Free Mortal Suns by Tanith Lee Page A

irritated one was, to be sharp with the gods.
    “Of course, the people may have exaggerated,” said Amdysos now. “Don’t you believe the stories?”
    “Do you?”
    Klyton considered. He said, “The lion skull at Oceaxis, in the Great Hall. That’s real, isn’t it?”
    “I always thought so. But—it could be a clever artifact. King Okos took the lion when he was fifteen. He speared it and cut the neck vein. But it’s enormous. Could he have?”
    “Perhaps he had some help.”
    “Oh, yes, there’s always that. And the spear could have been tinctured with a drug. Even so.”
    “My mother,” said Klyton, “told me once she had a pet deer as a girl, that was only knee-high. It never grew.”
    “That’s a small animal though. Giant size is another matter.”
    They sat, looking down at Ipyra. The country had been quiet for some eight years. In the last argument with Akhemony, a rebellious force had ridden as far as the river below, painted and tattooed tribesmen, feral as wolves, and the conniving chiefs who owed the Great Sun fealty and wanted to forget. But Akreon had squashed the uprising with his sword, his army beating the rebels back, filling the water with corpses, passing on up into the crags. He had brought two wives back from that campaign in Ipyra, one of whom had now been, like Akreon, three years dead.
    There werealways some conflicts. Kings might even encourage them, you sometimes suspected, to keep the army trim. The talk was of trouble brewing southwards now, with Sirma. If so, it would be their first chance, the Sun Princes seated on Mt. Airis, to distinguish themselves in battle, since they were thought too young before.
    The dogs were running about the forested upper slope, playing and barking, with no need to hold silent, their long hair streaming against summer green. Above, Airis had touched the sky and formed one solitary, foamy cloud.
    Below through the trees, Klyton could make out the Akhemonian side curving through stages of fields and vineyards to the little town, with the summer palace perched on its rock. It had been a fortress once, until replaced by the Sword House, two miles along the mountain road. Udrombis brought her own court here in the hottest months, which meant Stabia had also come. Young men did not mind it. It meant less schooling, and this was wonderful hunting country. Soon, too, there would be the Sun Race. You could not quite see the stadium this far over.
    Only the elusive quality of the demon pig had spoilt the day.
    Klyton polished his knife carefully, though it had done nothing. This was a pherom blade, and had a pommel of deep red stone, incised with an eagle, his chosen blazon. Good weapons and gear should always be treated with respect. At twelve, he too was well-made, well-cared for, his skin like fine bronze overlaid with pure gold. He was long in the leg, his shoulders already wide for his age; he had clever musician’s hands, properly calloused. His profile could have come from one of the archaic coins—his looks went back some way. Plaited for safety, hair more gold than all the rest, hung to his waist.
    Dark-eyed Amdysos, only a little less beautiful, stared down into Ipyra, but he was dreaming of valor and old wars. It was Klyton who was thinking.
    The Heartbeat came faint but steady on this air as the drone of the bees, in the clover fields below. At Airis it was, of course, not so loud as in Oceaxis. They said, going away to a war, leaving the land behind, the
sound
behind, you heard noises in the head, and the stars turned over all night in your dreams. Leaving it gradually, on march, there was a sense of loss. Returning, in victory, it was worth any trial, better than the homecoming to family, wife or lover, to hear the sound again, beating, beating for ever.
    Klyton was notthinking of the Heart. He smiled.
    He said, “Did you see the girl in the temple, Amdysos? I mean the little one.”
    “Which? Who?”
    “The baby. She had topaz hair down to