Part 31 (2/2)
”So my head tells me.”
Haroun nodded. ”You are wise for your years. It is good. Summon Beloul.”When the general returned, Haroun announced, ”I am leaving my work to my son. Two duties war for me. I pa.s.s to him the one that may be pa.s.sed. The one that came upon me in Al Rhemish, so long ago, when Na.s.sef and the Invincibles slew all others who had claim to the Peac.o.c.k Throne.”
”Lord!” Beloul cried. ”Do I hear you right? Are you saying you abdicate?”
”You hear me, Beloul.”
”But why, Lord? A generation, more, have we fought.... We have it in our grasp at last. They are waiting for us, shaking in their boots. They weep in the arms of their women, wondering when we will come. Ten thousand tribesmen have buried swords beneath their tents. They await our coming to dig them up and strike. Ten thousand wait in the camps, eager, knowing the tree of years is to bear fruit at last. Twenty thousand more stir restlessly in the heathen cities, awaiting your summons. Home! A home many have never seen, Lord!”
”Beseech me not, Beloul. Speak to your King. It is in his hands. I have chosen another destiny.”
”Should you not consult with the others? Rahman? El Senoussi? Hanasi?...”
”Will they oppose me? Will they stop me?”
”Not if it is your will.”
”Have I not said so? I am compelled in another direction. I must discharge old debts.”
”Whither, my father? Why?”
”The Dread Empire. O s.h.i.+ng has my friend.”
”Lord!” Beloul protested. ”Sheer suicide.”
”Perhaps. That is why I pa.s.s my crown before I go.” He knelt before a low table.
His hands went to his temples. Immense strain clouded his face. His neck bulged.
Beloul and Megelin thought it a stroke.
Haroun's hands rose suddenly. Something hit the table with a thud.
Lo! A crown materialized.
”The crown of the Golmune Emperors of Ilkazar,” Haroun said. ”The Crown of Empire.
And of what survives. Our Desert of Death. It is incalculably heavy, my son. It possesses you. It drives you. You do things you would loath in any other man. It's the bloodiest crown ever wrought. It's a greater burden than prize. If you take it up your life will never be your own-till you find the strength to renounce it.”
Megelin and Beloul stared. The crown seemed simple, almost fragile, yet it had scored the table.
”Take it up, my son. Become King.”
Slowly, Megelin knelt.
”This is best for Hammad al Nakir,” Haroun told Beloul. ”It will ease the consciences of men of principle. He is not just my son, he is the grandson of the Disciple. Yasmid's story should be well-known by now.””It is,” Beloul admitted. The return of El Murid's daughter was the wonder of the desert.
Megelin strained harder than had Haroun. ”My father, I cannot lift it.”
”You can, have you but the will. I couldn't lift it my first try either.”
His thoughts drifted to that faraway morning when he had crowned himself King Without a Throne.
He, at fifteen, with the man for whom Megelin had been named, and a handful of survivors, had been fleeing El Murid's attack on Al Rhemish.
His father and brothers were dead. Na.s.sef, El Murid's diabolical general, called Scourge of G.o.d so terrible was he, was close behind. Haroun was the last pretender to the Peac.o.c.k Throne.
Ahead, in the desert, the ruin of an Imperial watchtower appeared. Something drew him. Within he found a small, bent old man who claimed to be a survivor of the destruction of llkazar, who claimed to have been charged with protecting the symbols of Imperial power till a proper candidate arose among the descendants of the Emperors. He begged Haroun to free him from his centuries-long charge.
Haroun finally took the crown-after having as much difficulty as would Megelin later.
Though he was to encroach upon Haroun's life many times, bin Yousif never again encountered that old man. Even now he had no idea whom he had met then, and who had defined his destiny.
Nor did he suspect that the tamperer was the same ”angel” who had found a twelve- year-old desert wanderer, sole survivor of a bandit raid on a caravan, had named him El Muridandhad given him his mission.
That old man meddled everywhere, more often than anyone suspected. He often added a twist on the spur of the moment. He remembered, kept his plot-lines straight, and got found out only in retrospects of a century or more.
Things didn't always go his way, though, because he worked with a cast of millions.
The imponderables and unpredictables were always at work.
Haroun wouldn't give up his crown just to rescue a friend. Would he?
Beloul's feeling exactly. He became quite difficult while Megelin wrestled the crown.
”Enough!” Haroun declared. ”If you won't accept it, and follow Megelin with the faith you've shown me, I'll find an officer who will.” Haroun wasn't accustomed to having a decision debated.
”I'm just concerned for the movement....”
”Megelin will lead. He is my son. Megelin. If you feel the need, go to my friend in Vorgreberg. Explain. But tell no one else. Westerners have tongues like the tails of whipped dogs. They wag all the time, whether there is need or not.”
With that a barrier broke. Though Megelin's strain remained herculean, he raised the crown, stood, hoisted it overhead, crowned himself.
He staggered, recovered. In a minute he seemed the Megelin of old. The Crown was no longer visible.
”The weight vanishes, my father.””It's only a seeming, my son. You will feel it again when the crown demands some action the man loathes. Enough now. This is no longer my tent. I must rest. Tomorrow I travel.”
”You cannot penetrate s.h.i.+nsan,” Beloul protested. ”They will destroy you ere you depart the Pillars of Ivory.”
”I will pa.s.s the mountains.” When Haroun said it it sounded like accomplished fact.
”I will find the man. I have mastered the Power.”
He had indeed. He was the strongest adept his people had produced in generations.
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