When Tariel returned from the fiery edge of his abyss and calmed himself, he continued the tale, though visibly pained.
“The maiden I speak of was named Nestan-Daredjan, and I wonder how my heart still beats while separated from her. At seven years of age, she was gentle and wise. None in India or the world compared, and the sun was unable to equal her beauty.”
“Years passed, and she grew as I did until we both had our own responsibilities. Pharsidan looked to her as heir to the Kingdom and one day sent me home to my father. It hurt me to part from the only family I knew, but I was growing into a man. There were duties I must soon assume, so I continued training in the arts of war and Kingship.”
“When I had time, I played ball on the square or hunted, killing lions with no more effort than if they were cats. However, my greatest joy was being old enough for battle. I could tell you many stories of my early conquests, but they have no place in this tale. Instead, I will return to speaking of the woman I burn for.”
“The King crafted a small palace for her, where she might rest comfortably. He used rich bezoar for stone, with cut jacinth and ruby to accent it. Along the corners, alcoves poured incense into the air day and night. In front, they built a walled courtyard so none might look over or around. In the center, they placed a fountain of rose water for bathing, with flowers and songbirds surrounding it. She lived there, sitting in the tower on some days and descending to the shade of her private gardens on others.”
“To attend Nestan, Asmath and two other servants were appointed. They would play games together, often enjoying backgammon amongst themselves. For an advisor and tutor, he gave his own sister, a widow named Davar. She was once married to one of the black skinned Kadj sorcerers from the land of Kadjet’hi. They were known to be a powerful people, born of wisdom and grace. It was said she had learned much in her time there, and she would teach the maiden wisdom.”
“In addition to the walls around Nestan’s palace, curtains of gold and costly fabrics hung over the windows and doors. No one could see from the outside how she grew, but her face became like crystal and rose. In form and shape, she developed like the sacred tree of Gibeon. None compared to her in beauty or grace, nor do any today shine with light as she did.”
“In those years, I was a boy of fifteen, having been brought up with two Kings as fathers. When they sent me home, I found almost no time to sleep. I trained each day under the watchful eyes of my father, King Sharidan, and grew in power. Everyone celebrated me, and my feats of archery.”
“I spent time honing and refining my strength of body and mind. None equaled me in the fields or in lectures. On some days, I would hunt the plains, slaying all manner of beasts and game, and then return to play ball in the square. Other times, I was lost in ancient books or learning philosophy and wisdom from old men. As my success grew, I made feasts with friends and became accustomed to continually rejoicing. Yet Fate would sunder me from my joy. I just did not know it then.”
“Before long, my father died. While it is true no man is a stranger to sorrow, his loss wounded me deeply. Some suggested I should be thankful for the father I still had in the King, but I do not take advice from fools. What man celebrates the eye remaining when he has lost the other? At first, Pharsidan appeared worse off than me. He gave up all merriment at the news of my father’s death. All throughout the Kingdom, those loyal to him mourned my father. Meanwhile, our enemies rejoiced at the passing of one who inspired terror in them. Some went so far as to openly disrespect the rule of India.”
“As for me, his death extinguished the light of my world. I sat in the dark, lost and annihilated by Fate. By day and night, I groaned in unending agony. I was a prisoner to the cage sorrow wove around me. At the end of one year, courtiers came to me from Pharsidan. He ordered me drawn out from the darkness I shrouded myself in, and they read his commands to me.”
“‘Tariel, the time has come to cease your mourning. I lost a brother and would not also lose a son. We grieve equally at the loss of our friend and peer, but you must put away the black you clothe yourself in and come to me.’ With this message, he sent a hundred treasures and more, though I barely looked on them, such was my grief.”
“Yet, I understood it was time to leave behind what darkened my days and bring myself before him. No doubt you know the will of Kings is not lightly defied, even by a foster son. Pharsidan was no exception to this, and I went to him with haste. The mix of joy and sorrow at our meeting cannot be told, but it lit fires anew within me. He gave me the lands and Lordships my father possessed. More, he appointed me Amirbar, saying, ‘Go forth now, and with my blessing, fulfill the duties of your father before you.’”
“How can I explain the emotions this kindled in me? My heart burned with inextinguishable furnaces for the sake of my father. The same men who brought me the letter led me once more into the world of the living. Everyone celebrated my return. People came from all over the Kingdom to meet me, kissing me with kind regard as if they were parents.”
“The King and Queen seated me near their thrones, honoring me as their son. Both spoke to me of my obligations and duties to our country. I realized the highest honor I could give the memory of my father was to be like him, so I put my grief away.”
“I agreed to their appointment, though had I wanted to deny it, they would not have accepted. As Amirbar, I submitted myself to the responsibilities of my new station, paying homage to my duties. I would serve them and India, and in name and duty, I would behave like my father.”
“Many years passed, but there is no point to tell them all. Those times are difficult to relate to, for I am a different man now, and it seems the Fates always do evil anyway. Besides, there are more important things to tell. What you have heard thus far is only the beginning. Pray for me so I might reach the end of this story before perishing, for sparks from the anvils of my agony burn me even as I speak.”
He paused, a shudder escaping him before he fell silent again. Avtandil and Asmath consoled him and tried to soothe his hurts. How much time passed cannot be said, but the three shared sorrow for their own loss and the pain each of them carried. Eventually, Tariel was ready to tell more of his story.