Part Three

Malache saw the Lord Chabouk embracing her consort, finally. She saw, with a Priestess' eye, the aura that surrounded them, filling the room, the image of the black eagle rising to embrace the sun, pinions melting like wax in the fire of the heavens. Forgive me, Malache thought, oh, forgive me. Har and Dummuzi, Xena and Gabrielle, forgive me. They are Greeks, who would have thought? "Xena! Gabrielle!" Malache repeated their names, knowing that they wouldn't hear her through that haze, not easily. Gabrielle turned toward her first, almost blinding the Harlot. Xena blinked, shook her head, and stepped back out of Gabrielle's embrace. The aura broke when their contact broke, leaving a very mundane room in its wake and a very groggy Lord Chabouk.

Xena passed a hand over her brow, staring at Malache. "What's going on?"

"Forgive me, both of you. I would never have intruded if I'd known, if-" Malache said, and her voice broke.

"It's all right, Malache. What's wrong?" Gabrielle said. The bard didn't seem unsettled by the vanishing of her contact with Xena. There was still a peace, a calm about her that reassured Malache despite everything.

"The prophecy that Mara gave. I wasn't myself yet, could you repeat it for me?" The Harlot asked.

Xena frowned. She didn't feel like herself yet, either. She felt drunk on the golden wine of Gabrielle, spinning from it, unable to focus on Malache and what she was saying. "Something about a phoenix sitting the throne when a leopard born out of a horse sheds its skin." Xena said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. Why couldn't she focus? She looked at Gabrielle, and felt the world melting away again.

"She's under the influence of the Goddess. I never expected her to be hit so hard, you are Greeks after all. I didn't think she liked the gods. Usually, this level of effect is only seen in Temple girls, or those that welcome it." Malache said to Gabrielle. The bard seemed focused, attentive, but there was that glow about her that made Malache wonder. "Do you feel all right, Gabrielle?"

"Never better. We should help Xena, though, she won't like this. Maybe if we get her to sit." Gabrielle reached for Xena's arm, and Malache grabbed her hands away.

"No! If you touch her, she'll be gone again. Let me." Malache guided Xena to a chair, and pushed her down in it. She and Gabrielle retreated to the table. "It's the proximity of the heart's desire that increases the effects. Stay out of her reach for a bit, she'll come around."

"Malache. You didn't come bursting in here to tend to Xena." Gabrielle said.

The bard's words were surprisingly gentle, considering what she had interrupted, Malache thought. "No. I heard a snatch of the prophecy, but I was in a state like Xena is now. Tell it to me, if you can."

"Mara said 'The phoenix shall perch on the throne when the spotted hide is cast off. A leopard rests among eagles, in the sunset nesting, foaled by the Lydian mare. Dummuzi has come again, his blood tells. The royal heir who is and is not a prince of Har will be Great King.' "

Whatever reaction Gabrielle was expecting, this wasn't it. Malache went white as alabaster and swooned. Gabrielle caught her, setting her in a chair. She put a hand on the Harlot's forehead, Malache's eyes flickered. "This is getting to be some day. Prophecy, possessions, fainting, you Harrians know how to throw a festival. You okay?"

"Yes. I mean, I am well. Forgive me for fainting." Malache said.

"What about the prophecy threw you? You recognize something. Is it the heir?" Gabrielle asked, gently. She'd never seen Malache distraught, off balance, without her disarming composure.

The Harlot started to cry. "Yes."

"Who is it?" Gabrielle asked, taking her hand.

"My beloved." Malache said, her tears increasing.

Gabrielle hugged her, patting her on the back. "Hey. It'll be fine. Don't worry."

Malache pushed away and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "It seems I must apologize again, for falling apart. Har grant that I keep my strength now."

"Drink this." They both jumped, as Xena pressed a goblet into Malache's hand. "It's water. Don't look at me like that, I'm myself again." The warrior's voice was low, and rough, very much her normal tone. "Tell me what's going on."

"You were possessed by the Goddess, and then Malache burst in here-"

"I remember all that. You know who the heir is, Malache? Describe him to me, how he fits, how easily he might be recognized." Xena said, sitting at the table, careful not to touch Gabrielle. She needed to focus on the mission, not think about what had been happening while she was drunk on Harrian immortal's emotion.

Malache gathered herself visibly, smoothing her wild red hair, still tangled from the Grieving. "I'd vowed never to speak of this. Forgive me, beloved." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, steadier. "You know that I handle royal initiations. That means that once a son of the Great King comes to his sixteenth birthday, he is sent to me to be initiated into the worship of Har, in her aspect as Goddess of Love. No king may rule as Beloved of the Goddess unless he is taught how to love by a Harlot.

Three years ago, there came a letter to my home requesting an initiation for one of the Great King's sons by a minor wife. It said that he was s sensitive lad, whose mother had died birthing him. He'd been raised in seclusion away from the bustle of the City, in the region of Baluchis."

"The province on the edge of the desert. Megabyzus' place." Xena said, interrupting her. Her brain was functioning strategically again, cleared of the influence of Har. But her awareness of Gabrielle remained heightened, she could feel every breath, every movement the bard made. She set that aside, with effort and concentrated on what Malache was saying.

"Yes. The boy had been born under ill fortune, his mother's death polluting him. As well, it was revealed reluctantly to me by Azarnes, the boy's uncle and guardian, that Amasis had had a dream the night of the prince's birth. He must be kept away from court, raised outside the City, or the child would die. Other things were also revealed, that I would only learn of later. Amasis, Great King, had loved the child's mother, though only briefly had they been together. He met her on a pleasure trip to Lydia, when he was already in his fifties. She was a horsewoman, passionate, a boon to his age. When she died bearing him a prince, he was greatly sorrowed. True to his dream, the boy was sent off to a fortress in Baluchis to be raised in seclusion. Azarnes, brother to Amasis, accepted this desert exile to be the prince's guardian. It was Azarnes who wrote to me, telling me that the boy's sensitive nature, shielded all his years from the City, made him shy. I was to initiate him in one of the Mother's small temples on the fringes of Baluchis. I sent word back, that I would meet the prince at the appointed time." Malache dabbed a tear from her eye.

Xena was impatient, but sensed something more than nostalgia going on. This was something Malache clearly had never expected to reveal, it hurt her to break her word to her beloved. Gabrielle hung on every word, fascinated to see Malache in the grip of so understandable an emotion. The Harlot moved abruptly from rival to friend, in revealing that she had a lover.

"A minor temple out in the wilderness, with a boy raised like a monk in the desert. Was he deformed?" Xena demanded.

Malache sighed. "I thought that might be the case, that might be why I was sworn to secrecy. But no. When I met the prince...Oromenes was more beautiful than the Lydian woman, as beautiful as Dummuzi, whose blood ran down their family line." Malache closed her eyes.

"Harlots give themselves to the Goddess for seven years, our term of service. In that time we belong to her. We love equally any who come to us. A Harlot may not give away her heart, because it belongs already to the Goddess. But the moment I looked on Oromenes, my heart was lost." She looked at Xena. "Can you understand? I met the other half of my soul, where I'd never thought to seek it."

Gabrielle asked, "What about the prince?"

"Oromenes felt the same. It was a night to make Har weep, like Dummuzi come back to earth. During that night, Oromenes told me many things. How a poacher had slain a leopard cruelly, leaving its cub. How, in stumbling on this scene while hunting in the hills, Oromenes beat the poacher off with spear and net. Oromenes raised the cub by hand, and now always had it by his side, like a hound. It was a matter of boasting to tell me, but it charmed me. In jest, in love, I named Oromenes my Leopard Prince."

It started to make sense to Xena. Born of a Lydian horsewoman, the Lydian mare, called the Leopard by Malache- "But what about the prince who is and is not stuff? How does that fit?" Xena thought aloud.

