The Khan Epilogue

"In this particular minute to which I belong, I know I am alive. And I know I must fight to stay alive. That we must all fight for our lives. The warrior is strengthened by repeated efforts." Hakkon paused. Looked down at the body in his arms. "This man was a true hero to our people. He led one of the tribes with honor and dignity. He led the mission to the southern plains to avenge the destruction of Spring Wind. His love for our people was beyond reproach."

Another pause. Then he looked around the gathered masses. "This I promise you, we will survive, and we will rebuild, not just because we have to, not because we are expected to, but because it is in our minotaur spirit to do so."

Some days later Sudara was cremated on a massive funeral pyre with the honors of a great chief. The magical sword that had killed him, Kith'kanan was buried on a distant peak far from the valley. It had been used to kill a great leader. It was now tainted with minotaur blood. Hakkon wanted nothing more to do with it. It was a cursed thing.

A crown was formed from the steel of Sudara's sword. And Hakkon became the first in a generation to claim the title of Khan.

Days of the world passed and life continued.

Years of the world passed, much as they always do.

The new Khan ruled over the scattered tribes. He brought them together as a nation, and as a people. He built a new house for himself on the side of the mountain overlooking the valley. It was a terraced structure of quarried stone that stepped its way up the slope. There, him and Jun'ai had a second child.

They grew old together. His muscles grew soft. His hair turned white. Ropey veins crossed his flesh like contour lines on a map. Her hair turned gray. Cellulite formed where her skin sagged.

And they found as much happiness together as any people are ever allowed in this brutal world.

One morning Jun'ai woke. Sunlight splashed through the window. A magpie sat silhouetted on the ledge, tethered to its own shadow. Her first thought was that this was a beautiful day. She smiled at the sight. Perhaps Hakkon could write a poem about this.

She rolled to her side. Noticed Hakkon lying beside her. He usually got up before she did to make breakfast. But these days he was slower than he used to be. Later to rise, earlier to tire.

She curled behind him, wrapped her long arms around his bulky chest.

His body was still. His flesh cold.

They lay like that for some time. She couldn't bear to let him go, knowing that when she did, their lives together would be over.

It is the way of all things.

*

Morning light flushed Hyun's home as well. She too woke with a smile.

She was sandwiched between two delicious young bulls. Both were strong and young and delightfully rough with her just the way she liked it. They were from another village on the other end of the Kharolis mountains. They were part of a political contingent. She cared nothing about their business, but she was fascinated by their broad shoulders and long horns.

One woke. He smiled at her. They kissed some, hands busy, typical of young lovers.

Hyun was as gorgeous as she was intelligent. Tall and strong as her race is, but she was leaner than most. Her head was wide and properly bovine, but her body was more human. Longer legs, smaller torso. And she was not as hairy. Her shins and forearms were typically minotaur, but her thighs and chest were smoother and whiter.

The best of both worlds.

And she knew how to use it. Bulls would line up eat out of her hand. As these two had last night.

While they were kissing, the other bull woke. He watched for a time. Traced the contours of her body with hungry eyes.

She patted his arm. An indication to wait his turn.

Then a bang at the door startled them.

What could be happening at this ungodly hour?

She went to check the door and found Engir, one of her father's oldest friends. His eyes cast low.

"I'm so sorry," was all he said. All he needed to say. And in that moment Hyun knew.

*

Jun'ai wore white, the color of bone, the color of mourning.

The funeral pyre was large. Befitting a king. Hakkon's body lay atop the tower of timber.

After everyone in the village said their final peace, Jun'ai approached the pyre to say her last words. But she found she had nothing to say. Instead she kissed him one last time in this world and slipped a folded sheet of paper into his hand. It was a poem she had written. Something about a magpie carrying the soul of a lost love to the heavens and the sorrow at the parting.

It was crap. She was never much of a writer, but it was evocative imagery, and it came from the heart. She knew he would appreciate it wherever his soul ended up.

Together, her and Hyun and Tsukku lit the pyre. And together they watched as the flames consumed the body of the husband and father and the friend and king that he was to each of the gathered mourners.

The fire burned. The day passed.

Eventually it was Jun'ai and Hyun alone beside the smoldering embers.

"I wish Kyrou was here," Hyun said.

"Your brother made his choice a long time ago."

