the death of the nearly quarter million men who have flooded the kingdom? Will the Tosian people accept Jason as the kind and gentle king he is, if they know he has such terrible power at his disposal? Could there ever be peace between us and the Confederacy with so much spilled blood between us?”

 

"No one would dare oppose him," Philip pointed out.

 

"No one would love him either," Varrus countered. "And unlike you and your Demons, Jason needs to feel that the people love him... it is both his weakness and his strength."

 

"We might not win this war if I am forced to hold back."

 

"If there is no other choice, I am sure Jason will listen to reason. Right now a senseless blood bath is not justified," Varrus said as he went over to Philip and hugged him.

 

Philip sighed and relaxed in Varrus' arms. Over the time that he and Jason had been separated, Varrus had been the one Philip had used to remove the poison from his body.

 

"Is Jason with Logan and Geoff?" Varrus asked.

 

"Yes... are those two men not always by him these days?" Philip growled.

 

"Jason is confused and angry with you right now. He needs someone to talk to. If we were not at war, Jason would have come to me but he knows that I have little free time right now."

 

"Can I ask you to do something for me?"

 

"Yes Philip." Varrus smiled.

 

"Go spend the night with Jason and send Geoff and especially Logan off to do errands."

 

"A little jealous?" Varrus laughed.

 

"A little. I guess it is because I don't understand what Jason sees in Logan while I completely understand what he sees in you. You are his mentor and role model not to mention a fantastic lover. Logan... Logan is just his blacksmith."

 

"Philip...I know what Logan is."

 

"And what is he."

 

"He is the man Jason is using as a substitute for you." Varrus grinned.

 

"How can you say that?"

 

"Well, you have to admit that Logan does look a lot like how you looked before you became a Demon. Logan is very protective, just like you are, as well as very possessive. But he is also more relaxed and not so caught up into roles like you are."

 

"I am not that serious!"

 

"Philip, you were the lover of a Field Marshal and you played that role perfectly. Jason loves you more than anything, but with Logan, Jason can pretend his transformation never happened. He can be his true age with Logan. With you... Jason is always reminded that he is your Angel and of all the responsibility that entails."

 

Philip’s eyes dimmed. "He wants to leave me?"

 

"No... not at all, but you need to understand that while Jason now looks like he is in his mid-twenties he is actually very young. Being king, your Angel, and leader of his children is more responsibility than someone his age should have. Sometimes Jason just needs to act his real age sometimes. It is not like he had much of a childhood."

 

"I see.” Philip nodded as he began to leave.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“The Labyrinth… where I belong, I guess.”

 

“You belong with Jason,” Varrus insisted, annoyed with Philip’s self-pity.

 

“I am not sure he wants me.”

 

Moving in closer Varrus pulled Philip into a kiss.

 

Philip, staring into Varrus’s violet eyes, could see how Jason had found the attractive man irresistible, and not just for his physical appearance. He had a way of dominating a person with his presence, given his height and physique and his hard gaze.

 

Letting a strong arm wrap around the back of his neck, Philip felt himself pulled into a deep kiss. He was then guided to the bed.

 

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Chapter Eighteen: Plaything

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Harper was in the fight of his life. The gladiator, holding the net, tried to throw it in an attempt to entangle Harper. At that moment the sea captain went down on one knee and reached into his boot, pulling out the dagger hidden inside. Throwing it with a flick of his wrist, it hit its target right in the middle of the man’s chest. That left two remaining opponents.

 

The next, armed with a spear, proved easy enough to dispatch. Harper struck the shaft of the spear, cutting it in half, the sharp tip falling down onto the sand-covered ground of the arena. This allowed his sword to deflect upward, right into the man’s throat.

 

The third opponent presented the greatest challenge of the three. He had not rushed into the fight but stood back, taking in Harper’s tactics. Still, the most the gladiator was able to do was make a superficial cut on Harper’s thigh before being fatally stabbed.