Malache flinched. "Oromenes told me the full story of Amasis' dream. How, on the night of the birth, the Goddess came to Amasis and said these things: the child of the Great King and the Lydian woman must be declared and raised as a prince, with all the rights and education any son would have. The child must never be revealed to be other than a prince, or the child would die. And if the child ever came into the City of Har, the Great King would die in that moment. So Amasis, in fear and in love, declared the child a prince of Har, and sent the prince into exile in Baluchis, never to see the Red City."

Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't understand. If he's a prince, what's the catch?"

"Oromenes, the Leopard Prince of Baluchis, my beloved, is a girl. And Oromenes will now face death, when it is revealed."

"You mean he…the prince-" Gabrielle said.

"Oromenes was raised as a boy. Not even the members of the fortress staff know that she is not, only his guardian Azarnes. And I, who love her. Now, you." Malache said.

"I've heard of this, in Egypt. A woman had herself declared a man by the gods' decree, and ruled as pharaoh." Xena said, remembering.

"It is not unknown, in Har. Oromenes is only in danger because of her father's dream. The Goddess wanted him to be raised as a boy, a prince, in seclusion. So he was."

"Tell me about the boy's guardian, Azarnes was it? Why would he go into exile for a child not his own?" Xena asked, trying to get a feel for a potential ally or enemy.

Malache started speaking with the air of a woman recounting something sacred to her, that had never been spoken aloud. The details of the leopard prince's life were lovingly gathered and preserved, with no option to ever bring them forth. She had never been able to hold them up to the light, let others admire with her the prince's noble heart, the poetry of speech, the moments of profound wisdom that welded Oromenes to her heart. It was, in its way, a joy to speak of her love at last.

"Oromenes may not have been born of Azarnes' body, but he became the child of Azarnes' heart. Azarnes is the brother to Amasis, Great King, though twenty years his junior. In Har he was a soldier, a commander in the Goddess' army for his career. A few months before Oromenes birth, Azarnes wife and two sons caught lowland fever. They were treated, but beyond the point of cure. Azarnes was away on campaign at the borders of Egypt. When he returned, he met news of their death. He was never the same man again. Oromenes has said that his uncle's heart went to the funeral pyre with his wife and sons. He never spoke their names again.

Azarnes stayed with the army. All he had left was his discipline, it held him up. When Amasis lost the Lydian woman and Oromenes was born, perhaps Amasis thought to save them both. I know not. I know only that Azarnes left the Red City never to return, raising the prince alone in the deserts of Baluchis. He kept his word to Amasis, seeing that Oromenes got the education befitting a prince, knowledge of weapons and horsemanship, forms of statecraft, reading of people. If anything has been lacking in Azarnes, it was warmth. He was never very emotional with Oromenes, almost un-Harrian in raising him. Yet I believe he loves Oromenes, perhaps too much to express it, and risk losing one who has become his child."

"You've kept seeing Oromenes in the three years since the initiation. " Xena stated, bluntly. "How did Azarnes react to that?"

"How did the guardian respond to his charge taking a Harlot for a lover? Well, and not well. He first wrote to me to fulfill the letter of his duty. The initiation of a prince is inviolate; all heirs must be visited by a Harlot on their sixteenth birthday. He had not spared Oromenes education in any other way. Oromenes told me, later, that his uncle had grown worried for him in recent years. Oromenes had always been a quiet child, but in youth grew silent. Days would pass without Oromenes speaking a word. Azarnes would see the prince, in the company of Arun, the leopard who never left his side, roaming the hills, one with the silence of the desert. Azarnes began to worry for the prince's mind.

He'd always been an excellent student, yet now he set the books aside, listening to the calls of eagles and the growl of hunting cats, to the other sounds hills make if man is silent enough to hear them. He would speak when spoken to, but languidly, as if human speech were becoming an abstraction. Azarnes, even in the prison of his own grief, recognized the need for human contact. So he sent for me."

"Huh. The human contact must have worked, Oromenes fell in love with you." Gabrielle said, grinning.

It drew a smile out of Malache in return. "Yes, and that's not uncommon. Initiates often fall in love with their Harlot. It is to be expected. The boy will swoon and sigh for a month or so, then go find a girl his own. What Azarnes never expected was for me to fall in love, hopelessly, with Oromenes."

"Did he stand against your liaison?" Xena asked.

"He was against it. For three months I wrote to Oromenes, and Azarnes intercepted the letters, destroying them. He hoped that the prince would forget me. But Oromenes didn't, without hearing a word from me. He went from being a mystic in the hills, silent as the desert, to a typical youth- brooding, sullen, sighing and moaning as his heart were rent. Oromenes, my beloved, cannot sing. Yet he composed awful songs for the lyre, and sang them endlessly. Even Arun, the leopard, would hide." Malache recounted, with a small smile of pleasure at so effecting the prince after one night.

"That means that you were left without word, for those months. And you did not give up?" Xena asked.

"The heart is not a beast of reason, Lord Chabouk. Oromenes and I had traded such words and promises that sustain a lover's heart unto the gates of death. When I heard no word, I planned a trip to Baluchis."

"To the fortress?" Gabrielle asked.

"To the temple, where we'd met. I sent word for Oromenes to meet me there on the third night of the full moon, or I would accept silence as my answer, and desolation as my portion." Malache said, with a hint of how hard it had been to write the words.

"Did he come? I mean, she. Oromenes." Gabrielle said.

"Azarnes relented at the last, and gave the letter to Oromenes. So we met at the temple. So we've met, for three years long."

Xena pushed back from the table, and started pacing. "Mara doesn't know any of this." Her warrior's mind was strategizing, Gabrielle knew, from the look on her face.

"No. Nor have I spoken of it. It is forbidden." Malache said.

"When is your term of service up?" Gabrielle asked.

"In the spring."

Xena, from her lengthening stride, looked over at Malache. "So you and Oromenes planned to run away, to Egypt, or maybe Dahomey." She said.

Malache's eyes widened. "How did you-"

"I've been in love. I know what it feels like." Xena said, not looking toward the table, not looking at Malache, or Gabrielle.

"But now the prophecy marks Oromenes as the next Great King. You can't run away together." Gabrielle said, her heart going out to Malache.

Tears started in Malache's eyes. "I know. Oromenes is of Dummuzi's blood. My leopard would die before betraying that, if the Goddess has called him to be the Beloved, the Great King." There was pride in her voice, a raising of her head, even as tears poured from her eyes like blood from an open wound. "I know that our time is done. I only want to preserve Oromenes life. If someone hostile finds out about Amasis' dream, that Oromenes is fated to die if it is ever revealed he is a girl, and that Amasis will die the moment he comes into the City-"

"Then they would seize the prince, hold the true heir and maybe even kill him without consequences, according to the Goddess' own words. The Great King would die, the throne would be empty, chaos would fill Har. It would be ripe for the plucking." Xena said without emotion, as a matter of fact. Gabrielle knew that she was speaking from her warlord days, from what she would have done. It was chilling.

"Please, Xena, Gabrielle. I know that the Goddess sent you here. Whatever happens, save Oromenes life." Malache's bright green eyes swam with tears as she implored them.

It stopped Xena's pacing. She stood in front of Malache's chair, her height drawing Malache's eyes up. "Listen to me. I don't know all of what is going on here, but I do know this- there is always a way. Oromenes will live. But I need your help. Tell none about this, not even Mara. If Oromenes is to survive, I need to get her here where I can keep an eye on her. I know, the dream. Think- Amasis is dying anyway. If we are going to prevent the rest, I need to be here, and Oromenes needs to be here." The strength of Xena's voice, the natural command, soothed Malache immediately. She listened to Xena's certainty, and believed. "Malache, from what you tell us, it won't be easy to recognize Oromenes from the prophecy. Good. How long does it take to get to Baluchis?"

"A week, with perfect luck. Ten days, with some delay." Malache said.

"Good. You leave right now, while the whole City is debauching itself into a stupor. I can't go with you. If I ride out of the City the satraps will know that something is up. We wouldn't get a league from the gates before we were followed. All eyes are open for the sign of the heir. I need you to get to Baluchis and bring your leopard back here." Xena's level tone had worked it's magic. Malache was perfectly calm again, and focused.

