Rak-Laton stood watching two lives dripping from the end of his sword. He closed his eyes and started to pray, but in anguish he stopped. The only son of Lord Ha-Pashno IV lay dying at his feet. The gods would never listen to him now. He was n'kush, doomed, a walking corpse. He had slain the child of a god-king. Hope was no longer available to him.
A dry death rattle escaped from the lips of the bejeweled young man stretched out on the marble floor. His royal blood stained Rak-Laton's blade. Rak's own fate dripped into the pooling gore as well. If only he could reach back just a few moments and change the course of time. But he wondered if he would?
Since the twelfth season of his life, Rak had been the sworn companion of Sur-Pashno -- eldest son of Lord Ha-Pashno IV -- a boy who was destined to be a god, to rule over all the lands. All who had once been Rak's friends and family had drawn away and looked upon him with awe. They could not risk committing an unintended affront to the companion of a future god.
Rak-Laton had slept on a pallet in the corner of Sur-Pashno's own chambers. He had learned the same lessons taught by the royal tutors to Sur-Pashno. He was responsible for the after-hours happiness and safety of Sur-Pashno. He had learned to mark well all the false smiles of those who might become enemies of his liege. He had practiced hours and hours and hours suffering bruises and beatings until his skill was unequaled with the sword he must wield to guard well the life of his liege. The focus of Rak's entire existence was destined forever to be Sur-Pashno.
Until Rak looked into the eyes of Tay-Vasani.
Lord Ha-Pashno IV, as was befitting of a god, claimed seventy-four wives and three hundred eighty-nine children, the eldest of course being Sur-Pashno. There were nearly two hundred women who served the needs of the royal wives and children, and another four or five hundred assorted household servants. Many of the servants naturally enough had their own children, and one of these children was Tay-Vasani -- the youngest daughter of the third private companion and lady-in-waiting to the twelfth wife of Lord Ha-Pashno IV.
Every morning since his eighteenth season, without exception, as the glass was turned for the fourth time after midnight and the stars shone brightly in the clear night sky, Rak-Laton practiced his swordsmanship in the Courtyard of Tears. Disgraced soldiers and prisoners who had received a sentence of death were brought in, singly or in twos or threes, to fight Rak-Laton. They were always given the sharpest of swords, sometimes longer than Rak's, sometimes shorter. They were fitted with the finest armor, sometimes light and sometimes heavy. Rak himself, of course, was dressed only to satisfy the requirements of modesty in the royal court. All were told that if only they could slay Rak-Laton, their sentence would be commuted.
And so in the predawn silence of each morning, he fought for his life. His eye was sharp, his reflexes were uncanny, his muscles were quick and strong, his sword's edge would put a barber's razor to shame, and he knew death intimately as did no other. The combatants were nearly always men, but Rak-Laton could have no weaknesses, and so the occasional woman or even girl was sent to fight him that his heart might never cause him to hesitate in defense of Sur-Pashno. When the fights were over and the bodies lay lifeless under the silent stars, attendants would come to carry the fallen away and to clean the blood from the ground of the Courtyard.
One morning, a few months ago, it was the first morning this season that the constellation of the Scimitar could be seen rising over the east wall of the courtyard, Rak-Laton had stood breathing deeply, slowing the pounding of his heart, as the last of five doomed prisoners fell to the dirt. They had been four men and one girl. One of the men had almost been a challenge, but nothing Rak-Laton could not handle. Their bodies now lay in pieces bleeding, and Rak turned away to begin his regular ritual of cleaning and honing his sword and purifying himself before returning to Sur-Pashno's chamber. Servants padded quietly into the courtyard to begin the task of cleaning and removal, but because he could never be sure that one of these new arrivals might not be a surprise assassin, Rak turned as always to regard them.
One of these servants was Tay-Vasani.
As Rak-Laton's haughty brown eyes met the deep purple eyes of Tay-Vasani, the entire world seemed to spin slightly. Love slipped easily through Rak's impenetrable guard and pierced him at the same moment as the power and heat of the young swordsman took hold of Tay's heart. The two stood gazing dumbly at each other as the other servants quietly went about their work and the stars moved slowly above them all.
