The head of the palace household staff was a very old man. His age gave him advantages that were absolutely necessary to hold his position under Lord Ha-Pashno IV. His age gave him knowledge of all the day-to-day duties and activities throughout the palace. At one time or another in his long life, he had probably performed every one of those duties and activities with his own hands. He knew how each was to be performed, and he knew how long a time was needed to perform each. His age gave him knowledge of the people who worked under his direction. He had been personally present at the births of more than half of them. He had seen them grow, throw tantrums, pass through rebellious teen years, intermarry, and have their own children. He knew precisely how far to push each one and what each was capable of. His age gave him experience and wisdom enough to know how to wring the finest work from the palace household staff. He knew who needed close supervision and how the different duties interrelated in the most efficient way. But above all else, his age gave him one advantage that the head of Lord Ha-Pashno IV's palace household staff must have if he were not to go utterly mad.
With all his aches and pains and burdens and nightmares, the head of the palace household staff had no fear of death. Oh, he was in no hurry, but whenever death finally did come for him, he knew in his heart it would be a welcome release.
He had been born Dar-Gesh, but since the beginning of the reign of Ha-Pashno IV, as the head of the palace household staff he had come to be called the Hand of Ha-Pashno, or simply the Hand. He quietly accepted the loss of his birth name as just one more of his life's burdens. He had even come to think of himself as the Hand of the god-king, exercising no will of his own, only some small amount of craft in seeing his master's will carried out.
The Hand peeked silently into the Chamber of Audiences and found Lord Ha-Pashno IV standing by the eastern window looking out over his domain, a burning rage well contained but still discernable to those who had seen him in his many moods – and lived. The general of the god-king's armies waited quietly with his head appropriately bowed in the great presence.
"He has skill, yes, but he has limits," Ha-Pashno spoke in deliberate and measured tones. "He must sleep, he must eat, he must drink. Question everyone. Everyone. Someone knows something of him. It is your intelligence that will locate him. Then it is the overwhelming numbers of your army that will crush him. He has been trained to kill even ten, but he cannot stand against a thousand." The god-king turned away from the window and faced his general. "Do not hesitate to kill him. It is true that we would enjoy torturing him slowly, but it would be foolish to tie our army's hands by insisting he be taken alive. We can always display his head on the end of a pike on our city's battlements."
The Hand looked from his hiding place as the general made his obeisance and withdrew.
It had been over twenty seasons since the death of Ha-Pashno III, or Ha-Pashno the Benevolent as the people had almost universally lauded him. The Hand remembered well the happiness and prosperity of that reign. The Benevolent One had ruled his nation with wisdom. He had cared for his people. Feast days and celebrations were common and always the people would pray aloud for their ruler. The Hand recalled that they had not prayed to their ruler, but for him. The concept of a god-king had been introduced by Ha-Pashno IV at his coronation.
The Hand had been only one of many senior members of the palace household staff when Ha-Pashno III lay on his death bed. He had called for his eldest son Kal-Pashno, he who would become Ha-Pashno IV. The Hand did not like to think too much on his memories of the passing of the old ruler and the coronation of the new god-king. It did not pay to dwell too much on such things. Kal-Pashno had announced the death of his father and had immediately summoned the heads of the army, the treasury, the law courts, the priests, the teachers, the physicians, the builders, the palace household staff. They had all hurried to attend the heir, of course.
Only the heir had emerged from that meeting alive. The Hand had been one of those who had been given the unenviable task of cleaning the Chamber of Understandings. His gorge rose even now when the thought came to him unbidden. The ceiling, the walls, the tapestries, the furnishings, the floor, everything had been covered thickly with blood and lifeless flesh. The heir had calmly come forth and appointed his own hand-picked men to take over the duties of those leaders who had "valiantly sacrificed themselves to assure the glorious ascension of Ha-Pashno III.." The coronation was held the next day. It had meant the first of many sleepless nights for the Hand as the palace household staff worked to exhaustion preparing for the august ceremony.
Heralds had trumpeted flourishes and fanfares, all the new leaders and their followers had bowed very low indeed, and the rituals were performed flawlessly. The crown was placed upon the head of the heir, and then he had declared himself Ha-Pashno IV. He had addressed the assembly, extolled the virtues of his late father, and assured all that the beloved departed now ruled over the stars and skies as a god – and naturally enough, that he himself was now a god-king in his own right. His newly installed ministers loudly hailed his deification, and the word went forth to all the people. The king had risen to the skies, his son was now both god and king over the land.
The first year of the reign of Lord Ha-Pashno IV had been a bloody one indeed. All who spoke aloud of their doubts about the new king's godhood disappeared utterly. It seemed that Ha-Pashno IV was in fact omniscient. No rebellion was possible; even those few dissenting words spoken in hushed tones among well-known friends were known instantly to the god-king, and his wrath was swift and cruel. Those who pleased him and worshiped him were elevated, those who carefully held their tongues survived, but even those who allowed a small grimace to cross their faces at the mention of his exalted name found themselves impoverished at best and boiled alive with all of their kin at worst.
The teachers and priests under their new leaders were careful to wholeheartedly indoctrinate the people to the new dogma of the perfection and omnipotence of their ruler. As the few brave firebrands across the land who might have succeeded in overthrowing the new monarch were struck down mercilessly, the people soon came to accept their fate and some even welcomed it.
Ha-Pashno IV was much more than simply ruthless. He seemed to know exactly how best to manipulate the population. Food was not so plentiful as under the reign of the Benevolent One, but it was not so scarce as to cause grumbling bellies to lead to other kinds of grumbling either. Taxes were certainly higher than they had been before, but gradually the people became accustomed. The courts soon clearly ignored the rule of law and enforced the rule of favoritism instead, but at least it was enforced consistently and the people soon understood precisely what they must do to live – and to some extent even to thrive – under this new system.