The warrior started pacing again. "You can't bring a large retinue. An outrider or two."

"I am used to sneaking into Baluchis in the middle of the night." Malache said, with the ghost of a smile. She took Xena's hands, kissing them. "Thank you, Lord Chabouk."

"Right. It'll only take me a minute to get ready." Gabrielle said, springing up.

Xena intercepted her march to the bedchamber, blocking the doors with her body. "Where do you think you are going?" Xena demanded.

"With Malache. You said it yourself. You can't leave the City, it'd tip everyone off. She needs help. You know that I can handle myself in a dangerous situation."

"Absolutely not." Xena said.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, Malache?" Gabrielle said sweetly, pushing Xena into the bedchamber and shutting the doors.

Xena didn't wait to hear a word from the bard. "You are not risking your life on this, Gabrielle."

"Xena. You know that this is right. Malache and Oromenes need us right now. The mission comes first. That's what we do. The greater good, remember?" Gabrielle said, reasonably.

"I can't risk you. Not for this. Not for anything." Xena's voice faltered. Gabrielle took her hand.

"You aren't. I'm choosing to do what is right."

Xena's eyes burned, like sapphires with the light of the desert sun behind them. "Gabrielle. About what was happening, when Malache broke in-"

Gabrielle touched Xena's face, the look of wisdom and acceptance returning. "You told Malache you know what its like to be in love. So do I." She kissed Xena, sliding her hand around behind the warrior's head. Her fingers tangled in that thick black hair, anchoring her.

Xena felt the world fall away when Gabrielle kissed her. When the bard pulled back, Xena said. "That wasn't the influence of the Goddess."

"No. That was us." Gabrielle kept her hand right where it was.

"Then..how can you go?" Xena's voice cracked.

"Because it's right. Because you taught me that." Gabrielle said, meeting the heat of Xena's gaze.

"You shouldn't listen to me." The warrior smiled, crookedly.

"I'll be back. With Oromenes and Malache. We can talk about this more, then." Gabrielle, with an effort of will, stepped back from Xena. She turned toward the door when she felt the powerful hands seize her shoulders, spin her around. The warrior's embrace was fierce, feverish, her kiss obliterating Gabrielle's resolve. She was left clinging to Xena, almost unable to stand, from the warrior's kiss. She could see the glow of the sapphire eyes inches from her face.

"Come back to me." Xena demanded, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Gabrielle, unable to speak, nodded, tears threatening her eyes. They broke apart at the same time, walking back into the audience chamber gingerly.

Malache saw them walking, careful not to touch one another, and knew. Impulsively she hugged Xena, who was taken by surprise.

Gabrielle watched as the warrior stood still as a statue, arms held out from her sides as the gorgeous Harlot embraced her. The bard grinned. If someone had told me this morning that I'd be watching Malache grab Xena and be happy about it, I'd know they were on henbane.- she thought.

Xena, looking like she was chewing on a fishhook, disentangled herself from Malache. That was all the leave taking Xena could stand. She turned her head away from both women.

Gabrielle, staff in hand, stood before her. "Xena."

"Go. So you can return." Xena knew that if Gabrielle kissed her again, she would seize the bard in her arms and not let her go.

Gabrielle seemed to sense this, or perhaps felt the same, and did not try to touch her. They stood looking into one another's eyes, and Malache was struck by the intensity of their shared silence. Gabrielle broke contact first, joining Malache. Her face was firm, an indication of the strength it took to walk away from Xena. Malache could see Xena watching Gabrielle go, and the stricken look cut at her heart. The Harlot closed the audience chamber door on the sight of Xena's eyes following Gabrielle.

They were on the road in a candlemark, all the City engaged in the joy of Har and Dummuzi. The two guards who served as outriders were in the Temple employ, but of Ethiopian birth. They had Goddesses of their own, and so were less likely to succumb as the Harrians did. Still, they were loath to leave the festival, and only promises of an extravagant nature kept them on the road with Malache. They were mounted on tall, long legged desert mounts from the Persian strain, graceful and delicate as cats. Sheaves of javelins rode near their saddlehorns, and short recurve bows of horn and sinew across their backs. They didn't look out of place for a lady's escort, particularly with none sober guarding the gates to the City.

Gabrielle rode in the wagon, back in her traveling garb, with her staff to hand. It was an enormous relief, after the Harrian formal gowns she'd be wearing. The bard discovered that she liked to be able to move, to fight if need be. It gave her a sense of power. Gabrielle watched Malache handle the team of horses with amazement. The Harlot's small hands commanded the reins with a sensitive touch.

Malache, at last catching Gabrielle looking at her, smiled. "A Harlot has to learn things besides the love rites."

"If you say you have many skills, I will hit you." Gabrielle said, tapping her staff in her hand.

"There were times when I thought you might." Malache said, glancing at Gabrielle out of the side of her eye.

Her tone was light, but Gabrielle knew she was serious. Malache seemed, for the first time, to be younger than she was, and seeking reassurance. "Oh, Malache. That was all, I mean, Xena and I, we-"

"You have the assurances you need. I understand. I saw the Lord Chabouk watch you as we left. If I could but carve that look on a block of marble and title it Longing, my fame would be secured down the ages."

Gabrielle blushed at the newness of it, hearing someone else speak it aloud made her shy. "I haven't seen that particular look yet." She managed to say.

Greeks, thought Malache. They need such help. "Have you traveled with Xena long?"

"All my life, it seems. I don't remember anything as vividly as I remember seeing her for the first time." Gabrielle was seized with curiosity about the young woman riding next to her. "Malache, did you grow up in Har?" The Harlot nodded. "Did you always want to be a Priestess?" Gabrielle pressed.

"From girlhood. I was accepted into the training at twelve, and got my gown and rank at seventeen. That was nearly seven years ago."

"Did you know what you wanted to do after?" Gabrielle asked.

Malache's face grew bleak. "For a time, I imagined myself as a leopard's wife, in Egypt, or Dahomey." She slapped the reins, urging the horses on. The silence was awful, broken only by the creak of the leather harness, the clink of metal on the bridles.

Gabrielle wished she could take back her question, but Malache was lost in her own pain. Gabrielle tried the only thing she could think of, the thing that always drew her out. "Malache. Tell me about Oromenes."

Malache sighed, and sat up straighter. The reins hung loosely in her grip. "Oromenes is unlike anyone I've known. Perhaps from being raised in the fashion she was, perhaps from the goodness of her soul. She has wisdom and grace of heart that few people ever achieve. Anger is never a threat for her. There is a gentle distance from the world, as if she watches everything but participates in little. So unlike me. My mother used to call me Kettle- I was always boiling over. And being a Harlot enhances fire, passion, emotion, to an edge unknown outside the Temple. If I were raised in exile, away from all people, I don't think I'd survive. But Oromenes, in that fortress in Baluchis, in the isolation of her early years, isn't bitter. She knows how to exist in silence."

Gabrielle saw Malache forget her sorrow, fairly glow when she spoke of the prince. Her vitality came from her in waves. "Malache, can I ask you something awkward?"

The Harlot focused on the bard, her attention complete. "Anything."

Gabrielle bounced her staff in her palm, shifted on the wagon seat. "It's, well…you're a priestess of Aphrodite-"

"A Harlot." Malache said, simply.

"Yes. You help people worship, physically."

"It is what I'm trained to do." Malache was enjoying Gabrielle's discomfort, and guessed where she was going with her questions, but let her flounder.

"Yes. Doing that, for a living, I mean, having training, experience with more than one- can you see where I'm going here?"

"No." Malache said, pleasantly.

"Huh. Well, is it, I mean with Oromenes. You initiated her. You were her first. "

"That's the point of initiation."

"But you are gorgeous. You're trained in the arts of love, you have the added emotional skills of being a priestess. You have people fall in love with you all the time. Why was it different being with Oromenes?" Gabrielle had finally gotten near the question she wanted answered, if not to it.

