Free Temple of a Thousand Faces by John Shors Page B

lips.
    Suddenly impatient, Indravarman turned to Po Rame. “Jayavar remains a threat,” he whispered. “He may be far from here, but a storm may also be far from a sailor. And as a sailor must watch the sky, I must watch the jungle.”
    “We—”
    “As long as a claim to the throne exists, I’m in danger, which places you in danger.”
    Po Rame nodded, listening to the wind. “My spies, King of Kings, are in the jungle. They search as we speak.” Though Po Rame was vicious, his voice was soft, almost feminine. “Jayavar—”
    “Men are not enough. You should send women and children also. He’ll be more suspicious of a man than of a child. And a woman will have more guile than a man would.”
    “Yes, Lord King.”
    “His chief wife is with him. From what the prisoners say, we should fear her as much as him.” Indravarman paused to rub the lucky piece of iron that lay beneath the skin of his belly. “I want them both dead, gutted like fish. Mount their heads on spears and plant those spears at Angkor Wat for all to see.”
    “It will take time, Lord King. Those rats have burrowed deep.”
    Indravarman glanced again at Thida, who was now leaning against a tree. She appeared to sway with the wind, as if she might topple. “Take ten Khmer prisoners, the best of their warriors, to the river. Have your men torture one, and let the others escape. They’ll need to kill our fighters for the ruse to work.”
    “But we’ll never see them again.”
    “You’re no fool, Po Rame, so don’t speak like one,” Indravarman replied. He stepped forward to touch the golden statue of Shiva, wondering if he should have it brought to his sleeping chambers. “Before going to the river, interrogate one of the Khmers, one with a family who lives. Let him know that his family will be burned alive unless he helps us, unless he discovers the whereabouts of Jayavar. When he tells us these whereabouts, he and his family shall go free. Tell him that I’m a man of my word. If he helps us, his loved ones shall live. And they shall leave Angkor carrying gold.”
    Po Rame pursed his full lips. “Better to have two such men, Lord King. In case illness or circumstance strikes one down.”
    “So be it. And plan it so that all our men die. Otherwise the Khmers will expect treachery. They must believe that we blundered. Convinced of our folly, the group shall find Jayavar for us. And then we shall go to him, with swords in our hands and malice in our hearts.”
    Po Rame began to speak again, but Indravarman dismissed him. Lightning flashed, illuminating a massive Khmer war elephant that stood outside the gathering of Chams. Indravarman shouted at one of his men to bring Thida forward. She moved grudgingly, climbing the slick sandstone steps that led to the temple’s covered summit. Glistening from the rain, she appeared more desirable than ever. Once she entered the tower, Indravarman touched her chin and smiled when she leaned away.
    “You would do well to return my gaze,” he said in Khmer.
    “Please…forgive me.”
    “Please forgive me, Lord King. That is what you should say. That is what you shall say if you wish to avoid an unfortunate fate.”
    Lightning flashed again, illuminating the golden statue.When Thida made no reply, Indravarman moved closer to her, his calloused fingers tracing the contours of her neck, her shoulder, her arm. “Do you think me cruel?” he asked, still touching her.
    “Yes…Lord King.”
    He saw wetness beneath her eyes and wondered if it was rain or tears. “I’m only cruel so that I can obtain what I desire. Ambition begets cruelty.”
    She looked away, trembling now.
    “I desire you,” he said. “Must I be cruel to fulfill my desire?”
    “No.”
    “A pity so many of your countrymen didn’t share your wisdom. Their fates could have been much more pleasant.”
    Thida glanced up at these words, and Indravarman rejoiced at the fullness of her eyes. Even in the darkness he saw that they were