As a sandal scraped softly against pebbles while the work of the household servants proceeded, first Tay and then Rak snapped back to the reality of their situation. Rak turned away and began self-consciously polishing the fine edge of his blade, and Tay bent to sweep up part of the debris from the recent fight.
Rak-Laton purified himself and returned to his duty. Tay-Vasani withdrew from the Courtyard of Tears with the other servants and disposed of the disquieting evidence of Rak's morning practice, but later that day Tay mentioned to the old woman who managed the morning cleaning that she enjoyed the early morning schedule and would welcome doing more of the same. The old woman could think of no possible ulterior motive for anyone to volunteer to clean human remains from the courtyard in the cold morning air, so she shrugged and agreed to have Tay join this detail more often.
Each morning thereafter, once the grim work of the swordsman was finished, the cleaning crew would enter, and Rak-Laton would peer carefully from the corner of his eye as Tay-Vasani came into view. The other servants, from long habit, kept their eyes down and devoted themselves to being silent and invisible. To be noticed was always a risk for a servant, perhaps especially in the royal palace, so the stolen glances of Rak and Tay remained a secret.
One morning after a week and half of this routine, Tay managed to be the last servant to withdraw from the courtyard and as she did, she dropped the bundle she was carrying. She bent to retrieve it and Rak-Laton was there beside her already reaching for it. Their hands met and a powerful current seemed to leap through that contact and into their bodies.
"Excuse me, please, great sir," the girl murmured.
"I am ..." the swordsman's tongue stumbled. "It is not an offense, my lady."
For the rest of that day the words "great sir" sang in the ears of Rak-Laton, but no more so than did the words "my lady" in the heart of Tay-Vasani. Sur-Pashno was surprised when he had to speak to his sworn companion twice to get his attention that afternoon. Rak feigned concern over some imagined shadow in a nearby doorway. Never before had he hidden his mind from Sur-Pashno.
As the days passed, Rak berated himself for his shifting focus and whipped his senses to their sharpest, but perhaps because of this he noticed the lithe form of Tay-Vasani passing by a doorway in a corridor just outside the Hall of Instruction where he and Sur-Pashno were studying arcane mathematics. On her part, Tay-Vasani went about her assigned duties with always one ear out for any conversations that might include reference to the royal heir and his sworn companion.
Rak-Laton finally came to realize that he could not deny his love for the girl. Despite his certainty that he was committing a serious breach, he awoke a full hour earlier than usual for his morning practice and stole into the kitchens. Among the servants gathered there was Tay-Vasani. Rak thought for a moment of ordering her to accompany him to tend to some trivial matter in the courtyard but the nerve of the man who feared no assassin failed him. He only cleared his throat and walked out.
Tay, however, had dreamed of exactly such an opportunity, and no sooner had Rak withdrawn than she stood and announced her concern that the warrior might have found something amiss in the courtyard. So saying she left the kitchen and hurried after him.
Catching up to the loincloth-clad swordsman, the serving girl's footsteps in the corridor alerted him to her approach. In the shadows, the two chaste lovers haltingly managed to declare their feelings. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. She melted into his embrace and sighed. The world seemed to pause and wait politely for them, but it is the nameless servants that keep the world spinning on its axis and one of those servants stood silently inside a room halfway down that corridor and watched the two clandestine lovers with excitement. She had no malice for them, far from it, the unutterable romance of the situation would fuel her dreams for years, but she could no more keep what she had seen a secret than she could breathe under water. By the next sunset, nearly all the servants knew of the secret rendezvous.
And although Rak-Laton was in the company of Sur-Pashno almost every moment of every day, it was still all too easy for the palace gossip to find its way to the ear of the royal son without Rak's knowledge. And that is how Sur-Pashno came to decide, without the tiniest suspicion on the part of Rak-Laton, that he simply must know more about the girl who had captured the heart of the man sworn to guard his life.