Malache smiled inwardly. Greeks, she thought. "With the worshippers, with initiates, I love them as Har loves them- all equally, welcoming. I become Her, I can love all the earth. I am there for them. With Oromenes, it is Malache. All of me, my heart, my soul, my mind, my skin, all for her. It isn't the Goddess, only us."

"In Greece, we have this story. Human beings were once two people, joined back to back. They shared the same soul. Some of the pairs were men and women, some of the pairs were men and men, some were women and women. Zeus, Father of the Gods, became angry with mankind and hurled his thunderbolts, severing the pairs. So people spend their lives, searching for the other half of their soul. Sometimes a hero like Achilles finds his soulmate in another hero, like Patroklos. Sometimes a prince of Har finds hers in a Harlot."

Malache placed her hand on Gabrielle's arm. "You have a generous spirit, Gabrielle. Thank you. In Har, we call the two halves the balance. Oromenes is my balance."

The bard exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "So it is different, being physically with her, even after the experience you've had."

"Oromenes had never been with anyone. Nor had she been near to anyone growing up that would spark her heart. But she taught me things that night I will never get over." In a fit of mischief, Malache added, "How is it with you and Xena?"

"Oh, we aren't- she hasn't, I mean…"

"She loves you. It's in every look, every movement when you are near her. She vibrates with the strain of keeping her hands from you." Malache spoke plainly, as she might to another Harrian.

"I love her. But we've never been …consorts."

Malache smiled. " There are many facets to being a consort. In Har, you would have started with sharing pleasure, then gone on to sharing your lives, your work, the danger and joy of the road as you do. Oromenes, who is lord of my heart, has never spent a single full day with me. You have been at Xena's side every day for two years."

It was Gabrielle's turn to sigh. "I want more, even the parts she keeps hidden from me. I used to think it was because she'd had so much experience, she couldn't possibly be interested in me."

"Perhaps she is frightened that she has too much experience. A woman of your goodness, your clarity of heart, couldn't possibly be interested in her." From the look on Gabrielle's face, Malache knew that the idea had never occurred to the bard. Her Harlot's heart was touched. They are so obvious, such a perfect balance, and yet so blind to one another, Malache thought. How do these Greeks do it, without help? "Gabrielle. Might I offer you some advice?"

"Sure." Gabrielle looked at Malache, mildly surprised.

"You need to seduce her." Malache said, bluntly, not stopped by Gabrielle's shocked expression. "She's declared her love for you, and you for her. That took how long?"

"Two years." The frustration was evident in Gabrielle's voice.

"So long, so much wasted time. You need to stop thinking of Xena as the experienced one. Her defenses are too firmly in place to allow her to come to you. You must treat her as a youth coming to her initiation."

"But that would make me-"

"A Harlot. You certainly have potential." Malache looked Gabrielle over appreciatively.

"You think so?" Gabrielle asked, flattered. "But I don't know anything."

"We have two weeks on the road. I've been told I'm an excellent instructor." Malache said.

"I'm sure you are." The bard choked.

"Don't turn purple, I'm not going to seduce you. But I could impart some of the Harlots secrets to you." Malache looked at Gabrielle, askance.

"You'd do that for me?" Gabrielle wasn't sure if she should be shocked, or flattered.

"In a heartbeat. I've been seeking a way to repay the Lord Chabouk for saving Oromenes life. This is as fine a dedication to the Goddess as I could expect to make in a lifetime."

Three days, Xena reminded herself. Gabrielle and Malache had only been gone for three days, hardly enough time to reach Baluchis, let alone collect the prince. So, she told herself sternly, don't expect word, don't expect her to walk through that door any moment. A lifetime of furious action left Xena ill prepared for this sort of waiting. She was as restless as a caged lion, desperate to know if Gabrielle were all right. Their parting had left her torn down the center, bleeding silently into the air where Gabrielle should have been. At night the spilled blood of an unparalleled career as a conqueror came to soak her dreams. There was no gentle bard, sleeping by her side, to disarm her haunted mind with a look, a touch, or the familiar sound of her heartbeat. She raged at herself, in language suited to war camps, of her own weakness, of the mighty Destroyer of Nations reduced to this state by a single kiss. Yet, she was no longer the Destroyer, and it had been no single kiss, but the confirmation of two years waiting, the seal on her heart placed there by Gabrielle.

The City had kept the festival going for three full days of lovemaking, drinking, rioting, dancing and feasting. The air was so charged Xena didn't dare walk the streets.

When on the dawn on the fourth day a cool hush fell over the City, like a cloud passing before the sun, Xena moved. She went straight to the army, confirming her suspicion that Bessarius was honing it for his own use. Perhaps it was the state of her mind, blood hot as liquid fire, temper primed for combat, aching for it, but she tore through the ranks like a raging wind. She removed the most partisan of Bessarius' men, firing whole levels of officers and promoting her own choices.

Bessarius was livid. He returned to his headquarters after a splendid festival, spent in the arms of his cupbearer and far from Satiare, to find Xena had taken up residence. He stormed into his office to find the Lord Chabouk sitting at his desk, boots up, reviewing his vice commanders. Before his unbelieving eyes, she fired half of them, just told them to resign their commissions and pack.

"What is the meaning of this?" He thundered, in his General's voice, pitched to carry above the din of a battlefield. The captains in the room flinched, to his pleasure. To his displeasure, Xena did not. She kept toying with the dagger she held, barely bothering to glance at him. Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper, he had to strain to hear it.

"I'm reorganizing the army."

He didn't expect her to be so unimpressed with him. It took some of his edge away. The General protested vehemently that he was appointed by the Great King, that all he had in mind was the defense of Har.

The Chabouk merely raised an eyebrow at him, over eyes gone cold and lifeless as frozen steel. "So do I."

The two new vice-commanders that Xena had appointed knocked, them came into the room. They ignored Bessarius, saluted Xena, and gave her the reports she'd requested. Xena made Bessarius stand, waiting, while she read the reports and issued her new orders. It was too much. Bessarius temper snapped.

"You've overstepped yourself, Greek." His hand was on the way to his sword hilt when the dagger Xena had been holding sliced it to the bone. He cried out, clutching it as blood sprayed the floor. Xena took her boots off the table and reached for her Chakram, in case the knife toss hadn't been convincing enough.

"Take it up with the true heir. Oh, and Bessarius? You're fired."

The General complained at the Temple to the High Priestess, who enjoyed telling him that as soon as the next Great King were enthroned, he could countermand the Lord Chabouk's orders. Until then they would have to stand, for whatever insignificant time elapsed between the prophecy and the finding of the heir.

It felt good to Xena to take command, to place vice–commanders that she had handpicked in charge of settling the army back into discipline. It was better than stewing in the helplessness she felt, alone at night in that giant's bed. On the whole, she had to fight against her urge to think all Harrian soldiers soft. True, she had never seen them in battle, only lolling about a City ruled by peace, and famed for its diversions. How tough would anyone look, eating sweetmeats and laying in the lap of a Harlot? How often had she said, when she was a warlord, that love made weaklings of sound fighters? Now she was faced with her own words, and the constant slow drumbeat in the back of her mind that love had bitten her. The inevitable slowing of her step, the minute lessening of her flashing speed, her famed agility, would be next. One moment, she was a body honed like steel, powered by a brilliant fighting brain. The next she was merely mortal, down in her own blood, slain by the sweetest lips she'd ever tasted.

Xena's next two days were spent in an administrative morass. A parade of heirs with Lydian blood, some going back generations, presented themselves as fitting the prophecy. Xena and Mara reviewed each one in a private audience in the Temple, examining their claims, and rejecting each. She wondered if Mara had any notion that the true heir had already been identified and was on the way from Baluchis.

"Everyone seems to have a Lydian grandmother, somewhere back in their line. I never knew that the Lydians were so prolific." Xena grumbled, after sitting in a stone chair for endless hours.

