The Belharzareta III

It would be another fourteen years before Morihaus s seeds, once planted, would come to bear fruit. In this time, young Belharza made his journey south to the highlands of Colovia, as the winged bull had suggested. He wintered first with the Shatterstones of kreath, who taught him the art of cliff-striding in search of salt and tender greens. He then spent a year with the Ebonjaws of the lower Jeralls, who showed him how to lock horns and wrestle with other males to win territory and mates, and gave him a gold nose-ring as a clan gift when he left them. On and on this went, until he had visited all sixteen of the mountain clans. And when he had visited all of them and they had sworn fealty to him, he assembled them upon the high plateau which would later become famous under the name Sancre Tor (though none yet living knew that name). The Man-Bull taught his brothers at arms in the Nordic tradition and assembled them into ten cohorts of fighting bulls. And when his legion was ready, he marched them south along the red road, toward Nibennium and his destiny. He was twenty-three years old.

When at last Belharza set foot on the vine-crossed avenues of the Imperial City, he did so in grand fashion flanked by his taurifer standard-bearers and highland war-bards bellowing his epitaphs to the heavens and his enemies could not help but take notice. Of these, there were three, false friends and advisors to the throne who in Alessia s wake had divided the capitol among themselves and waged secret war against one another in the dark places of the city. The first and greatest among them was Clydaea, the witch-woman of kothri who with a fistful of poisoned pomegranate seeds had brought the Niben tribes to heel. After her was Ozyranduil, formerly squire to the Unfeathered and now self-declared Lord of the Wheel-within-Wheels, raised high by Auroran realpolitik. The third of these pretenders was Skjor Iron-Tongue, whose enemies laughed and called him the Bearded Imga in their tavern conclaves for his airs of Colovian refinement.

Belharza was of the male species, and his wit was not much improved by the gift of Morihaus in any case, and he longed to storm the city and take it in blood and fire. But even he could see the folly of such an action when his enemies were so well entrenched. Thus, instead of scouts or assassins, he sent envoys, one to the gardens and one to the temples and one to the bloodworks with gifts and letters. He enticed his foes with words of reverence and whispers of surrender, and led each to believe he was theirs alone. But when all three gathered under the shadow of White-Gold, they realized their doom. They called for their guards, but Belharza s soldiers guarded all entrances and would brook no interference on this night. The Man-Bull stepped forward then with a gift for each a horned helm of steel, in the Nordic fashion of those days. Then he explained the game, and thus spoke: Before you, at the gates and on the walls, stand the true heirs of the Paravant, though the laws of man and mer prevent any from taking their rightful place within these halls. Still, if we cannot crown a bull, we will at least settle this matter like bulls. Don your armor, friends, and lock horns with me if you can. 

When dawn broke over the city, the people saw the three pretenders with their broken skulls and all their fruitless schemes pooling between the tiles of the courtyard. And when Belharza emerged on his balcony, the Chim-el Adabal radiating dragonsfire from his breast, they knew their King had come at last.