When in residence, Buthus spent more and more time in the lower rooms of his old house gazing into the true crystal of the moon. He took hammer and chisel to it and gave the chips as gifts embedded in bracelets, necklaces and even the bodies of his minions. From these chips he gained knowledge of their crimes, weaknesses and strengths. Five priestesses shared his seed the night the chips were taken and the five screamed not at all when their throats were cut.
The years past and the kingdom was saturated with blood. Money and power were no longer protection from the dark.
Buthus dreamed. The same images, repeated until his nights were torment.
A woman the likes of which he had never seen. Clad in nothing but alabaster skin and hair of sunset flame. Her eyes were as the storm tossed sea. Soon he lusted for her as no other.
Days were spent beneath his old home in meditation before the stone. Then he dreamed of war and a male child, dark hair lit by blood with eyes like the storm tossed sea.
The smiths once again beat metal into submission for war and Buthus went out from the city to do battle. The near empty lands far to the north were his goal. So a people whose only enemy had been nature found themselves fighting a loosing battle against blood lusting madmen.
After two years of grueling battle, Buthus came upon a village nestled in a valley far from the battlefields. His men burned it to the ground and killed everyone to the last babe. There he found her. She was fighting two of his men with a sword. She was a wildcat of tangled hair, cuts and bruises. She was the woman of his dreams! He screamed in rage at his men to cease, but they were too far gone in blood lust so he struck them down and hacked their bodies to unrecognizable pieces. She thought perhaps she would loose her mind at the horrors which had overtaken her, but it was not to be. When he flung down his sword and approached her she tried to run him through. He ignored the sword thrust and snatched it from her hands, flinging her over his shoulders. She fought against his body until no strength remained and when he took her, she cursed and spat with the last of her breath. Later when he returned to the village and his men, she was unconscious. She awoke tied across his saddle and later bound in the bottom of his war chariot. Her only goal was the death of her enemy, although she was trapped in the midst of his army.
To the wonderment of his troops Buthus left the mountain passes and returned to the lowlands with his prize. A wife, he said, at last one worthy to be his as was foretold. Each time he came to her she fought. As his strength of body was beyond her imagining so her strength of will would not be broken by his cruelties or his kindness. She was not fooled and scoffed at the posturing that seemed to melt his subjects to puddles of adoration and submission. When she quickened with child, it was he who ceased to visit fearing her resistance would endanger the pregnancy. He had her watched at all times. But where he feared she would revenge herself on the child, she surprised him once again by turning all her efforts to caring for herself. Through the crystal she wore in a torque around her neck he listened to her soft singing and crooning to the unborn child. He did not understand the words and had left none of the northland’s people alive to interpret for him. As the time of birth drew nearer, her strength seemed to vanish. Finally on a night of the full moon a boy child was born.
And five were sacrificed.
Attendants held the babe before her eyes and she begged they lay him in her arms just once. Her tears fell on his face and with her final breath a tiny trickle of blood slipped from her lips to his forehead and splashed into his eyes. The babe had been crying loudly since birth but all sound ceased at the moment of his mother’s death. Buthus lifted him from her arms and held the tiny boy up to the moonlight streaming into the chamber’s window. He wiped the blood and tears from the tiny face. The babe blinked and looked at him with an expression the king swore was sadness and knowledge he could not possibly have. Buthus named him Blayr, because he was new and open to the crystal’s radiance.
The city rejoiced that the leader had a son. Celebrations of the most jubilant and depraved held the people in thrall until the next full moon. Buthus spent many hours gazing into his son’s face as if to discover secrets the crystal would not tell him.
Time past and the child grew sturdy, if not tall. His hair was russet and sometimes when the light struck it just so it appeared to be touched with crimson. Even his body was lightly furred in contrast to his father’s smooth bronze skin. The child’s eyes were the same storm tossed blue of his mother. At times he was a whirlwind of activity absorbing everything around him, full of questions and recklessness. Then suddenly, quiet and introspective.
From the time he sat upright the child traveled with his father on expeditions to the conquered lands. He watched the executions, sacrifices of the Chosen and the quelling of insurrections. His father valued life little and weakness of any kind was normally crushed. The child was drawn to the crystal in the cavern below the streets. When Buthus sat gazing into its depths, the child lay snuggled in his lap seeming to meditate as well.
