Gates to Glory: Epic Fantasy Adventure Tale (Ashurran #1)

4.01. Meddvi of Lamassa

Lavish gifts were bestowed by fate upon Ashurran, the warrior princess. She had everything one could wish for: glory, wealth, success in every battle, every hunting ride, and every love affair. Her friendship was sought after by powerful wizards, distinguished noblemen, and great princes. Both her sons grew up to be peerless: Indra was revered for his courage and military skills, and Yuuji, for his sharp mind and vast knowledge.

All that was not enough for Ashurran. She kept feeling depressed, for she had no daughter. Like her Arriany foremothers, she believed that only a daughter could continue her line, inherit her strength and courage in full, and immortalize her name fro all eternity. Every female warrior of Arrian could enumerate one hundred of her foremothers by name, starting with mother, without a moment's hesitation.

There was a curse still hanging over Ashurran, and her wish seemed impossible to fulfill. Wizards were immortal, but also sterile; anyway, Ashurran wanted no one so powerful and sly to father her daughter. Elves were immortal too, but they could not be forced to lie with a mortal woman; even if they could, there was no possibility of conception without mutual love and desire.

Ashurran was consumed by her vain longing, her heart became heavy, her mind bitter. In vain she sought oblivion in wine, military training, love affairs and books.

In an evil hour she recalled the demon of Cinzu, which she killed not long after her coming to Yunan. She remembered what she was told by the village elders: a person who died because of love is reborn as a demon. And it occurred to her that, were she to lie with a demon, she could conceive again. But demons weren't boys from a red-light district; one could hardly come and buy their services.

Then a certain design came to her mind, so inhuman and cruel, that she was disgusted with herself at first, even despite her innate Arriany cruelty and bloodlust. Yet with time her scruples wore off, and her anguish and desperation made her heartless. She became ready to do anything in order to have a longed-for daughter.

Her favorite bed-warmer at the time was Meddvi, a youth born in Lamassa. He was beautiful as a rose in spring, gentle and graceful. His hair was the color of fire; his eyes were the color of precious nephrite. Two times Ashurran commanded him to leave her house, terrified by her own thoughts, and both times bade him to return, unable to bear parting with him.

One night Ashurran was lying in bed with the youth, kissing his honey-sweet mouth, playing with his fiery-red locks. She asked him, "Do you love me?"

"I love you more than life itself, my sweet mistress," Meddvi answered, backing his words with hot kisses.

Then Ashurran sipped wine from a goblet and made the youth drink it from her mouth. They reached the peak of their pleasure and were resting in each other's arms, and Meddvi suddenly trembled, saying, "I'm cold, my lady."

Ashurran pressed him closer, and a tear dropped from her eye, burning Meddvi's cheek. He felt weak and afraid for some reason. "Why do you cry, my lady?" he asked.

Ashurran covered her eyes with her palm and said dolefully, "I'm not crying over my soul, which is tainted forever with this heinous crime I've committed today. I'll be surely punished for it, not only in the afterlife, but while yet living. I'm crying over you, for you are to die in your prime to satisfy my need. The wine I gave you was poisoned, and I already see the pallor of death on your face."

Crying, Meddvi begged her to show mercy and give him the antidote. But Ashurran remained adamant, even while tears welled up in her eyes. Desperate, he started to curse her and swear revenge. But his voice faltered, and his face became pale as snow. Meddvi breathed his last in Ashurran's arms, and his dead eyes kept looking at her with pain and reproach.