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The Heart of the Tengeri
The Heart of the Tengeri
The Heart of the Tengeri
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The Heart of the Tengeri

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A young queen must save her kingdom from her crazy, homicidal brother and her ambitious wizard. She's doing a pretty good job of that until she gets kidnapped by a charming, hunk-a-licious warrior who plans to cheerfully sell her out.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 4, 2009
ISBN9781465777843
The Heart of the Tengeri
Author

Susan Brassfield Cogan

Susan Cogan is a full time writer and occasionally amuses herself as a graphic designer. She writes things that she enjoys and she enjoys quite a lot. She has been at various times a nurse’s aid, a belly dancer, an actress, a journalist, and a radio shock jock. Her career is long, varied, colorful, often exaggerated and occasionally untrue. Cogan is the author of many novels: Black Jade Dragon, Dragon Sword, Dragon Rising, The Button Man, The Last Gift, Heart of the Tengeri, Murder on the Waterfront and The Man Who Needed Killing. Her nonfiction works include: Hands of the Buddha, The Buddha’s Three Jewels, and The Pocket Darwin. She has also written numerous award winning short stories.

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    The Heart of the Tengeri - Susan Brassfield Cogan

    The Heart of the Tengeri

    Susan Brassfield Cogan

    Copyright 2011 Susan Brassfield Cogan

    Published by CoganBooks at Smashwords.com

    Cover Design by: Cogan Graphic Design

    cogangraphicdesign.com

    Smashwords Edition

    Smashwords License Statement

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    If you enjoy this book, please go to CoganBooks.net to get a paper copy and to find other works by this author.

    About the author:

    Susan Brassfield Cogan is a full time writer and occasionally amuses herself as a graphic designer. She writes things that she enjoys and she enjoys quite a lot. She has been at various times a nurse’s aid, a belly dancer, an actress, a journalist, and a radio shock jock. Her career is long, varied, colorful, often exaggerated occasionally untrue. Cogan is the author of many novels: Black Jade Dragon, Dragon Sword, Tangled Garden, The Last Gift, Heart of the Tengeri, Murder on the Waterfront and The Man Who Needed Killing. Her nonfiction works include: Hands of the Buddha, The Buddha’s Three Jewels, and The Pocket Darwin. She written numerous short stories, some of them contest winners.

    Chapter 1

    The night before Amanizar’s coronation, her magical guardians failed her.

    Something woke her. A noise. A breath. A stir of the curtains. Amanizar’s chamber echoed with silent danger and the taste of death. Her brother had sent assassins twice before and the last time she escaped with her life by sheer luck.

    The lamp, which always lit her chamber, had gone out or been put out. Bright moonlight filtered through the curtains, but not enough to relieve the darkness.

    After the last assassination attempt Lord Bokadan, Chief Commander of the Military and her oldest friend, decreed that even a small princess needed to learn the art of the sword. From that moment on, over the protests of her regent, a blade wasn’t far from her side. She’d never be safe as long as her brother lurked in foreign lands hatching his plots to prevent her from becoming ruler of the Tengeri in his place. She would ascend to the throne tomorrow. Amanizar realized she should have expected a last, desperate attack tonight.

    She groped for the sword that always lay beside her as she slept. She felt a brief stab of terror when her hand didn’t immediately fall on it, but there it was—cold, reassuring steel. She stood up all at once and put her back against the wall, pausing to look around and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. She relaxed a little when she saw the shadow of the guard against the tall-windowed balcony door.

    Guard! she called. To me! The guard didn’t stir, didn’t even turn around. Guard! she called again and went to the balcony door. She jerked it open and stepped out. The body of the guard hung from the gargoyle above the door lintel, strapped there with his own belt, his face contorted in the silvery moonlight with what must have been his final astonishment. She looked around. Nobody. The moon hung low over the sea and two ships, tiny in the distance, plied the waves, their sails dark against the sparkling water.

    Her chambers were in a high tower of the Kulibahr Palace, looking out over the harbor. No assassins had ever tried to get at her there. None would attempt a sheer climb of a thousand feet with nothing below but waves crashing against the rocks. A chill breeze cut through the night. She shivered and turned back to her chamber leaving the door open for whatever moonlight would soften the gloom inside. Her maids were in an adjoining chamber. She ran to their door and opened it. Ladies! Awake! Summon the guards! She was answered with soft snores. Drugged probably. She pushed the door shut. They’d be safe enough, Prince Vadizar wanted her dead and his assassin wouldn’t be interested in lesser mortals.