"I know, but still." A silence between them.

Then Jun'ai spoke. "A new Khan will have to be chosen. And soon."

"It should go to Tsukku, he was father's steward. He knows the people."

"Tsukku lacks the political sense to manage the other chieftains. He confronts problems head on. He is a good warrior, but not a good politician."

"Or maybe Engir."

"He was never part of your father's inner circle. He doesn't have the people's trust."

"It's not for you to decide that, mother." Her tone tight. She always hated it when Jun'ai assumed power she didn't actually have.

Jun'ai smiled. "Hakkon learned to marginalize his opponents and to centralize his friends. He built more than an alliance, he built a body of chieftains that supported him and loved him."

"And they will love his right hand man as well."

"No. Don't you see what I'm saying?" Jun'ai looked at her daughter. "He built a dynasty. The chieftains will pledge their loyalty to you."

"Me?" She was truly flabbergasted at that.

"If you enter your name as a contender for the Khanate, they will have someone to rally behind. Even now, there are those conspiring to use this opportunity to take power for themselves. But no single chief has enough support. It's the way things have always been. The tragedy of your race." Then she turned back to the pyre. "But you have no tribal allegiance. You were never really part of Hakkon's tribe, you always stood alone. It was a natural result of your being half human, and of you being a child when Hakkon took the Khanate."

Hyun shook her head. "I'm no leader. I'm not ready for this. Why haven't you told me any of this before?"

Jun'ai said nothing for a time, lost in memories of her past. "I spoke with Tsukku about it. He agreed to support your claim if you decide to make one. He will become your right hand. Your guide in the early years of your rule."

"Why didn't you talk to me?" Each word enunciated.

Another silence. More words that were difficult to confess. "Your brother left because of the pressure." Fingers picked at the hem of baggy sleeves. "Pressure I put him under. I didn't want to drive you away as I did him."

Hyun felt a sting of tears. "He always said he wanted to make his own way in the world."

"I wanted him to be strong, to be a great leader. I pushed him. And I drove him away."

Hyun blinked her tears free. "I always admired your strength of character. You were bigger than life. You were always so decisive. Always so intelligent. You always had the right answer." Hyun forced a smile. "As I got older I could see you were struggling just like the rest of us."

Jun'ai put a hand on her daughter's arm. "That's leadership," she said. "Have a vision. Project it. Make others share your world view. Make them want to do things your way."

"And you really think I can do that?"

"You've been doing it all your life." She stroked her daughter's hair. "With every boy in the village. With any guy that strikes your fancy. With every girl that wishes she could be you." Then, softly. "Politics is not really that much different."

In the stillness between them she felt a sudden opening of possibilities, new paths that she had never considered before.

Engir and Rasya approached. There was a gathering to commemorate the fallen Khan. Jun'ai left to join them. It was expected of her and it was her honor. The village gathered and drank wine and did what they do best. They told stories.

However, Hyun chose to be alone. She went to her father's keep. It was larger than it had been when she was young. It had expanded as his duties and his prestige expanded. And now it consisted of a wing of living quarters, a wing of guest quarters, and a massive gathering hall.

She went to his private rooms. Found familiar furniture, familiar tools, familiar weapons. There was a cushion on the floor and a short table with paper and brushes and ink. She ground ink on a stone and watered it to consistency. And sat down to write.

She thought long and hard about her future. What she wanted to say. What she wanted her father's legacy to be.

And she wrote.

First a poem commemorating his life and his accomplishments. Then a poem about her feelings for him and about his obvious love for her mother.

She set it aside to dry, took a fresh sheet of paper, paused, collected her thoughts, and began drafting a speech. It was hard at first, putting these thought to paper, but once she committed, the words flowed naturally.

She wrote of the things she wanted to say to the council. She wrote about her vision for the fledgling nation that her father and mother had built. She wrote about her role and about the role she wanted moving forward.

She wrote about her plans for the Khanate, working long into the night.

*

He stood alone in the low brick tunnel. Silhouetted against the bleach of light beyond the tunnel's mouth. His bulk took up most of the space. His head brushed the arched ceiling. These catacombs were built long ago, for another generation of men. And certainly not for one of his kind.