Buthus lavished his son with every thing he could possibly desire. This excess was balanced with an early introduction to weapons and the consequences of mistakes in execution. Blayr learned quickly that crying when injured was not acceptable. So it came to be, if the bruises, scrapes and wrenched muscles pained him, not even the slaves were aware of it.
At the age of twelve he was given Khalil, personal body slave and bed warmer. They were instructed in the sensual arts by men and women chosen by the king. His son, so he could seduce his future Chosen. Khalil, so his body would be a willing tool for the prince to practice on. None of the king’s Chosen found favor with the boy. For all anyone knew he slept alone every night.
At sixteen hazy seasons Blayr had fought three duels and participated in a battle, quelling rebellion. He had scars from these interactions but his face still reflected an innocence many could not reconcile considering his deadly ability with sword and trident.
Along with all the slaves, precious metal and goods from the lands now subjugated, strange exotic beasts previously not seen by the people were kept in the king’s exhibits or used to train his army. Hundreds of animals were killed daily in the training arenas. Buthus watched an exercise one day because his son’s personal guard was participating. Only the bravest and most loyal to the king were allowed to protect the boy. A starved and brutalized pack of wolves were released into the pits for the guards to eliminate. If any man was dragged down and mauled they were left to bleed their lives out on the sand.
Eventually there was only one remaining wolf. He slashed and ran avoiding the swords of the hated humans. Few of the guards remained unscathed, but he was one against many. Finally he lay snarling, the sand red with the blood of his pack. Before the final death blow, Blayr left the seat at his father’s side to place himself between the fallen wolf and the guards. He snarled as the wolf did and they were warned back. Surprised by his son’s actions the king ordered the guards to stand down. He watched in fascination as his son approached the dying animal. It did not snap at the hand that caressed its head, but whined piteously. Blayr stroked the fur and appeared to be singing to the animal. He finally lifted the beast into his arms and left the pit, the animal’s blood flowing in rivulets over his arms and chest. Blayr took the animal for his own and surprisingly nursed it back to health. For the next seven seasons the animal never left his side. It fought with him in battle, slept at the foot of his bed and if any dared to raise their voice in his direction the beast would attack. It wore a harness of beaten silver and leather. A silver chain encircled Blayr’s wrist when they were residing in the palace. At all other times it ran unfettered.
It was during this period that Blayr did one other thing that garnered his father’s attention. On his return from their latest battle the prince finally took Khalil to his bed. The king had been tempted to make the slave one of his Chosen. Without a doubt he was one of the most comely in the realm. Khalil had grown taller than his prince, well muscled and graceful in form. Blue black hair rippled to his waist and his skin was fair with a touch of honey. A finely trimmed beard graced his face reminiscent of the desert tribes from which he sprang. Eyes dark as the deepest night were framed by long thick lashes. His hair and body were perfumed by slaves who served no other, hand picked by Blayr. Images of lovers entwined and Blayr’s name were painted on his body, warning to all that to touch Khalil was a sure death sentence. Men and women attempted to woo him, but he remained a faithful devotee to the prince.
When the prince went to battle or on the king’s business the young man traveled with him. Buthus was inundated in requests for Khalil to be sold, borrowed for one night or just to grace a hall during a celebration. His nobles actively courted the presence of the prince and his companion in hopes of getting the king’s attention. The contrast of Blayr’s tumbled waist length curls and fair hirsute skin against Khalil’s sleek appearance graced many country estate and garden topped mansion during the next few years. The downside to the expensive entertainment? Khalil slept with no one. And the prince took no one else to his bed. Buthus laughed at the fools who believed attempting to seduce his son and a slave would gain them favor. He actively pitted the whining sycophants against each other, his son unknowing and uncaring.
The wolf died on the battle field leaping between the prince and sure death just as Blayr had done for it years before. A pyre was built and the wolf’s body placed upon it. Tears were not seen or any other sign of loss expressed as the fire consumed the body. When next Blair appeared for public ceremony, he wore the links of silver from the harness around his neck and wrists, the symbol of the snarling wolf etched upon them. The image also appeared on the foreheads of slaves in the prince’s household.
The business of the kingdom continued. The king and his son went out more and more to stop insurrection and always returned victorious. Sacrifices continued in the main city, but worship of the blood cult waned in the far flung provinces. Blayr was always curious about the ways of other people and adapted many customs from the other lands. His father did not worry about this because most of the time Blayr’s attention shifted to something else in a few months. The only thing that stayed constant was the wolf symbol which appeared on all of his weapons, banners and an occasional new piece of jewelry.