When Rak-Laton arose in the quiet hours of the next early morning to go to his deadly practice, no sooner had he slipped out of Sur-Pashno's chamber than the royal heir also arose and dressed and slipped out to follow his sworn companion. No one, not even Lord Ha-Pashno IV himself, knew the secrets of the royal palace better than Sur-Pashno did. It was easy for him to find a dark window overlooking the Courtyard of Tears. He thrilled to the sight of his companion whirling with deadly effect and slaying his would-be killers, but no more thrilled was he than when the servants entered the courtyard in the aftermath and he recognized the looks being exchanged between Rak-Laton and Tay-Vasani.
Sur-Pashno left his place of hiding and made himself known to some passing servant, who nearly soiled himself when he realized who was addressing him. The royal heir dispatched the servant with instructions to fetch the girl he described and whom the servant recognized as Tay-Vasani.
The exercise had gone well that morning for Rak-Laton. Afterward he had gazed with increasing wonder into the eyes of Tay-Vasani but finally had to return to the routine of cleaning and honing his sword and purifying himself before returning to Sur-Pashno's chamber. He was constantly aware and on guard against displaying his feelings, and so he made an effort to keep the bounce out of his step and the whistle away from his lips, but the song played in his heart nevertheless. He pulled open the door to the royal heir's chamber and all thoughts of Tay vanished. The bed was empty. Sur-Pashno was missing.
Rak-Laton was a single-minded bloodhound. He raced down the corridor and interrogated each servant he encountered. The fifth one he saw was the one the royal heir had sent for Tay. The poor servant was nearly beside himself; he had been in the presence of the heir himself and now the sworn companion. In response to Rak's pointed question, he stammered out the location where he had last seen Sur-Pashno, and Rak was off in a flash -- well before the servant could even imagine explaining what else he knew.
Sur-Pashno, second most powerful authority in all the land, the young man who would be a god upon the ascension of his father Lord Ha-Pashno IV, was well accustomed to having anything he desired. Although spoiled, he was also well schooled in cunning and craft. There was no chance of him throwing a petulant fit as might a toddler. All of his instruction was aimed toward teaching him the effective exercise of power.
When Tay-Vasani entered the empty room where the royal heir awaited her, she was simply terrified. Every servant in the palace knew the terrible risk of even inadvertently displeasing the son of the god-king. A smart servant kept her eyes downcast and hoped to go through her life unnoticed by wielders of power. But now Tay was alone in the bright glare of the very presence of Sur-Pashno himself.
"What are you called, girl?"
Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes looked frantically from one mundane object to another, and she simply could not speak.
It was not the first time Sur-Pashno had had such an effect on a servant, though. "Breathe. Relax. We wish to know your name. Clear your mind. Now tell us."
"This humble servant is named Tay-Vasani, o great prince," the girl was finally able to stammer.
He stepped up to her and with one finger pulled her face upward. "Let us see you, Tay-Vasani." He smiled for she was not at all unpleasant to look upon. He understood what Rak-Laton had felt, and there arose deep within him the ugly spark of jealousy. His smile twisted ever so slightly as he took hold of her simple tunic and began to lift it over her head.
She gasped in shock and pulled away instinctively, innocently. She stared at Sur-Pashno, stunned, terrified, confused, her arms clasped across her chest almost of their own volition. It was not meant by the poor girl as an affront, but an affront it was. That she should make such eyes as she had with Rak-Laton and shrink back so from the royal heir could not be tolerated.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Sur-Pashno brought into his hand the private dagger he was never without. Its blade was even sharper than the nearly legendary sword of his sworn companion. The blade flashed out and the girl's throat was opened in an instant. She began falling back and to her left, dying.
The last thing Tay-Vasani ever saw was the horrified face of Rak-Laton as he entered the room on guard against threats to the royal heir, in time to see his only love being slaughtered.
And the last thing Sur-Pashno ever saw was the snarling rage of his sworn companion as Rak-Laton's sword pierced the right eye and brain of the son of the god-king.
Now Rak-Laton stood desolate over the two corpses, watching the blood drip from the end of his blade, blood which signalled the end of three lives: that of the man he had sworn to protect, that of the girl he had fallen hopelessly in love with, and his own life which was now certainly damned. He was n'kush, a soulless being without the honor that made one a man. He was no longer entitled to be addressed as Rak-Laton.
For the last few breaths he would draw on this earth, the only name he could he could be called was N'rak.
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