Mara didn't seem troubled by the process of weeding out heirs. "Har will tell us clearly who is the true heir. He will fit each of the points of the prophecy, not just one."

"She'd best hurry. The satraps sit poised like hawks, just outside these doors. They wait for me to so much as belch, and they'll be running for their factions." Xena said, irritably.

Mara's eyes were cool as obsidian chips in a slow moving river as she regarded the Lord Chabouk. "Har has everything in motion. Waiting is the hardest part, is it not?" The High Priestess plucked a black plum from a blue glass bowl. "And how is your consort? The festival must have exhausted her, she hasn't been seen in days."

Xena took a slow breath, like the drawing of a blade from a well-oiled sheath. "She had a desire to see some of the countryside. A pleasure trip, if you will."

"The desert is lovely this time of year." Mara said, mildly, and left the plum stone in the bowl.

Megabyzus was the only satrap conspicuously absent from the palace. He was, according to Mara, spending time in the Temple Library. He spent one evening at the House of Men for a private play, then returned to his study. There was no indication that he was watching Xena, nor any that he seemed eager to find the heir. He was too quiet for Xena's taste. She went to the Temple one afternoon hoping to catch him at the Library, but he was absent. Xena wandered the streets in the lizard baking heat of the afternoon sun, the hour when only mad dogs and Greeks would walk. The peoples from this part of the world had the long tradition of retiring in the afternoon. It was said, only a tourist in Har is on the streets when the sun is at its zenith.

The waiting for Gabrielle and Malache was cutting into her, a knife's point that never went away. Is this what it will always be like, she wondered, this exposed nerve ending of emotion? It's been a week. They must be to the fortress by now. Her reverie was interrupted by the familiar sounds of a brawl. Her blood quickened. She sprinted through nearly empty streets, to find five soldiers facing off with the servants of one of the satraps. Oreus, she noted automatically from their clothes, while plucking her Chakram from her belt. The soldiers were carrying the leaf bladed Harrian spears, which they now pointed at the servants. She let her Chakram fly, while giving her war cry.

The sound paralyzed the soldiers, while her Chakram plowed through the spear shafts, severing the heads. She launched into a salmon leap, tucking at the apex and landing on her feet between the two groups. Her boots hit the dust as the spearheads struck the stones of the street, musically. She caught her Chakram effortlessly, and swept a cool eye over the stunned men.

"It's too hot to be fighting. What's this all about?"

The soldiers examined the blunt shafts they held, the servants bunched together. Finally, under the icy prick of her glare, a soldier blurted out- "They declared that their master has the true heir!"

"Oreus will reveal him in good time!" The servants called, making the soldiers raise their spear hafts.

Xena drew her sword, and with it, the attention of all in the street. "The next idiot to say anything about the true heir will answer to me." She hissed. Silence reigned. "Good. At this point, only Har herself knows the true heir. The rest of us mortals will have to wait. Including Oreus." She turned to the soldiers. "Back to the barracks with you. I don't want groups of more than five of you roaming the streets together. You are sworn to protect the City, not to bloody her citizens."

Xena went back to the palace, but was unable to rest. The minor skirmish in the street had all her fighting instincts aflame. It was all this waiting making her jumpy, she decided, and giving her this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Gabrielle couldn't possibly be in danger, despite what her instincts were screaming at her. I can't go riding out of the City just because I've got a bad feeling, she thought.

She stood in the center of the audience chamber, swinging her sword in a wheel of death. Blue steel flickered like summer lightening, making the air moan with the speed of it's passing. Her muscles loosened under the work, under the increasing pace she pushed herself to. It's only been a week, she thought, like the refrain of a funeral song. The air whined around the keen edge of her sword as she increased her pace again. She was trying to suppress the urge to grab the nearest horse and ride like all the souls in Tartarus were on her heels. It slowed her from genius to merely splendid.

The knock at the door was almost welcome when it came. "Come." She set the point of her blade on the mosaic floor, right above the heart of Dummuzi, where he reclined in the Goddess' lap. The door opened on a hawk faced Harrian woman, hair cut square across her wide shoulders. She was half a foot shorted than Xena, and lacked the hard muscled frame of the warrior, but there was a kinship in their bearing. Xena recognized the pride that came from awareness of skill, of self-knowledge. She had been a Harlot in her younger years, Xena guessed.

The woman's sharp-featured face was grave, drawn down as if a hasty artist had sketched her face in five lines, a mask of grief. "Lord Chabouk. I must have an audience with you." The voice was trained even as Malache's, vibrating under the weight of sorrow her face reflected.

Xena leaned on her sword. "Go ahead."

The woman reacted as a trained courtier, just barely remembering polite form. She gave a sketchy bow and graceful genuflection, a relic of habit. Her words lacked all the flowery pretensions which, Xena sensed, might garland her speech any other day. "Aspasia is dead, Lord Chabouk. Ostensibly by her own hand."

Xena's sword scraped on the mosaic as her grip tightened on the hilt, despite her deadly calm eyes. "Megabyzus' consort. Why haven't I heard of it?" Her eyes pinned the woman like nails of blue steel.

"You will. I just came from her house. She didn't kill herself. I had to get to you before some idiot brought you that news."

"Who are you?" Xena asked.

"Haria, of the House of Women. We haven't met, but the Lady Gabrielle-"

"You're the one who plays Narbada." Xena's cool assessment threw the actress off her stride. Her ebony eyes widened, her pupils dilated. "Gabrielle spoke of me?" There was just a hint of hope in that question, a nicely concealed interest, that made Xena's blood start to heat. No she didn't, Xena thought, and that's odd enough. She looked the actress over head to toe, knowing that this was the one who kept dragging Gabrielle off to the theater. Xena's nostrils flared slightly.

"There are no secrets between my consort and I." Xena spoke in a growl, to test the actress' reaction. If she were dissembling, the menace in that tone could become ugly so quickly she'd never see her own end coming.

Haria simply nodded in agreement, either to the words, or the implied warning. She seemed to remember her grief. "Aspasia was murdered."

The point of Xena's sword, without seeming to move from its resting place above Dummuzi's heart, was now in the hollow of Haria's throat. "You, perhaps?" Xena whispered, leaning on the steel.

Haria's pulse raced by the blade in the life vein of her neck. It would be the matter of a flick of the wrist to open that vein, see the floor painted a color to please the Goddess, but the actress didn't flinch. Haria spoke a single word, that pulled the blade away instantly. "Megabyzus."

"Talk." Xena said.

"Aspasia and I were Harlots together. We are- were, close. I found out that the Persian was inciting army officers to sedition, and told Aspasia. To get her out of his house, to get her away…I never favored her choice. I thought she'd run, when she knew. She must have confronted him, and he killed her."

"You know I need more than that. What was Megabyzus doing that he'd kill Aspasia for? He doesn't strike me as a fool." Xena said, the sick feeling in her gut growing.

"Megabyzus commissioned a play, written to his specifications, to be shown in the House of Men. He invited key army officers, and a few select others. No royal kin, no full blooded Harrians. The play was called The Loyal Councilor. It was about a Persian satrap who, for the good of the kingdom, slew the true heir and took the throne for himself. There was no mention of the Goddess."

Xena felt the breath hiss out of her as if she'd been hit in the gut. "He did it to test the army's loyalty. He's setting himself above the Great King, above the Goddess. And he's got a wagonload of army officers loyal to Bessarius, who now have reason to hate me. How do you know this?"

Haria smiled, a weary stretching of her facial muscles, a response of trained emotion. "I am an actress, Lord Chabouk. One of the first things we learn is how to put on a false beard and walk like a soldier. Aspasia was worried, so she said that Megabyzus had been acting strangely since the prophecy. She knew of the play, and asked me to go."

Xena started pacing, her nerve ending jumping like sparks on oily rags. "So you told her what Megabyzus was up to. She confronted him, he killed her. He must be mad to throw everything away. His life in Har won't be worth a dinar after slaying Aspasia." Unless, she thought with a sick lurch, he's convinced he can't be touched. Unless he is above the law. She slammed her sword home into its scabbard. "Where's Megabyzus?"

