Belly of the Beast Warren Thomas (e novels for free .txt) 📖

fierce steppe nomads between the Desert Kingdoms and the Tyr Mountains. His sword had a bright crimson scabbard and leather wrapped hilt of dark red. It had been the personal sword of King Aballion of Treversax, said to be a battle trophy taken off a great mercenary general.

            “Halt! Declare yourself,” the young gate guard demanded.

            Nizar let his lips peel back in an arrogant sneer at the soldier. He had chosen his egress point well. The small side gate was closed to all save military traffic, so would allow him to bypass the forced inductions at the main gates Dakar’s spies had warned him about. And the look of consternation that clouded the heavily armed fellow’s face showed Nizar he had guessed correctly about the manner of man left to guard the gate as well. Common-born, the soldier possessed an inbred wariness of the high born. If nothing else, Nizar was sure the youth would see the splendid, well-mounted figure before him as noble, if not royal. Who else but a noble would dare try gain entrance through that gate?

            “I am Prince Nizar al-Sayyid of Tamera,” Nizar said, mimicking the sneering haughtiness of his half-brothers whenever they had encountered him. “Stand aside, soldier. I have business within the city.”

            “Uh, I’m sorry, milord,” he said, refusing to step aside and beginning to look around for support. “But I’m afraid I have to ask you to dismount and hand over those reins.”

            “What!”

            The soldier blanched, but remained resolute, saying, “I am sorry, milord, but by order of Borric III, King of Kestsax, all mounts are to be...uh...turned over to the army for the duration of the war. I’m real sorry, milord, but I have my orders.”

            Nizar’s smile was icy. “How amusing. But I am not your “lord,” but a prince. You will address me as ‘your majesty’ from now on. Understand?”

            “Aye, mi...your majesty,” he said. “But I still – ”

            “But nothing, cur! I am a prince and emissary of the Sultan of Tamera!” Nizar snarled, reaching for his hilt. He was careful not to draw the blade, for Nizar was sure the soldier would see through his disguise by the way he handled the sword. “Try and steal my horses, and you’ll lose your thick skull!”

            “What is going on here?!” a harsh voice called.

            A burly Lelt in strange red facial tattoos stalked out of the deep gatehouse shadows. His shoulder epaulets proclaimed him a junior captain of the City Guard. The red tattoos said the man wasn’t from a local tribe, so probably didn’t gain his position through family connections, but with hard work and proven competence. Smoldering blue eyes said the captain wasn’t in the mood for a quarrel.

            “Captain,” Nizar said, bowing slightly. “I am Prince Nizar of Tamera, an emissary of my father, the Sultan Asufu, here in your lands to assess the threat. But now I find the threat isn’t just from some unwashed horde, but from the very forces arrayed against it.”

            “I am Captain Fhilib, lord Prince,” the officer said, eyeing Nizar speculatively. “How may I be of service?”

            “Your low-born man here seeks to steal my mount,” Nizar said. He let his dark eyes flash with the very real anger he felt. “That, good sir, would be an act of war! My father, and my people, would not hesitate to respond accordingly.”

            Captain Fhilib smiled tightly, though Nizar could see the strain in doing so was almost too much to bear. Push the officer too far, and Nizar might find himself being dragged before the king. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if he found himself interred in royal splendor while an emissary of King Borric’s was sent to Tamera. It wouldn’t be unheard of for the king to demand a ransom, to compensate the people of Kestsax for the “insult” given them by Tamera’s prince. It was a common practice among the kings of the Jarlands and Leltic Lands, though was not done so much as it was a century back. Nizar didn’t care to consider what his fate would be when word returned that there was no such person as “Prince” Nizar. But then, Dakar and His host would’ve arrived in Kestsax long before any emissary could even reach distant Tamera.

            “I have to be wondering, Prince Nizar, about your lack of an escort,” Captain Fhilib said. He looked around, then back at Nizar. “Care to explain, your Highness?”

            Nizar was prepared.

            “Dead, Captain,” Nizar said, frowning as if it really annoyed him, but no more than that. “While scouting out the threat near Treversax, we ran straight into the zombies. I’m the sole survivor, Captain.”

            The captain considered that a long moment. Nizar fought off a smile. There wasn’t any way for the captain to prove or disprove Nizar’s story. And if the foreigner was telling the truth, he would come to considerable grief if he offered any offense. So Nizar watched with extreme satisfaction when he sighed with resignation.

            “Prince Nizar, as you are an emissary taking word of the insidious horde threatening us, and the whole world, with oblivion, then far be it for us to slow or hamper your way,” Captain Fhilib said. “Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience caused, and I pray you enjoy your stay in our city.”

            A hand signal moved all the guards out of Nizar’s path. Nizar curtly accepted the captain’s apology and urged his gray stallion through the gate, sumpter tagging along behind. He wasn’t totally sure he had done it until the inner gate opened and let him pass into the city.

            Kestsax was a riot of noise and motion. Nizar smiled behind his veil to see, hear, and smell the hectic life of the city. It wasn’t unlike his home of Tamera on market day, with only the cool autumn air spoiling the experience. Within the city walls the disgusting stench of wet, rotting vegetation of the forest was cut by