    She looked around, hoping her assassin would reveal himself somehow. Heavy furniture here and there gave a dozen places for a killer to hide. She wondered why she wasn’t dead yet. She knew running across that room might be fatal. There ought to be guards outside in the corridor and they should have heard her calling. Their silence told her that they were either dead or bribed.

    The Kulibahr was riddled with secret passages known only to the royal family. Prince Vadizar knew of them, of course, but the doors were cleverly made and they couldn’t be opened from outside the palace walls. They were only exits. The assassin couldn’t have come in that way unless someone let him in. The entrance to one of those passages was opposite her bed. She went to it and found the latch, hidden in the deep carving of a picture frame. The door popped open an inch. Once through, she could be in any part of the palace in minutes, but as she reached to pull it open, a voice called, thick with sleep.

    Highness? Lady Cara stood framed in the door to the room she shared with Lady Lamara. The silvery moonlight illuminated her, slightly plump, swaying a little.

    Cara, go back to your room and lock the door! Cara staggered toward the princess.

    But you called, Highness, she said. She slurred some of the words—she’d definitely been drugged. Amanizar ran to her and grabbed her arm. For a moment Amanizar wasn’t sure what to do. Her ladies were highborn political appointees, but not entitled to the secrets of the Kulibahr. Still, the maid was now in as much danger as she was. She pulled Cara toward the secret door.

    A patch of deep shadow stirred and the cold glitter of a blade leapt out. She parried the blow without an instant to spare. He was waiting in a corner near the secret door. Cara’s appearance had probably saved Amanizar’s life. She fought her attacker desperately. His speed and skill were terrifying. She had never fought such an opponent before and it took all her strength just to survive moment to moment. She stepped back and back toward the secret entrance which still stood ajar, while pushing along a shrieking, wailing Cara.

    Cara. Open that door! She had no idea how she was going to get through it alive and prevent the assassin from following, but the door was their only hope.

    Merciful Gods! came a shocked voice from across the room. Lady Lamara. Older than Cara and infinitely more practical, Lamara stepped back through her bedroom door and slammed it. The assassin turned toward Lamara with a jerk. It was what Amanizar needed. She pulled open the entrance, pushed Cara through it, jumped through herself and shut it. She leaned against the door, trembling.

    What is this place! Cara seemed much more awake now.

    Come on! Amanizar snapped. Now that the assassin knew the door existed, it wouldn’t take long for him to find the latch. She pulled Cara down hundreds of dark steps. The dank chill of the passageway seeped into her. She wore only a flimsy nightdress that swirled prettily around her legs but didn’t provide any warmth, and the stones of the passage floor were cold against her bare feet.

    From time to time, she explored these passages with a torch to familiarize herself with them, but she’d never just blundered through them in the dark. There were guards stationed throughout the Kulibahr, but the greatest concentration of them was in the military quarters and that was where she headed. She wished Lord Bokadan would be there. Unfortunately he didn’t live in the palace. But many of his best men did, including Gelir, Captain of the Guard.

    She knew at the bottom of the stairs there were four passages leading off in different directions. She was pretty sure she knew where each of them led and was almost certain the second from the left was the one she wanted. Darkness was total. She groped around until she found the wall and trailed her hand along it until she found an opening. Cara took a step toward it but Amanizar pulled her back.

    No, I think that way leads out to the city streets, she said.

    That is exactly where I want to go! Cara quavered. The killer would never be able to find us out there!

    Nonsense, Amanizar replied. Stiffen your spine. I— A muffled noise and a sudden shift in the air told her the assassin had opened the secret door. This way! she whispered and dragged Cara in the direction she thought the second passage should be.

    No! He’ll follow and find us! she wailed and stood unmoving. In a fit of irritation Amanizar briefly considered leaving her plump handmaid to her fate. But only briefly.

    He can hear you! Come! she hissed fiercely and pushed Cara head of her while she groped for what she hoped was the right passage. When she found it, they ran. Cara was huffing and puffing, but she gamely kept up. Before long, she started falling behind and Amanizar halted. Cara’s breath came in ragged gulps. Amanizar let her rest for a minute before pushing her on. This time they walked. Amanizar knew the door to the guardroom couldn’t be much farther and she didn’t want to run headlong into it. She listened hard for pursuit. She couldn’t hear anything except Cara’s labored breathing. She could see nothing at all, the assassin could be standing right next to her and she wouldn’t know. She hoped he chose one of the other openings and was now far away.

    Amanizar found Cara’s hand and led her down the passage. After only a few steps she nearly collided with a heavy door. She groped for the lever, opened it and pulled Cara through. Soft lamplight was almost blinding after the gloom of the passageway.