"He was at the Temple this morning, I know not after. I found Aspasia, and came right here."

Xena buckled on her armor and slung her swordbelt over her shoulder. Haria, watching, thought that portraying a great warrior was nothing like being one. The energy, the threat of blood and slaughter clung to Xena like an aura. She felt relief at knowing that Xena was going after Megabyzus. "Lord Chabouk. Aspasia was my friend." Xena's blue eyes, lit with the rising fury of fighting madness, told the actress that she was understood. Aspasia would be avenged.

Xena was at the Temple, charging up the steps and bellowing for Mara. No time now for niceties, no more need to placate the satraps, pretend to be a diplomat. Harlots met her, she shouldered past them.

Mara, gown flying, met her in the main hall, before the statue of Har. "What is it, Lord Chabouk?" Mara asked, reading the fury on Xena's face.

"Where is Megabyzus?" She looked past Mara as if she expected to see the Persian pop out.

"Gone home, I imagine. He said as much, this morning."

She advanced on Mara, murder in every line of her tall body. "He's been lurking in the Temple Library. Tell me what he's been looking at."

"Scrolls of the royal house, omens, signs, from the rule of Amasis. Trying to fit the prophecy, I expect. Why?"

"You know damned well where Malache and Gabrielle are."

"Of course. I've known about Malache's dalliance with the Baluchis prince for some time. She's not as good at hiding as she imagines."

Xena exploded. "You knew, and you let me risk Malache and Gabrielle?"

"They went to fetch him back, did they not? What risk in that?" Mara asked, puzzled.

"The Baluchis prince. Do you know the dream Amasis had, the night of the prince's birth?" Xena grated.

"No. But there must be a record of it, everything about the Great King gets written down. Perhaps in his journal. Why ?" Mara suddenly paled. "Great Mother. Megabyzus-"

"He's not at his house." Xena said.

"No, not his house in Har. He's gone back to his province. Some matter there required his immediate attention, or so he said."

Xena felt the floor tilt under her. Megabyzus had gone back to his province. Back to Baluchis. "If you know about Malache and the prince, Megabyzus must. He's fit the prophecy together. If he knows about the dream, he knows that he can kill Oromenes safely, within the boundaries of the Goddess own words, and the law can't touch him. All he has to do is bring the prince to the City-" She bounded away from Mara at a dead run.

Megabyzus had an half-day's head start, at least. She'd have to make exceptional time to beat him, or even catch him. She knew from her palace stay that a series of Royal Messenger's stations were manned along the roads to the provinces, connecting them with the City. She went straight to the stables and commandeered a messenger's horse. It was a tall bay, with the rangy, delicate legs of a desert born runner. She breathed a silent apology to the mount and swung up into the saddle. It was a day and a half ride along the royal road to the first way station. She wouldn't be stopping to rest.

Like an arrow from Artemis' bow, the bay shot out the Manticore Gate at full gallop, bearing a tall rider, black hair streaming like a war banner in the hot wind. The endless ride began, the thunder of the bay's hooves quiet compared to the roaring in Xena's mind. She would reach them in time. There was no other option. As evening came on, as the inexorable march of the sun down to the horizon began, Xena drove her mount mercilessly. The road gave way to drifts of sand and scrub brush, dotting the burnt umber hills. She welcomed the coming of night. The sun was more savage here than in the City. Hold on, Gabrielle, she chanted in time with the hoofbeats.

Gabrielle was glad for the shade the canopy afforded in the wagon. They'd been on the road a week, and were now within the fringes of Baluchis. Malache had brightened as they got closer, pointing out the small Harrian temple where she and Oromenes used to meet. "It will be a surprise, to meet at the fortress."

"How long has it been since you've seen her?" Gabrielle asked, feeling the ache of separation from Xena, after a week, as nigh unbearable.

"Three months." Malache looked toward the temple as they passed, her expression unreadable.

"Hera! How do you manage it?"

"Because we must. Neither of us is free to choose otherwise."

The fortress was a thick walled pile of pale gray stone, standing on a slight rise. Barren wasteland stretched away for miles, desert eagles rose on the drafts of hot air. What a desolate place, Gabrielle thought. She was used to lush forests, rolling green hills, the ocean meeting sand like grains of gold. But Malache looked at the forbidding gray stone like it was the gates to the Elysian Fields. I must look like that, on the road with Xena, Gabrielle thought.

"I've never approached the fortress directly. But, the need for secrecy is gone. If Azarnes greets us, I pray he is kind." She swung down out of the wagon, took off the scarf protecting her hair from the dust of the road, and shook it out. After a week of travel in the heat, dust and sun, without the makeup and gown of a Harlot, Malache looked even more beautiful. She had the inner fire of a priestess going to her Mystery, no doubt, no fear. She and Gabrielle approached the fortress, the outriders flanking them.

The central doors were open, attended by a single servant in a quilted jacket and homespun trousers. Malache walked right to him. "Is the Lord Azarnes at home?" The servant, who looked to Gabrielle to be seventy if he was a day, shook his gray head. "I've come to see Oromenes." Malache said, and her voice hummed on that name.

The servant, perhaps never seeing visitors for the prince, was stunned. "Not here." He rasped, in a dry slithery voice.

"Where is he?" Malache asked, jolting Gabrielle into minding her pronouns about the prince.

"Hunting with his cat. Tasher Hills, most likely. Sundown might be back, might not." The servant made no motion to allow them in, or show them any courtesy.

Malache schooled her disappointment. Three months had passed, a few more hours would be bearable, she thought. "Have you a place where we might await him?"

The servant shrugged, and let them inside. He showed them a small chamber, hung with hand knotted rugs, set with stools of woven cloth between hardwood legs. The floor was undressed stone. Malache requested a bath, that they might wash the dust of the road from them. The servant pointed to a chamber where they might draw their own water. He was apparently half the household staff, and not used to pampering anyone.

Afterward, Malache dressed in a traveling gown, a low rust color to match the rust of the brooding hills. Gabrielle cleaned her traveling garb, and put it back on. Malache grabbed her hand. "Come on. I've never gotten a chance to see Oromenes rooms. I don't think anyone will stop us."

The rooms were on the second floor, on the west side of the fortress. Tall, narrow windows let in spear blades of fierce sun. The room had a sandstone cast, different from the smooth egg gray of the rest of the fortress. A low bed of ebony was set near the north wall, a few cedar chests stood nearby. Tapestries and rugs hung on the wall, local weave, away from the sunlight that might fade their brilliant colors. Opposite the bed weapons hung on pegs, all in good repair and recently used. A curved hunting bow and tooled quiver of arrows, a lance, and a sheaf of javelins framed a mural of chariots chasing a lion. A short, wickedly curved knife in a silver chased sheath hung below.

In the center of the room, a broad planked table was set with scrolls, papyrus, quills, and carved miniatures in alabaster and ivory of fighting men and horses. It was a room lightly decorated and lightly inhabited, not a desert ascetics cell, but not the rooms of a royal heir. Malache wandered about, handling the weapons, opening the cedar chests. Gabrielle went right to the scrolls. There were plays from Athens, the poetry of Sappho, something that looked to her eye to be Egyptian in the process of being translated simultaneously into Greek and Harrian. In a rack were scrolls on statecraft and military strategy, the nature of rulership, the role of the hieros gamos- the sacred marriage of a king and the Goddess.

"Oromenes seems well read." She comment, picking up the poetry of Sappho.

"He's something of a scholar, locked here in the desert. I send him things from the Temple Library, when I can." Malache said, sitting on the edge of the low bed, feeling the embroidery on the flat pillows. "I never expected to be here, in his chambers. I've never seen him, outside of the small temple we passed. Never had a common day together. I envy you and Xena, together every day for years."

"You say 'he' so easily." The bard remarked, then looked at Malache's face.