 

Harper proved himself quickly as one of the most popular gladiators of the games, and not just for his skill in combat, but also by his sharp looks. As was the common practice, both men and woman bought the right to his bed.

  

Warren was just as great a fighter, however his body remained scared and monstrous. Seen more as a villain, he left it to his Inquisitor to seduce the tribal chieftains and the nobility of Lahore, gaining the information needed to influence the imperial court.

 

The day when Harper defeated three men on his own, he attracted the attention of someone high indeed, the Emperor’s eldest son.

 

“You fought well…” Prince Rojan, complemented. As tradition held, his head was shaven and covered by a short haired wig, dyed red.

 

“Thank you, your highness,” Harper bowed deeply.

 

“Your thanks is not needed, only your gratitude. I have purchased your contract. Since a man such as yourself has proven himself skilled in combat I think you would do well as one of my bodyguards.”

 

“But I am a foreigner,” Harper pointed out.

 

“Yes, which means you know nothing of our internal squabbles. You will only know what I tell you and what I tell you will ensure your loyalty. There only remain two things for you to do.”

 

“What is that, your highness,” Harper asked eagerly. It seemed that Warren’s plan was working.

 

“First, you must surrender your body to me. Second, you must convert to the true faith of Kaal.”

 

“The first I will agree to, but as a priest of my own religion, I need to know more about Kaal before I commit my soul to him.”

 

“Kaal is the Father of the Lahorian people. He brought us from Mordel to paradise.”

 

“You know of Mordel… the land of death?” It had long been part of church teaching that those who lived a life of sin would be sent back to Mordel in the afterlife. For Harper, Mordel had always been metaphoric, not real, but now that he knew that other people, people as strange as the Lahorians, knew of Mordel, he was starting to believe there had to be some truth to it.

 

“What is Mordel? I know I was taught that it was hell on earth,” Harper asked

 

“Mordel is the cradle of life and the grave of death. That is where our souls are born and where they return after death,” Rojan explained.

 

“And Kaal was the one to lead you?”

 

“Yes… the red-haired man… for that was his greatest physical feature. In our holy books it says the demons of Mordel escaped to the other side of the world and that it would be our life’s purpose to stand guard against them.”

 

“And do you believe that?” Harper asked, sensing a bit of cynicism in the man’s voice.

 

“We Lahorians have conquered thousands of tribes, all of them claiming to know the true faith. Who is to say we are right and they were wrong.” Rojan shrugged.

 

“That sounds like heresy,” Harper warned.

 

“So be it… I do not believe in the nonsense of Demons and Angels, or even that Kaal created the Desert of Flames.”

 

“But there are Demons and Angels,” Harper whispered.

 

“What did you say?” Rojan asked.

 

“Nothing, your highness.”

 

“Good, I will soon have you freed of all this religious nonsense. Tomorrow you will be moved to my quarters and dressed in the royal green of my house.” Rojan laughed as he slapped Harper on the back.

 

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The night before Harper was to leave to join the crown prince’s guards, another man had a visitor… Warren. A blind priest dressed in clothes that looked like they had not been changed in weeks walked in with the aid of a man with a withdrawn face, a mute by the look of him.

 

“Sit down!” the Priest ordered, surprising Warren when the blind man looked right in his direction.

 

“How can you see?” Warren asked, looking at the black voids where the man’s eyes had been plucked out.

 

“A true man relies on more than just one of the senses. Your breath gave you away, High Inquisitor Warren.

 

“How do you know who I am?”

 

“All of the worshipers of Kaal have been abuzz about the worshiper of the Sons of the Mother. Your faith is not so much heresy as it is anathema to us.”

 

“Because you know we worship the true gods?”

 

“No, because by the word of Kaal, you pose the greatest threat to us.”

 

“I do not understand.”

 

“We are exiles, your people and mine. You were led by the Sons and the Mother, traitors to the rulers of Mordel, the source of all life and death. We were led by Kaal, the man of the flaming hair. He led us to paradise and gave us instructions to return the people of the Mother back to worshiping the Masters of Mordel.”

