Gilkush walked up the grand staircase and into the Palace of the Ikark with Kisha silently in tow. Tadarur, Lurush, Myra and Rukur were already in the Hall of Accords. Shakresh in his white toga leant on his cane by the entranceway. Tadarur, as the eldest Ikarkur, sat on an ornately carved wooden throne in front of the central column that supported the statue of Makush on the roof.
“Gilkush, before we discuss the terrible disaster that the
sea has inflicted on Kurush, we must address an absurd rumour that just now has
reached our ears. Is it true that you dismissed Tiuk as the Ushi Karsh?”
Gilkush declined to sit and instead stood before his peers,
“I might not have had to, if you had been able to pacify that rebellious mob this
morning”
Tadarur shrugged, “We’ll give them what they need
eventually, but we’ve got to make them fight for it. If we gave into all their
demands immediately, they’d only ask for more. Now don’t change the subject,
you cannot decide who is or isn’t the Ushi Karsh by yourself. Something of that
import must be agreed on unanimously by the Ikark. Etenkur’s appointment is
invalid”
“Etenkur is dead,” said Gilkush, “let me introduce you to
Kisha, the finest soldier in Kurush. She shall be our Ushi Karsh”
Kisha stepped forward and bowed her head, the cross and
diamond Kyroz had drawn still clear on her forehead.
Tadarur banged his fist on the arm of his throne, “What did
I just say, Gilkush? You cannot make decisions on our behalf like the
dictatorial chieftain of some backward tribe”
Kisha walked forward until she towered over the elderly
lisha, “I promise to be a strong and effective Ushi Karsh”
Tadarur rocked in his throne like a toddler in a tantrum,
“Why is no-one listening to me?!”
Kisha placed her hand on his chest, unsheathed a bronze
knife with the other and ripped it through the crusty scales of his throat. The
other Ikarkurs leapt to their feet. Lurush’s gigantic bodyguard threw himself
in front of her gripping his spear. Tadarur flailed and gargled, clasping at
his neck in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood, until his body fell
limp and his head lolled back.
“I have one other announcement,” said Gilkush as though
nothing had happened, “we have a new Ushi Sopri, my good, pious friend Kyroz.
Shakresh, I’m sorry, but the Sun no longer shines His blessing on you”
Shock at the sudden death of his friend switched to fear for
his own life. Shakresh turned and hobbled as quickly as he could out of the
hall. Kisha calmly walked after him.
“What’s happening?” said Lurush, her eyes spinning as her
mind tried to keep pace with events, “Why are you doing this?”
“Lurush, Rukur, go home and stay there. I’ll look after
everything,” said Gilkush, “Myra, come with me my dear. We’re assembling all of
the hurums in the Rush in my house, for their own safety on this most chaotic
of days”
Myra’s eyes were aflame with hatred as she faced Gilkush’s
smug grin, his hand outstretched as though he was offering salvation. But
silently she acquiesced, and they walked out of the hall together, his arm
around her shoulder. Just ahead of them, Kisha had caught up with Shakresh at
the top of the grand staircase. With a swift kick to his back, she sent the
decrepit old lisha tumbling down, his brittle bones cracking against the stone
steps, until he rolled onto the plaza paving. The mediator between Kurush and
the Sun, the man who had once saved Kurush from tearing itself apart after the
Night of Hunger, now lay motionless on the ground.
Constructive criticism welcome
© Paul Bramhall
No comments:
Post a Comment