Read Online Infinite Blue Heaven - A King and A Queen by Lazlo Ferran - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lazlo Ferran
Tags: Asia, History, Military, War, incest, Erotic, Royalty, King, Russia, shamanism, Central Asia, Princess, Bow, sword, palace, siege, ghengis khan, mongol, fortress, spear, cannon
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said Meth quietly to us. “It would be best to take him alive.”
“I am Meth, one of Korim’s Lieutenant’s. He told us to wait for you. You passed west of us so we had to catch up with you.” He laughed. “It was not hard! Where are the others?”
“My men?” the soldier called. So he was their leader, as I had thought. His accent was strange, as was his dress.
“Yes. Do you come back empty handed?”
“Listen. My horse is lame. I need a ride.”
“We are coming down.”
We slipped our horses down the long, sloping sand dune. Meth was talking to his men. “He will recognise us eventually. When I say ‘Go!’ ride forward and push him off his feet.” We continued down, until we were only about fifteen paces from him. Suddenly he drew his sword. “You are not Korim’s men.” He put his sword to his own neck. I saw Meth hesitate. He looked intently at the man. “Go.”
Ashan and two other men spurred their horses to leap forwards and in an instant, faster than I though possible, they had him on the ground. At the last moment, he had turned his sword towards them but too late to defend himself. Meth had been correct in his judgment. The man would not kill himself.
He lay pinned, a man to each arm and another on his legs, as Meth and I stood over him.
The sand blown from the wind in the south, bit into our necks like thousands of little teeth.
“What are you doing in this God-forsaken place?”
The man spat up, at Meth but the spittle just fell back on his cheek, making him even angrier. He said something, swore, in his native tongue. I guessed he was from the north somewhere. Their tongue often sounded uncouth to our ears, although I knew this did not necessarily reflect their character. Nevertheless, they were ruthless and proud. Meth ground the man’s elbow slowly under his heel. The man grimaced and ground his teeth.
“Where are you from? Where is your camp?”
“I will not tell you. You will have to kill me.” He added, “Because I am not a brave, or foolish man.”
“Hmm. Your leader is Korim?” No answer. “He is a hard man, is he not?” The man did not respond but we could see the recognition in his eyes.
“Search his clothing.” I suggested. Meth leaned down and pulled a pouch from the man’s belt and put two of his fingers in the pockets of the man’s leather tunic. In two pockets he found only tobacco, tinder, flint and a few copper coins. In the last, he found something else, round and metal, about the size of a medallion. Meth held it and releasing the knot in the thong at the end of a leather pouch, poured its contents on the sand. A thin piece of parchment almost blew away, before Meth, with his left hand, caught it. Lying on the sand was the other item, a small leather case. Meth unfolded the parchment sheaf and studied it. It was about four vershok long and two, wide. His old eyes crinkled and he turned it this way and that, trying to decipher it. I strode forward and looked at it.
“A map! But of what area? I am not sure I recognise it. Geb?”
Geb walked forward and looked over my shoulder. I stood aside. Suddenly, gently, he turned the sheet the other way up and pointed to a line marked. “This is a river. I think I recognise it as one of the rivers we crossed on our way to Meth’s camp, Sire.”
“Shh.” I said. “Do you want us to kill him?”
“Sorry. But look! Do you not recognise this?”
I looked closely. Yes, it was Boris’s home village, on the far left of the map. This was curious. Anybody living in my Kingdom would have drawn a map with northern most points at the top of the map. This one had the desert at the bottom of the map. I guessed that somebody exploring our land from the north, might do this. “Keep it safe, Geb. We will study it later.”
Meth had meanwhile opened the small case and had taken out a quill pen, which had evidently been used but not much. Also in the case, was a small bottle of ink, stoppered.
“Let us see what is
“I am Meth, one of Korim’s Lieutenant’s. He told us to wait for you. You passed west of us so we had to catch up with you.” He laughed. “It was not hard! Where are the others?”
“My men?” the soldier called. So he was their leader, as I had thought. His accent was strange, as was his dress.
“Yes. Do you come back empty handed?”
“Listen. My horse is lame. I need a ride.”
“We are coming down.”
We slipped our horses down the long, sloping sand dune. Meth was talking to his men. “He will recognise us eventually. When I say ‘Go!’ ride forward and push him off his feet.” We continued down, until we were only about fifteen paces from him. Suddenly he drew his sword. “You are not Korim’s men.” He put his sword to his own neck. I saw Meth hesitate. He looked intently at the man. “Go.”
Ashan and two other men spurred their horses to leap forwards and in an instant, faster than I though possible, they had him on the ground. At the last moment, he had turned his sword towards them but too late to defend himself. Meth had been correct in his judgment. The man would not kill himself.
He lay pinned, a man to each arm and another on his legs, as Meth and I stood over him.
The sand blown from the wind in the south, bit into our necks like thousands of little teeth.
“What are you doing in this God-forsaken place?”
The man spat up, at Meth but the spittle just fell back on his cheek, making him even angrier. He said something, swore, in his native tongue. I guessed he was from the north somewhere. Their tongue often sounded uncouth to our ears, although I knew this did not necessarily reflect their character. Nevertheless, they were ruthless and proud. Meth ground the man’s elbow slowly under his heel. The man grimaced and ground his teeth.
“Where are you from? Where is your camp?”
“I will not tell you. You will have to kill me.” He added, “Because I am not a brave, or foolish man.”
“Hmm. Your leader is Korim?” No answer. “He is a hard man, is he not?” The man did not respond but we could see the recognition in his eyes.
“Search his clothing.” I suggested. Meth leaned down and pulled a pouch from the man’s belt and put two of his fingers in the pockets of the man’s leather tunic. In two pockets he found only tobacco, tinder, flint and a few copper coins. In the last, he found something else, round and metal, about the size of a medallion. Meth held it and releasing the knot in the thong at the end of a leather pouch, poured its contents on the sand. A thin piece of parchment almost blew away, before Meth, with his left hand, caught it. Lying on the sand was the other item, a small leather case. Meth unfolded the parchment sheaf and studied it. It was about four vershok long and two, wide. His old eyes crinkled and he turned it this way and that, trying to decipher it. I strode forward and looked at it.
“A map! But of what area? I am not sure I recognise it. Geb?”
Geb walked forward and looked over my shoulder. I stood aside. Suddenly, gently, he turned the sheet the other way up and pointed to a line marked. “This is a river. I think I recognise it as one of the rivers we crossed on our way to Meth’s camp, Sire.”
“Shh.” I said. “Do you want us to kill him?”
“Sorry. But look! Do you not recognise this?”
I looked closely. Yes, it was Boris’s home village, on the far left of the map. This was curious. Anybody living in my Kingdom would have drawn a map with northern most points at the top of the map. This one had the desert at the bottom of the map. I guessed that somebody exploring our land from the north, might do this. “Keep it safe, Geb. We will study it later.”
Meth had meanwhile opened the small case and had taken out a quill pen, which had evidently been used but not much. Also in the case, was a small bottle of ink, stoppered.
“Let us see what is
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