A few steps before him the cobble stones gave way to sand and heat. The grit and noise heightened his senses. He could hear the clash of steel on steel. He could smell the blood and the leather and the unwashed bodies strained to the point of exhaustion. And he could hear the roar of the gathered crowd.

They cheered death, these people. So long as it was not their own.

Moments later the crowd quieted. The victor made final bows. Bodies were hauled away.

He tightened his grip on the trident. His time was near.

He heard the announcer call out introductions. "From a distant land of fire and ash, a land where the women are enslaved and the dead are cannibalized by their killers, comes the most hideous monster to ever set foot in our illustrious city. Today you must shield your women folk from Tyre's very own pet minotaur, Kyrou the Despoiler!"

The crowd roared. Kyrou stepped into the arena under a wave of hisses and boos.

"And opposing this vile monster, our hero today needs no introduction, for it is none other than the Golden Son of Atheros himself, Rishkar of House Tigana!"

This time the crowd erupted. They cheered as the man stepped into the arena. He was tall, almost as tall as Kyrou, and he was strong. He wore patchwork armor that showed off much of his bulging muscles and bronzed skin. He walked the perimeter, waving, flashing his winning smile. Then he drew his sword and held it high. A salute to the citizens of Tyre.

Then the two combatants squared off in the center of the arena.

This fight today was only a taste of things to come. It was a fight to first blood. Not to the death. Still, Kyrou's nerves hummed.

The gong rang. Instantly, Rishkar thrust. Kyrou rocked back on the balls of his feet. The blade fell short. Then the minotaur swept with his trident.

Rishkar jumped back.

They crouched, circled one another, searching for an opening.

Kyrou had the advantage in reach. He used it. He stabbed low.

Rishkar stepped back again. Then swung his blade, catching the trident and knocking the head aside. He stepped forward. Inside the polearm's reach. Weapons entangled, neither could be brought to bear.

He balled his fist and punched the minotaur in the jaw.

Lights exploded across his sun bleached vision.

Cheers drowned all else.

Kyrou stumbled back and both combatants recovered.

Another set of circles. Another set of thrusts and parries. None connected with flesh.

Then Kyrou saw his chance. He thrust. Rishkar blocked, but the blade caught in the teeth of the trident. Kyrou twisted. The blade snapped in half.

The crowd hissed.

Kyrou smiled. He thrust. This time aiming for a winning blow.

But Rishkar was fast. He crouched low and sprang to his feet. He was inside Kyrou's reach now with a shortened blade. He sliced a gash in the minotaur's arm.

Kyrou stumbled past his opponent. Dropped his trident. Clutched the bleeding flesh to stymie the flow.

The crowd roared.

Rishkar circled the wounded minotaur. Facing the audience, he basked in their adulation.

Kyrou hung his head.

*

Kyrou sat on the bench. Head bowed. The apothecary slathered the wound with a balm and wrapped it with a bandage. In this world, in this life, it was a mark a shame.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. It was Rishkar.

"You fought well today, minotaur." There was no pity in the victor's eyes.

"Not as good as you."

The human smiled. "Few do." Then he left, leaving Kyrou to nurse his wounds, both his arm and his pride.

Later, Kyrou lay on the bunk in his chamber. It was a sparse room, minimal furnishings. The fighters were housed in the catacombs beneath the arena along with their gear and the animals. It was a modest life. But he didn't intend to be here forever.

There was a rattle at the door. The lock turned. The heavy wooden door swung in.

Two figures emerged from the darkness of the corridor beyond. One was a guard holding a torch. The other was a middle aged woman. She wore a red silk camisole with a black dress and a shawl draped across her shoulders. She was hesitant, unsure of her movements as she entered the chamber. Her glanced played over Kyrou's massive body.

Kyrou stood with stoic patience, waiting to learn what this intrusion was about.

At last the guard turned to the woman. "Is he the one?" He sounded skeptical.

She bit her lower lip. Said nothing. Nodded.

He looked at her a moment weighing her commitment. Then he held out his hand.

She pressed some number of gold coins in his hand. He put the torch in the sconce beside the door and left.

Kyrou heard the lock turn again and then he was sealed in with this woman.

"Who are you?" Kyrou asked, not sure what this was about.

She looked at him. "Your voice is not as deep as I imagined." She stepped closer. Hesitated. Then put her hands on his chest. She ran them across his muscles. "But you are just as strong."