    Amanizar’s heart sank. This wasn’t the military quarters. The great God Kantazar towered over a golden throne. Her throne—or it would be if she survived tonight. The ivory-clad statue of the god dominated even this enormous room. Kantazar, first emperor of the Tengeri, his crown lost in dimness up near the vaulted ceiling. Amanizar was supposed to be his avatar, his reincarnation, but she knew she’d die on a sword as easily as any other woman. Lesser gods lined the walls, but no guards were around, not at this time of night. Tall gilded doors led out to a wide balcony, but there was no way down and it was a long drop to the plaza. There were two doors along the walls, the grand entry to the throne room and a smaller door used by servants and officials going about their work. The military quarters were far away but Amanizar knew the smaller door was the quickest way down to them. That was the direction she dragged Cara, but before they took more than a few steps, Cara’s knees buckled.

    I’m sorry, Highness, she said. Her breast heaved, her face was deep red and her eyes wild and moist. I must rest if only a moment.

    If you rest here, you’ll die, Amanizar said harshly. Again, she considered leaving her. The assassin might ignore the lady’s maid and follow the princess. She grabbed Cara’s arm. If she was wrong Cara would be a lamb before the slaughter.

    Get up! Amanizar tugged at her. She was heavy, but Amanizar hauled the woman to her feet. She pulled and prodded her toward their escape door.

    Softly muffled, but rapidly approaching footsteps warned her that they weren’t going to make it to the door. Amanizar turned. The assassin was wrapped completely head to toe in deepest black, his hair pulled up in the tight bun worn by Jakaeli soldiers. He ran lightly toward them, sword raised. Amanizar pushed Cara away from her and held the hilt of her own sword in both hands, braced for the first blow.

    Guards! To me! she yelled at the top of her lungs. Hopelessly. There could be patrolling guards in this part of the palace at this time of the night, but it was unlikely that they’d be within earshot just at this moment. The first blow landed, shaking her down to her feet. She fought desperately, hopelessly, yelling for the guards.

    Finally, an especially clever maneuver nearly knocked the sword out of her hands. A sense of doom overwhelmed her. The next strike would be the last. Then Cara appeared with a long object and whacked the assassin across the shoulders. He stumbled and dropped his guard. With fresh hope, Amanizar lunged, but the assassin turned at the last instant and her sword barely grazed his ribs. Cara skittered backwards. She held the great seal of state in her hands. The assassin snatched up his blade and followed Cara, sword raised, obviously intent on ending her before turning to finish Amanizar.

    Get away from her! Amanizar yelled. It’s me you want, scrow-got! It was the worst thing she could think of to call someone. It wasn’t even her own language.

    The assassin hesitated, blood dribbling down his side from the scratch she gave him. He looked slowly from Cara to her. Amanizar held her sword in front of her, assuming the killing blow was about to come for one of them. Then, to her astonishment, he raised his sword in a salute, turned and ran to the open passageway behind the throne. She wasn’t foolish enough to follow him.

    Chapter 2

    Everyone was amazed at Amanizar’s miraculous escape from death. After the assassin disappeared, she’d made her way to the military quarters, with a somewhat recovered Cara. Captain Gelir sent for Lord Bokadan and then ordered a top-to-bottom search of the palace. Of course they found nothing.

    Bokadan listened to the account of her adventure with astonishment. You called him ‘scrow-got’ and he ran away? What does it mean? A strong and blunt man, his red beard, worn in several tight braids after the manner of soldiers, was shot with gray.

    It’s Jakaeli, she said. It means ‘dirt eater.’ It was just the worst thing I could think of.

    Bokadan laughed. A huge, hearty laugh. He was almost certainly Jakaeli, but I can’t imagine that he’d be all that flustered by foul language.

    Nor by my sword skills, Amanizar agreed. That I am alive is a pure miracle!

    * * *

    The next morning, the darkened sky wept with fitful rain. Amanizar’s duties began at sunrise with a symbolic hour of prayer and fasting after which she received a ritual breakfast. She spent most of the meditation brooding about last night’s assassination attempt. She dozed during some of the morning rituals. Finally, after an entire day of rituals and ceremonies, she knelt in the throne room under the towering statue of Kantazar. Her regent, Salagon stood in front of her with the crown in his hands. She knew her Chief Court Magician enjoyed having the power of a king while she was still a child. Now that she had reached her eighteenth birthday and her majority, he would set the crown on her head but she’d have to wrest the power from him.

    Amanizar gazed up, studying the face of her ancestor, Kantazar. Long ago, the throne room had been built as a shrine to glorify her divine ancestor. Since that time all Tengeri monarchs were crowned there. Now it was her turn. It had been a very long day. Her knees hurt and her heavy robes seemed to press her down.