The Harlot looked weary, beyond her years. "Oromenes life depends on it."

Gabrielle looked around the room, then back to Malache. "I guess his life does."

The late afternoon sun was arrowing through the narrow windows, colored by bits of stained glass set high in the panes. Sparks of blood and amber, sapphire and cerulean hit the sandstone walls. "Would you like to be alone, to greet Oromenes?" Gabrielle asked, knowing that if Xena were gone for three months, the last thing she'd want would be an audience.

Malache smiled at the bard, pain mixing with the joy, and Gabrielle remembered the Harlot saying that their time had passed. "You are generous, Gabrielle. To ride out to the desert to save the life of someone you do not know, parted from Xena as you were. Yet still you manage to think of things like that. Xena is very fortunate."

There was a blur of tawny motion from the doorway. A leopard, spotted hide streaked with dust bounded into the room and pounced on Malache, driving her back on the bed. Gabrielle raised her staff in horror, prepared to knock the beast from Malache's rent corpse. She swung back for the blow, and checked. The leopard was grooming Malache, pinning her down with massive paws, licking her face.

"Ho! Arun." The voice was clear, young, from the doorway. The leopard sprang away from the bed, to the side of the figure walking in. Oromenes was dressed for hunting, in loose trousers, sandals, and a tight tunic with an open vest over it. The prince's black hair shone like water in moonlight, blue lights caught by the sun. It was cut tapering to the neck, hanging over eyes of jet in the front. In one brown hand was a short hunting bow, in the other, a quiver of arrows. The leopard bumped his head against the prince's leg. Oromenes looked for all the world like a young man possessed of exceptional beauty, coupled with a slender strength. Surely Dummuzi must have looked thus, when Har first beheld him in the glory of his shining youth. Gabrielle watched the prince's black eyes widen at her, then past her, focusing on the woman on the bed. "Malache." Oromenes said, a song in that one word.

The Harlot rose from the bed and ran to the prince. "Beloved."

The hunting bow and quiver went clattering to the floor as Malache was swept into Oromenes arms, wrapping hers around the prince's neck and raising her face for a kiss. They were nearly the same height, the dark head and the red pressing together, presenting the image of a perfect whole. The kiss left Gabrielle blushing. Oromenes wasn't displaying any distance from the world from where she stood. The leopard circled around them both, rubbing against their legs.

Malache finally broke the kiss, staring into the prince's deep-set eyes, tangling her hands in the sleek black hair. "Oh my love, I have missed you. " She said, sounding as heedless and savage and innocent as only the young may.

Oromenes looked pointedly at Gabrielle, brows raised.

"She's safe. Come, I'll introduce you." Malache kept an arm around Oromenes waist, pulling the prince toward the bard. "This is Gabrielle, a friend. She is the consort of Xena, Warrior Princess."

Oromenes eyebrows shot up further at the name. "Even in Baluchis, I have heard tales."

Closer now, Gabrielle could see the fine bones of Oromenes face, the flawless bronze skin. It was a beauty to rival Malache's, but cast differently. It might have been the beauty of a young man, or a god.

The prince extended a firm brown hand, callused from years of weapons handling. "I am Oromenes."

"Good to meet you. You know, this fortress is fascinating. I think I'll go take a tour. A long tour." Gabrielle said, directly to Malache.

"We can talk later. You two need an hour to be alone. Or two." Gabrielle pulled the door shut as she left, seeing Oromenes and Malache embrace like the world was ending.

Gabrielle wandered around the gray hallways, eventually bumping into the lone servant. He was carrying a basket of meal, and didn't bark at Gabrielle when she followed him to the kitchen. The other half of the household staff was a cook, as aged as he, and tiny as a gnome, her white hair piled up on her head in a knot. She was serving the outriders soup from a black iron cauldron. The two Ethiopians sat on stools, tearing at hunks of bread and sipping at their bowls. The cook didn't say a word, the servant left, the two outriders ate in spoon scraping concentration. But for the crackle of the fire on the hearth and the sound of eating, it was like being in a painting of a kitchen. What is it about his place that makes everyone silent?- she wondered. Perhaps they don't speak Greek, she thought, but knew that the outriders did. She sat down on the stone steps and watched. The cook didn't seem to mind, even handed her bits of food as she worked, as one might feed a dog. Or a leopard. The silence was too much for her, the presence of people but not of words. She walked outside.

The sun was sinking behind the charcoal shadows of the hills, taking with it all warmth from the bleak landscape. The chill was expected, after a week on the road, but still her bare arms grew gooseflesh. She wished Xena were there, wrapping her long arms around her body, keeping her warm. The thought of Xena embracing her turned swiftly from comfort to desire, and led her to picture what sort of reunion Malache and Oromenes were having. The picture made her blush furiously, and pace. After a few days of Malache's tutelage she had a fairly good idea of what was happening in the sandstone chamber, and tried to stop thinking about it. That didn't work.

Everytime she tried to think of flowers, or waterfalls, or even horses in a meadow, her mind snapped back to that room with increasing vividness. Xena was very far away, and her imagination was only torturing her flesh. Come on, you're a grown woman, she thought, you can think about something else, not the butterfly stroke, or the Harrian twist, or-

Food, she decided, think about food. She noted that Oromenes hands were callused from weapons handling, just as Xena's were, and wondered what those calluses would feel like if- Gabrielle shook her head, focusing on the sun as it blinked out behind the knife edge of a hill.

When she walked back inside, she found Malache and Oromenes seated on cushions on the floor, several dishes set before them. Oromenes' head was in Malache's lap, both looking as relaxed and exalted as she might expect. Malache took a piece of break and broke it off, feeding it to the reclining prince, her fingers lingering on Oromenes' lips. The sensuality between them made her blush again, and destroyed whatever calm she had regained. Malache's fingers traced Oromenes lips as the Harlot stared down into the prince's eyes, completely absorbed. I hope I live long enough to have Xena look at me like that, she thought.

Oromenes noticed her in the doorway and sat up, motioning Gabrielle to join them. "Welcome, and thrice welcome, friend of Malache and dear guest. It is simple fare, but you'll find my cook has a talent for it." Gabrielle sat across from Oromenes and saw Arun the leopard dozing beside them in the cushions. Malache positioned herself behind the prince, embracing, her head over Oromenes shoulder.

"Did you have a nice walk?" She asked Gabrielle, playfully.

"Spectacular sunsets out here. Did you have a nice reunion?" Gabrielle couldn't help asking.

Malache leisurely leaned over and bit Oromenes' ear. "Yes." She all but purred. The prince smiled that brilliant smile, unembarrassed. They kept as much of their bodies in contact as they could, as if separation hurt them.

Must be nice growing up in Har, Gabrielle thought.

Oromenes face grew calm. "We also had an opportunity to talk. Malache told me why you both came."

"You've been identified as the true heir. I'm new to Har, but it seems genuine." Gabrielle said. "We have to be careful who knows it, until we can guarantee your safety. Xena wants you to return with us to the City."

The prince didn't seem troubled or surprised by the news that the Goddess had chosen her to be Great King. She was, to Gabrielle, curiously unmoved. It was like she suddenly wasn't Harrian, wasn't from the same emotional maelstrom that produced Malache. "If my father could speak, I doubt that he would choose me as his heir. Yet, I can hope that he would not object too loudly if the Goddess did so."

"You must be careful, my love." Malache said, tightening her arms around Oromenes.

"Malache is concerned about the dream, where I will die if the facts of my birth are revealed in the City." Oromenes said, placing a hand over the Harlot's.

"I'm not an oracle, Oromenes. But I have seen things a lot of people haven't. One is that gods can make mistakes, curses can be undone. Xena has a talent for it. " Oromenes smiled, and Gabrielle saw for the first time the gentle distance Malache had described. It was the smile of a man going to his execution, comforting the people around him. Oromenes wasn't concerned with dying, the bard thought, only with Malache being upset. From the way Oromenes hand held Malache's, the removed look in the prince's black eyes, Gabrielle could see her gazing back from an unimaginable distance. Oromenes wasn't even in the room with them. The stillness from her was the stillness of ancient things, sleeping. She seemed lightly tied to life, only bound and anchored by her passion for Malache.