She was soft. No callouses on her hands from fighting or from manual labor. Fine clothes and the scent of shampoo. The gold coins told of wealth. Physically she was tall with red hair wrapped in a knotted bun. She was plump around the middle and in the arms, but pleasantly so. And she was ruddy and freckled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

He was suddenly self conscious. He hadn't bathed more than a week and hadn't yet been wiped down with a towel since his afternoon fight.

"My name is Gwyn of House Celeste."

"I'm Kyrou of no house."

She laughed. A nervous laugh. Pat his chest. "I know. Everyone in Tyre knows of our new minotaur gladiator. You're all people are talking about. You're something of a celebrity."

He swelled with pride. Then asked, "Why are you here?"

She moved her hand between his legs. "I watched you fight today. You were marvelous." She laughed. "I don't know anything about fighting but watching your body move was incredible." She bit her lower lip again and looked up at him through fluttering eyelids. "And very arousing."

His member grew hard.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Gestured for him to join her.

She leaned against him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding this mysterious woman.

"Wealthy women have the resources to bribe the guards and pay off owners. We have access to places ordinary citizens do not." A pause, one ripe with possibility. "It's not uncommon to buy a night with our favorite celebrities."

Kyrou knew that he had been sold to this woman. At least for this night he belonged to her. He asked, "What about your husband?"

She smiled a small sad smile. "He knows I'm here." Then as way of explanation, "He doesn't mink. He prefers the company of boys."

"And what will happen if you-?"

"The consequences of tonight?"

He nodded.

"If I become pregnant, he will easily know if he is the father or not. You do have something of a distinct face." She ran her hand over his cock. It was hot and throbbing against her palm.

He ached to hold her, having only ever had one lover, and that was another minotaur in the Kharolis Peaks before he came to Tyre.

He took the initiative. He crushed his mouth against hers.

She tensed. Shocked that this was really happening. Then she melted in his arms. She returned the kiss. Working her tongue over his.

They separated a moment later. She whispered, "Please be gentle."

And he was. At first.

Gwyn lay on her back, legs spread, inviting Kyrou. His mouth devoured her body. Her freckled shoulders, the tendons along the side of her neck, plump lips, plump tits. Tasting her smooth skin. He touched her, savoring each caress of soft flesh. Grabbed the pudge around her waist.

His cock was hard, pulsing with an inner fire. She stroked the length of it. Dark and mysterious and forbidden. But for tonight, all hers.

He moved into position. Situating himself between her legs. Taking this slow, for her pleasure. Her delicate freckled skin rubbed sensually against his rough hair. Legs wrapped around his waist. Arms encircled his neck. His face was in her chest, savoring the plump roundness of her breasts. His member was a heated rod against inside of her thigh.

Then he slipped into her.

She gasped.

It was a full body experience. A crush of bodies. He worked into her with a speed and an intensity that surprised her. He was hungry. He devoured her. As he went he built up speed. He went faster and harder. And he noticed she was a passive lover. She lay on her back, moaning, arching her back, begging for more.

Sweat pooled between her breasts. Hard nipples stood erect. Moisture created a thin film between them. It lubricated their bodies.

Her eyes squeezed shut. Forehead pressed against his chest. Their bodies blended in a cocktail of testosterone and lust. His hips rose and fell. His muscular abs smacked her belly fat. A steady beat. She gripped his shoulders. She cried out. Once, twice, then a third time.

He climaxed first. Burst inside her. It came suddenly. Her legs squeezed him like a vice. She worked her vulva around his member, drawing it all out. When he was done, he continued working, but slower now, calibrated for her pleasure. A quick retreat, then a long slow insertion.

Sometime later, she too climaxed. The orgasm crashed over her like a wave. She shuddered with the intensity of it. Her eyes squeezed shut. She cried out. The pleasure lingered long after the shocks pass through her.

They lay side by side afterward, slick with sweat, her soft body pooled against his hard chest.

He enjoyed this human woman. This species had its appeal. He knew he was going to like it here.

He saw his life as an arrow flying true with a clear purpose. He would fight in the arenas to win his citizenship. Then he would join the army, climb the ranks to a position of command. Then he would launch a bid for the senate. That is where the real power rested. In the marble halls of the senate.