Nezzar

Part Two: A Vision At Night

Nezzar shut his eyes. With his arms folded across his chest, he leaned into his chair and allowed his mind to paint pictures. It was pleasantly cool in his courtyard. Before him was a table bearing scrolls, piles of inscribed clay slabs and an open polished wooden box. Amytis' gift.

He had spent the longest time gazing at the map she had gifted him. With the golden soldier pieces, he mapped out numerous scenarios and battle strategies. Even though he possessed the numbers and superior weaponry, he was not foolish enough to believe that was where victory lay. Seven years into his father's reign, Babylon had marched against Egypt. Then, they had the numbers and weapons but still managed to be turned away in defeat.

Not this time. Nezzar frowned as his imagination flowed. He could see it all, vivid pictures in his mind. Formations that aligned with the terrain. They would have to do something with the Nile River as well as the Mediterranean Sea. An ingenious battle strategy that has never been recorded before must be applied. He would not attack with brute force alone. Not at first, at least.

As possible scene after scene played in his mind, Nezzar's rage at the wise men was slowly replaced with eager anticipation at the coming war. It hummed in his chest and lit a fire in him. Soon, all will be right at last.

When he opened his eyes, Nezzar retrieved one of the golden soldier pieces and brushed his thumb over the smooth surface.

"I cannot possibly show my face now," Nezzar mumbled as he stared at the piece. He had received a report that the child Amytis asked for had been given to her this morning. Too proud to ask how her reaction was, Nezzar merely dismissed the messenger after receiving the update.

It was as Nezzar observed the content of her gift for probably the thousandth time in the past months that the inspiration to begin a different approach to his war strategy finally came to him. So far, he was halfway through a thick scroll, filling it with all the strategies and formations that raced across his mind.

"Whatever was father thinking?" Nezzar shook his head at the memory of how his father boasted of taking his mother with him to war. Never in a million years would he do that to Amytis. She was too fragile—too lovely to be exposed to the filth of war.

"No, I cannot possibly show my face now." Nezzar continued absently stroking the small golden figurine. Would Amytis be safe in the palace when he goes to war? His enemy may choose that period to strike what he held dear. Perhaps his father was wise in taking his mother along. If Amytis was within reach, perhaps she'll be safer. Or not. Groaning, he pushed his fingers into his hair and huffed at the ceiling.

Two years ago, Nezzar had sent Amytis a knife instructor—one of his female spies who was now posted in Egypt. She was of a wild spirit and particularly vicious when dispatching enemies.

"My king, the queen is most fierce. She shows great eagerness to learn."

"Her majesty, the queen, is a fast learner... but lately, it seems she is losing fighting spirit."

"The queen stopped halfway through my lessons today, my king. I could do nothing to convince her to resume training."

"She would not come out of her chambers to see me, my king."

"She is unwell, my king."

Sadness, an emotion that Nezzar only ever felt when his father passed, had returned to him, and this time it felt different. It was not grief. More like... he cocked his head, searching for the right word. A hopeless longing and an echo of burning shame at the horrifying thing he had done to his wife.

Dropping the piece, Nezzar stared at his hand and flexed his fingers. He excelled at killing so greatly that on instinct he had attempted to—

Nezzar scowled at the sound of approaching hurried footsteps. Soon the guard at his door was bowing before him. "My king, Commander Arioch is at the door. Along with him is the one you renamed Belteshazzar, who is also one of the wise men. He wishes to seek a request regarding your decree."