Feast days were never outlawed, but they became impractical. No one dared speak against the memory of Ha-Pashno III, but they soon learned not to praise him either. Praise was reserved for the god-king who came to be seen as the ultimate source of both blessings and evils, and as a new generation grew up under his rule, they did not even think to question his divinity. The young did not simply mouth the words; they actually believed that Ha-Pashno IV was divine and rightly so. Their elders saw the terrible bloodshed of the first year of the reign of Ha-Pashno IV diminish to almost nothing, and most of them began to wonder if perhaps the young people were right after all.
And the Lord Ha-Pashno IV smiled in his most secret heart to see how easily he had succeeded. He knew of only one possible threat to his complete rule over this land and these people and it was not too difficult to convince his armies that the threat from just over the frontier must be dealt with harshly. Genocide against foreigners was simply the logical extension of his iron-fisted domestic policies. With that success, there was really nothing left to the Lord Ha-Pashno IV but to assure his legacy. Sur-Pashno had been a very promising heir, handsome and strong. The god-king certainly did not mourn the death of the boy, but it interfered with his plans and that was the one unforgivable act. The sworn companion of his eldest must die in such a manner as would ensure no repeat of this treachery – ever.
And the Hand waited quietly while his master gazed out over the land he ruled.
Ha-Pashno IV finally turned and spoke, "Yes?"
The Hand had come to accept the fact that no matter how quietly he moved his master always knew when he was there. "One of your Rovers has brought you a man with what he believes may interest you, Your Majesty."
"Show them in."
The Rovers were the god-king's elite guard responsible for his security and for gathering intelligence for him personally. They went where they wished and commanded in the name of the god-king himself. It was one of these who was now brought into the great presence, accompanied by a dirty brigand so terrified at finding himself before the god-king that he shook visibly. The Rover made the expected obeisance and forced the peasant to some awkward copy of the same.
"Your news," commanded Ha-Pashno IV.
"Seeking anything out of the ordinary, I have found a man who claims to have encountered someone supernatural." At a nod from the god-king, the Rover turned and addressed ruffian with him. "Tell His Majesty of your encounter and be quick."
The man's eyes grew wide and he tried to speak. The Rover cuffed him hard and the man finally found his tongue. "My friends and me was on the main road about three days from here ..."
"Your Majesty," growled the Rover.
"Your Majesty!" yelped the terrified man. "We run into this traveler ..." Now his face showed his deep fear that he would not be believed, but a single scowl from the Rover spurred him on. "It was a demon, Your Majesty. There's no other explanation. It weren't no ordinary man. I'm sure of it."
A moment passed as Ha-Pashno IV digested this news. At last, he spoke to the Rover, "Good. We are pleased. Withdraw and await our further instructions."
The Rover instantly snapped into a low bow and then hurried from the room.
Ha-Pashno IV stepped up to within a hand's breadth of the man who was now utterly frozen with fear. "A demon," the god-king mused.
Outside the Chamber of Audiences, the Rover stood waiting with infinite patience. But he needed very little because only moments later, the voice of his lord called him back inside. The Rover entered and again made his practiced obeisance to the god-king. The pale body of the foolish brigand lay on the marble floor with no sign of injury. The Rover paid it no mind.
"Concentrate our efforts to the east along the main road. Clearly, it was no demon but what he did see we must kill without fail. Take forty Rovers of your choosing as quickly as possible. Silence any who would spread a tale of a demon. Send word to us every day. You may withdraw."
The Rover bowed and then leaped into action like a dog that had been straining at his leash nearly frantic with desire to be on the trail of his prey.
Ha-Pashno IV turned to the head of his palace household staff, whose breathing he could so easily detect behind the servants' spy-hole. "Bring us a wife," he said simply.
The Hand shuddered. He strode through the halls of the palace, a stone in his chest in the place of a heart. He passed through the Hall of Receptions and into another wing altogether. Up a long flight of stairs and down another corridor he went until he came to a heavy golden door guarded by three armed soldiers. They knew better than to stop or interfere with the Hand. He opened the door and passed through. The soldiers were careful not to look through the open doorway they guarded.
The Hand rapped at the first door along the right side of the corridor beyond the golden door. A tiny slot in this door slid open and a pair of eyes peered out.
"He wishes a wife," the Hand said.
"His will be done," came the reply.
The Hand passed back out through the golden door and waited there with the three guards. The wives were the only people in the palace who would not be hurried in the slightest by the Hand. There was no punishment the Hand could possibly conceive that would deter any of the twenty-four wives of Ha-Pashno IV. The Hand had observed almost every facet of his master's life in dread silence. He must always be able to anticipate his masters commands. But he had never been able to bring himself to watch, no matter how obliquely, the activities of the god-king with his wives. It was enough for the Hand to see the ashen faces, the empty eyes, the halting steps of the wives after – after they had been summoned.
The Hand had borne witness to his master's unspeakable tortures of the flesh and souls of innumerable enemies. He could not bring himself to even imagine how the wives of the god-king might be used in private. For the Hand alone of all men living had seen his master's blood-red eyes watching gleefully the suffering of his victims.
At last, the golden door opened and a once-lovely young woman slipped out. Her sunken eyes stared straight ahead. The Hand said not a word but simply walked back along the route he had taken to the wives' territory. With tiny steps, the young woman – the Hand thought she was either the twentieth or the twenty-first of the current stable of wives – followed along behind.
They came to the Chamber of Audiences and the Hand opened the door for the young woman. She paused for only an instant, as one might pause on the edge of a bottomless pit before leaping into the abyss. Then she entered. The Hand closed the door as quietly but as tightly as he could.
As he walked away, the Hand could hear the wailing of the young woman's terror begin.