"Things will happen as the Great Mother decrees them. I feel the truth of the prophecy, like a whisper coming from the west. I'm ready to go to Har."

Malache started to cry, her tears running down into Oromenes' hair. The prince pulled her down into the circle of her arms. "You speak with the grave in your voice. You sound equally ready for the throne of Har, or the House of Bones and Dust. Like Dummuzi you will leave me, to dwell with the Lady Death."

"Beloved, you came for me because you know the prophecy is true. I will be Great King." Oromenes said.

"Or you will die. And either way I lose you, to the throne or to the grave. I thought I could let you go, but I can't." Silver washed the green from the Harlot's eyes, the spilling over of her grief.

Oromenes lifted Malache's chin, stroking her jaw with a callused hand. The gentle look in the prince's jet eyes brought a sob out of Malache. "Hear me. If the prophecy is true, I will be Great King. And I will hold you up before all the world and say Behold Malache the Beautiful, Queen of Har! "

Tears ran like a flood down Malache's face. Oromenes continued. "And if it is not true, I will have gotten to spend a few days with you, dawn to night to dawn again. And with that gift alone I will go to the Great Mother's house singing."

Malache seized the prince's head, kissing Oromenes' cheeks, eyes and lips through her tears. "Never leave me. Never."

It gripped Gabrielle's heart, watching them. She'd felt the same, when Xena had died. The cold empty future stretching out before her, a landscape of gray under an iron sky, devoid of all color and life. Then Xena had heard her, heard Gabrielle's love from beyond death and come back. Miracles were the portion of a hero, of loving a hero. What if Malache lost Oromenes? She knew that she had to get them back to the City, where the hero waited to protect them. "We should leave tonight. I know Xena, she's probably wearing out the floor pacing, worrying about us."

Xena vaulted from the saddle, flipping to land on her feet. The horse had gone down for the second time in a league, collapsing mid-run. She went to his head, checking his eyes and nostrils, but the pace had been too much. He was shuddering out his life in a spray of bloody froth. Her first horse had made it to the way station, exhausted but alive after a day and a half of pure running. They'd seen her on the road and taken her for a messenger, and had the horse waiting. She'd leapt into the saddle of the second mount without pausing, galloping down the road before the dust of her arrival had settled. Now, that mount was down in his blood, killed by her madness. Forgive me, Xena thought, and let the horse's head fall. Three days of non stop motion, of eating dried meat from the saddlebags, dozing with the reins tied to her hands when she couldn't keep her eyes open. Always moving, moving toward Baluchis, toward Gabrielle, every instinct forged by a lifetime of battle screaming danger at her.

The stone marker at the side of the road indicated another three leagues to the next way station on the border of Baluchis. Xena stood, pushing her powerful legs against the earth, as merciless with herself as she'd been with her mount. She set off at a run without a backward glance. It was still an hour before dawn. She should make the time before the heat of the day sapped her strength.

Just after dawn, the yawning guard at the messenger's station saw an apparition coming out of the sunrise. It was shaped like a woman, six feet tall, covered in dust and grime, blue eyes cold as the rivers of the underworld through her knotted black mane. She was running toward him, long legs moving endlessly, speaking of an inhuman vitality. His heart crowded up into his throat. Was this a demon of Chehou's, come to eat his soul? Her voice, barked at him, reassured him that she may be terrible, but she was mortal. "A horse! Now!" He scrambled to the stall, leading out on of the ready messenger's mounts. She didn't bother to offer him any sigil of the Great King, any mark of authority. She simply shoved him aside and leapt for the saddle. Her fingers closed over the saddlehorn, her leg was over the stallion's back and she was off, leaving a grateful guard making gestures to avert evil.

Xena had felt her hand slip when she reached for the saddlehorn. Only a fraction, but still the hard ride was getting to her. She tied the reins to her hand, holding herself upright with the other. Only half a day behind Megabyzus now, perhaps less. By mid morning the sun cut down on her, slowing her thoughts, making the sameness of the desert landscape start to swim before her eyes. The horse was strong, keeping up the hellish pace she set without balking. Xena half-lidded her eyes against the glare, then snapped them open. Dust was rising in a hazy curtain before her. A large party must be on the road right ahead of her, and in conflict, from the amount of dust kicked up. She showed her teeth in a feral grin and spurred the horse on.

The cloud of dust enveloped them, cutting her vision down to a few feet. She heard the sound of metal on metal, horses and men crying out in pain, and she emerged like a missile from a catapult into the fray. Exhaustion, fear, anger all fled, replaced with the fierce joy and rising battle lust. She laughed, a sound that stopped men's hearts, as she drew her sword. Soldiers in Megabyzus colors were battling with men in Harrian army uniforms. So, Bessarius and Megabyzus are falling out? - she thought. She hurled her Chakram and gave her blood freezing battle cry. Let them know who they face, her mind chanted.

Her mount shied, the noise, the dust, the battle driving it mad. Xena gathered her legs under her and vaulted from the saddle, landing in the center of the melee. She went through the soldiers like a tiger among a flock of sheep, her blade flashing blue in the dust cloud, spattering blood drops. The cry went up from several throats, "The Chabouk!" Terror stalked Megabyzus' men. The Harrian soldiers, heartened by the supernatural fighting skill of the Chabouk, cut them down to a man.

It was over in a matter of sword strokes.

Xena stood lightly, blood and dust mingled on her face, running in rivulets down her neck. She's sheared the head from a foe while standing too near him, and now was painted in his gore. I must be tired to misjudge that distance, she thought. Sword in hand, she knelt over the last dying man of Megabyzus. "That's an ugly wound." She said, conversationally, pointing her blade at the rent in his stomach. "Wound like that, it'd take you days to die, in stench and agony. I might be persuaded to make it easier on you. Where is the satrap?"

The man managed to choke, his fear and pain almost equal. "Gone on to the fortress."

"How long ago?" Xena asked, poking the point of her sword into the ragged edge of the wound.

The man screamed. "A few hours. We were set to- have mercy, the pain-"

Xena sheathed her blade in his throat, ending it. She knew what they'd been set to do, delay anyone who followed. She questioned a few of the Harrian soldiers, learning that they'd been deployed by one of the officers she'd fired. When they found out that they were collaborating with the Persian against the true heir, they'd fallen to blows. "I suggest you return to Har. Keep your loyalty to the Great King. But if I find you on the road when I return, I'll kill all of you myself." She swung up into the saddle, the battle frenzy buoying her. It couldn't be long to the fortress now.

The wagon left the fortress at full dark, the outriders trailing behind. Oromenes knew a hunting track through the hills that would shave half a day off their journey, and directed them to it. The prince sat on the wagon bench next to Malache, carrying the short bow and sheaf of javelins. Oromenes looked out over the trail, illuminated by a lantern hung on a pole, profile carved against the pure womb of the darkened hills.

"Arun was heartbroken. He hasn't been apart from me since he was a cub." Oromenes said, to the night.

Malache leaned into the prince's side. "I have been apart from you from the moment we met. Arun can endure his heartbreak. I can no longer endure mine."

"Accept you?" Malache asked, clearly puzzled. How could she make her devotion to Oromenes any more plain?

"Gabrielle!" Oromenes called.

The bard leaned forward over the seat of the wagon. "Yes?"

"I need your services, bard. Record this moment, for the history of the dynasty, for the line of Dummuzi." Oromenes instructed.

Gabrielle looked at Malache, who shrugged. "Okay, I'm recording." Gabrielle said.

Oromenes, satisfied, set down the bow and javelins and took one of Malache's hands. "Oromenes, I'm driving."

"You accept me as a suitor? I mean to make you Queen of Har."

Continued in Part 4.

Author's Page

Back to the Academy