    When the crucial moment arrived Salagon lowered the heavy crown of state onto her head without any outward sign of reluctance. The magician’s short white beard, neatly trimmed, almost gave weight to his long narrow face. His eyes glittered cold.

    The crown was so heavy that for weeks she had practiced wearing it so that she wouldn’t stagger and humiliate herself in front of the great stone face of Kantazar. Her court, glittering in all their best finery, were assembled to witness her ascension to the throne. She could hear the people outside, calling her name in a tangled, chaotic roar. Her people.

    The Glory of the Gods descend upon you, Salagon intoned. Thou art queen of all the lands of the Tengeri. Thou art blessed and beloved of the great God Kantazar, monarch of his holy empire and ruler of the Heart of the Tengeri.

    Amanizar looked up again at her ancestor god. His stern visage was darkened by centuries of incense smoke, his feet worn by the hands of thousands of supplicants. The Emperor Kantazar was her first ancestor. He was an avatar of the gods, their representative on Earth, and so was she.

    The magician lifted a heavy, jewel-encrusted censor. He waved a long, thin hand over it and whispered a spell. It suddenly billowed smoke, which wreathed her about with the odor of sanctity. Thou art the divine Queen. Thou art the monarch ascendant, he intoned. Queen of the Tengeri Lands, Queen of the Emerald Mountains, Empress of Aesternia. Protector of the Tengeri people. Defender of the most Holy Majicks . . . and on and on. She couldn’t imagine how he remembered it all. She felt all those titles pressing down on her head with more weight than the crown itself. After he finished reciting her titles, Salagon should have given her the Heart of the Tengeri as a final sign of her rulership. Instead a clear goblet materialized in Salagon’s hands and filled itself with red wine. It was an empty symbol.

    She drank a sip of the enchanted wine as Salagon finished his incantations and then she stood, now fully queen.

    Amid thunderous applause, Amanizar handed the goblet to one of Salagon’s subordinates and turned to face the court. Lord Bokadan stood waiting on the steps just below the altar, his eyes shining with pride. He came toward her, presented a muscular arm and steadied her descent down the long steps. The cheering courtiers parted as she passed. The time had come to show herself to the people.

    Amanizar’s coronation had been anticipated by the Tengeri people for a long time and in spite of the dull weather she knew the celebrations had been going on for days. Bokadan escorted to the balcony that overlooked the wide courtyard below. The people called it Soldier’s Plaza, because it was where kings and emperors of her line were accustomed to address their troops. In important times like today, the people poured into the Plaza to witness great events or hear a few words.

    With the crown now on her head, it was Amanizar’s duty to speak to those people and assure them that through her, the great god Kantazar had returned.

    When she stepped out on the balcony the people went wild, cheering and howling and raising up their open hands to her in prayer. Salagon and his magicians and all the nobles of her court poured out onto the balcony behind her. The pressure of her people’s need of her was almost overwhelming.

    Bid them to be quiet, Highness, said Salagon

    Of course, she said. She raised her arms, palms out for silence and slowly the din of the crowd subsided.

    I greet you today as your queen, she said. Through me prosperity and victory will return to the Tengeri Empire. Through me the blessings of the great god Kantazar himself will return to the empire. Salagon had written the speech and she had rehearsed it well in advance. The words had the desired effect. The people went mad with joy. Amanizar! Amanizar! they chanted to the low gray sky. She also heard Kantazar! here and there.

    Amanizar could see the clouds were parting a little, exposing her to the setting sun. She almost shielded her eyes from the glare and then realized that she was illuminated.

    She stood before them armed only with Salagon’s speech. Next she was supposed to remind the people of their duty to her and their nation. She was to urge them to send their sons to her army and pay their taxes. She was to make vague promises that they’d have happiness and enough to eat. She wasn’t supposed to mention the Heart. Now, looking into those upturned faces, she realized it wasn’t the speech of a queen.

    Bathed in the golden light of the setting sun she raised her hands and again a hush slowly fell.

    I stand before you as your queen, but also as your humble servant. She heard Salagon’s sharp gasp behind her. She wasn’t parroting his words. She ignored him. He had written a speech for a princess. Now she was a queen with her people before her. Today I have become your monarch. You have a duty to me but I have a far greater duty to you. The empire has been ravaged by war and suffering. It is my duty to heal the nation. The Heart was stolen from us many long years ago. Before the new moon is new again I will set out to find the Heart of Tengeri and with it I will restore peace and prosperity to you.

    She expected the people to cheer, but to her surprise, their silence continued, broken only by soft, deep murmuring. Then, slowly, people fell to their knees, some even fell on their faces. Their devotion stunned her. On special holy days and occasionally at festivals she’d ride in state waving at the people and they’d laugh and cheer and wave back. Salagon would usually speak a few suitable words while she stood beside him, but she had never before been allowed to speak to them directly.