 

“Why are we having this discussion?”

 

“Because we have use of you… we have seen how you control your men. We are certain you can bring your own people over to our worship of Kaal. Before you ask yourself why you should, remember that we have our own inquisitors… our Hounds as we call them, who we use to sniff out traitors and unbelievers. If you serve us well, we will give you leadership of them. Fail or resist and we will send them after your stench. The choice is yours,” the old priest warned.

 

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Just as he left for the palace, Harper was handed a gift from Warren, a pair of two gold cups, covered by the runes of the lovers. How Warren came by them remained a mystery to the former sea captain, but believing that they would have their effect in binding Rojan to him and giving him the freedom he so desperately wanted from Warren, he took the cups eagerly.

 

That night, Harper learned he was not to be a guard but only part of a harem, made up of both men and woman, who served his highness. He was to be kept in a miniature palace, where, in addition to his duties in bed, he would train the children the women bore in the art of western combat.

 

Unknown to him, Harper’s situation was only part of a game Rojan and his friends were playing. As part of a bet, the prince’s friends wanted to see if he could civilize the most dangerous of the Jadoorians through the art of seduction. For his highness, that usually meant showering the person with the incredible wealth at his command.

 

Led inside, Harper saw that the building was divided in half by an iron gate. On one side were the women, their bodies covered completely by long veils. On the other side, the men were stripped down to their loin cloths, each one of magnificent build, but with expressions of boredom on their faces. Being given everything they had ever wanted, they had been tamed and lost all ambition.

 

On the appearance of the crown prince, all the men went down to one knee while the women tried even harder to cover their faces. Smiling at the control he had over his people, Rojan spoke. “I am here to announce that I have taken on this Jadoorian as a concubine. I expect all of you to treat him with the respect my favorite deserves,” Rojan said before turning his attention back to Harper. “Ask any of these men and they will give themselves to you. Just remember that the same is expected from you as well.”

 

Harper looked at the olive-skinned men staring at him with their brown or hazel eyes. A few looked at his pale skin and light hair with curiosity but most feigned disinterest with deep yawns.

 

“But what about me!” a large and gruff-looking man demanded.

 

“I have become bored with you, Bellio. Go fight the bears you so often imitate,” Rojan said dismissively.

 

On cue the guards that lined the walls of the harem seized the large man and began to drag him away.

 

“But you said you loved me, that you could not live without me!” Bellio shouted, face red with anger even as he was led down the road linking the palace with the arena.

 

“I did, but now you are just a gnat... a small annoyance I no longer need.” Rojan sighed.

 

Harper had thought that Rojan had a true attraction to him. Now he knew that Rojan wanted a lover who knew better than to believe any of his promises or words of affection. It reminded Harper that he was not here to fall in love but to get close to the prince. That meant he had to hope Warren would find some way for him to outlast the crown prince’s infatuation, or else he too would be left to the mercy of the lions… not a fate he could survive.

 

Little did the sea captain know that Warren had already seen to his favorite’s future.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nineteen: Land of Death, Place of Heaven

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That night, Harper poured wine into the pair of lover’s chalices given to him by Warren. He then handed the larger of the two, the male one, to the prince.

 

“What silly customs you westerners have,” Rojan laughed when Harper explained the meaning behind the goblets.

 

“We are a queer people. I think you will find it my most unique trait.” Harper grinned as he sipped from his cup.

 

“Yes… I think you are right, that is why I believe I will keep you longer than I originally planned. After all, as soon as I become emperor it will be my responsibility to spread my seed among the chieftains’ daughters, uniting my blood to my peoples. I will not have the time to waste my seed on men such as yourself, but with you I might make an exception… there is no law requiring that I bed these women alone.

 

“Which do you prefer… women or men?”

 

Rojan let out a deep sigh…”Why must I choose. Did you not notice that I can have both?”

 

“But after you are crowned…?”