    As Amanizar spoke, the sun, hot and red, blazed down to the top of the battlements.

    They want a blessing, Majesty, Bokadan whispered. She glanced at Salagon. His long face was carefully blank, but she could see that he was angry. He nodded sharply.

    She raised her hands again, this time palms down. May the Gods be with you in the day and the night. May they bless the harvest and protect the hearth fire. May their loving warmth surround you. Go in peace. Her throat thickened at the last. She had heard her father invoke this blessing hundreds of times. It was a standard invocation, much older than her father’s reign, but for Amanizar it would always be his.

    She stood for a while in silence regaining control of her emotions. Then she saw that the clouds were drifting together. The moment of sunlight had passed and it was time to go inside before the gray afternoon returned. Bokadan stepped to the rail of the balcony and led a cheer. Amanizar saluted the people one more time and then turned to lead her court back inside.

    That break in the clouds was most fortuitous, said Salagon coldly. The gods have given you a blessing today Your Highness.

    Bokadan agreed. The gods know you were born to carry the spirit of Kantazar, he said They know you as one of their own! Amanizar knew he loved her. He always had. His broad ruddy face grinning at her was one her earliest memories.

    Even inside the palace she could still hear the revelers and well wishers chanting her name. Amanizar! Amanizar! She’d be expected to preside over the high table at the feast, but not until she had shed the coronation robe and crown. She went to her apartments flanked by Bokadan and Salagon. Bokadan stationed himself outside her door but Salagon followed her in. His arrogant presumption, irritating when she was a princess, was far more annoying now that she was queen.

    Cara and Lamara waited for her. Cara appeared to be recovered from her adventure of the night before. Lamara, tall and patrician, had once been chief attendant to Amanizar’s mother. She immediately set to unfastening Amanizar’s gown. It took both of them to pull off the heavy coronation robe and crown, which made her feel like she could float upward.

    Why did you change the speech, Highness? said Salagon, clearly unconcerned that she now stood in only her shift.

    First of all, cease to address me as ‘Highness.’ That is a title for a princess.

    A veil dropped behind the wizard’s eyes. My apologies—Majesty. Forgive a slip from an old man.

    Lamara snorted and then had a lady-like coughing spell. Amanizar didn’t risk a smile. Old man, indeed!

    I changed your speech because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to tell a thousand worshipers to be sure to pay their taxes and send their sons to the army.

    My apologies—Majesty—but you desperately need both things!

    Those people are more desperate than I. They are desperate for hope.

    The sacred Heart of the Tengeri is gone forever. Salagon’s dark eyes glittered. He was a very dangerous man, a wielder of powerful magicks. People who opposed him had a tendency to lose the favor of the gods. The last person to cross him had died vomiting blood. Amanizar was the Queen of the Tengeri and he wouldn’t dare use his magic against her, but she knew she needed his goodwill and his power. The Heart will not return, he continued. Your father and grandfather wasted enormous resources looking for it. You will not repeat their error!

    You, Wizard, will not tell the Queen of the Tengri what she will and won’t do. Amanizar said it evenly and quietly. She stood with her arms held out, barely aware of Cara and Lamara pulling and tugging at her clothing. Normally Cara would be chattering and Lamara would be issuing commands to raise her arms, turn this way and that, but they both had fallen silent.

    Salagon was also silent. That wasn’t a good sign, but she pressed on. Our borders have constantly shrunk since the Heart was stolen, she said. The Empire is half what it was when that crown was set on my father’s head. She gestured to the crown now resting on a marble pedestal by the door. Kantazar had made it with his own hands and had set it upon his own head. At that moment Cara rested an ornate but far more comfortable diadem on Amanizar’s head.

    I barely escaped with my life last night, she said. My brother won’t stop fighting me until the Heart gives me the power to make him stop. She paused, Salagon was still dangerously silent and she knew he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say any more than what she had said already. I’ll need you to do a Seeking Spell for me, she said.

    That has been tried, Majesty, to no avail. The hiding place of the Heart is bound with powerful glamours. His tone held a faint hint of contempt for such a childish idea.

    No Seeking Spell has been tried in my lifetime, Amanizar said, ignoring his tone. The women were doing something fussy with her hair. She waved them away. I’ll add my magic to yours. The gods showed me their favor today, they’ll show me the Heart and I’ll bring it back to my people.

    Send Bokadan and few seasoned adventurers for it. It would be foolish and dangerous to go yourself. Salagon’s iron control

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