 

“After I am Emperor of Lahore, my responsibilities are clear… to bind the people to me by using my seed to produce blood kin. After I am Emperor… that is all I will do,” Rojan said with both sadness and regret.

 

“Your highness?” Harper asked, confused.

 

“Nothing… just be careful when you are around the clerics… they do not care for me. They will hate you,” Rojan warned.

 

Coming from Jadoor, Harper knew about the kind of power struggles that could exist between church and crown. He had to work hard not to burst into laughter, finding that even in this strange land some things never changed.

 

“You laugh at my feebleness!” Rojan accused when his eyes caught sight of the growing grin on Harper’s face.”

 

“No… one day I will have to tell you about the King of Jadoor and the Church of the Mother.”

 

“Yes… one day you will, for once I am emperor I plan to raise the Horde of Lahore to crush your people and bring them into the worship of Kaal. Better I know what kind of people I mean to conquer.”

 

“Is there not enough war?”

 

“It is war that unites my people. Less than one out of twenty is of the original tribes, the rest are the people we have conquered over the centuries. Do not worry these about other tribes. Once they accept Kaal, they are not treated any differently than true Lahorians. That is why I must spread my seed among all the tribes. It gives the illusion that we are all of one blood, that and the two oaths that unite us.”

 

“What are they?” Harper asked.

 

“To serve the will of Kaal and to bring the blood of all people to his altar,” Rojan replied.

 

“In Jadoor… it is to follow the plan of the Mother as given to her Sons and to punish unbelievers until the time of return.”

 

“Return?” Rojan asked, confused. “Do you mean the return of your gods?”

 

“That is the great theological question… The Inquisitors believed that it meant the return to the old sexual practices and the end of the long feud between Jadoor and Domus.”

 

“And others?”

 

“High Priest Niles believed it would also mean an end to the conflict between Jadoor and Domus but with Jadoor crushing Domus once and for all… the genocide of the Legatio and Centurion people. Only then did Niles believe the Mother would return.

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Well, most people believed as Niles, that the return was the return of the Mother to us. A now long dead sect held that the “return” would be the return of our people back to Mordel… the land of death, in some final war.”

“

Our people also believe that there will be a final war, between the Dominus against the traitors and it would be during those times that Kaal would return to us to lead the faithful back home.”

 

“And where is home?”

”… Mordel.” Rojan shrugged.

 

“So both our people believe in the land of death?”

 

“You may believe it is the land of death, but our clerics insist that it is also the source of all life and that we will one day go back to that source.”

 

“So our religions are the opposite of each other… for you Mordel is Heaven, while for us it is Hell.”

 

“Many of the people we have conquered believed such… I recommend that you do as they did once they were conquered by us… give up such beliefs,” Rojan said darkly.

 

“As your highness wishes,” Harper replied with an attempt at meekness.

 

“This is your life at stake… our clerics can be just as inventive as you Inquisitors are rumored to be when it comes to the art of persuasion.”

 

“I understand, your highness, and I am in your debt for your warning.” Harper bowed.

 

Rojan, now bored of discussing theology, looked hard at his new addition to his harem. “Yes, you are my blue eyed man… and I plan to take payment from your flesh.”

 

Harper felt the crown prince's hands slip under his shirt, exploring his chest and abdomen. Understanding what his highness wanted, Harper lifted his shirt off his body, revealing his muscled chest, dusted with dark hair. He let the prince climb on top of him, the man almost giggling with a child-like excitement on opening a present.

 

That night Harper did his best to make sure that Prince Rojan’s ego was satisfied, but unlike the time he had seduced Admiral James, the smiles and moans he made were entirely faked. As a lover, the prince was clumsy, almost a limp doll in the amount of effort he put forth. He had to remove each article of clothing, control the placing of each hand. If it were not for the size of Rojan’s harem, he would have guessed him to be a virgin or a eunuch.

 

As soon as the prince was finished with him, Harper was left alone. He thought that Warren had better find a way for him to escape the prince’s mercurial passion.

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