by Allan Cole
The Grand Palace of Zanzair was a place of haunted chambers, cries in the night and conspiratorial whispers blowing like dry winds down the dark corridors. It reeked of centuries of intrigue and betrayal. Much blood had been shed over the years and there were places where the stone floors still bore murder’s black stain.
Many kings had risen and many had fallen in that palace, but there were no noble monuments to mark their passing. Assassins were the dark messengers of each reign’s end. A royal head posted at the main gates marked each beginning. And the first to praise the new monarch’s name were feasting ravens.
Now Iraj Protarus was king and the intrigue and betrayal continued as before. Safar could smell the danger when he walked through the big main doors, sentries coming to attention and saluting the Grand Wazier. There was a sulfurous stink of dark magic in the air and under his formal tunic the stone idol sparked warning.
There was nothing unusual about Safar being summoned to a meeting with King Protarus, but as he strode through the palace - Leiria a few paces behind - many eyes turned his way. Some looked speculative, some glinted hatred, and some - the largest number, he hoped - appeared sympathetic.
As he approached the door of Iraj’s private quarters it came open and three beings, their backs to him, bowing and humbly excusing themselves to "His Gracious Majesty" made their way out.
A sentry closed the door and they turned, each reacting in a different manner when they saw Safar standing there.
The first, Kalasariz, was cheery. "Good morning, Lord Timura," he said. "I hope this day finds you well."
"Well enough, thank you," Safar said, nodding at the hammer-faced spymaster.
The second, King Luka, was arrogant. "Grand Wazier," he said, only those two words and a nod of his demonly head noting Safar’s presence.
Safar nodded in return, but said nothing.
The third, Lord Fari, was nervous. "How good to see you, Lord Timura," he said. "It’s been long since I’ve had the pleasure of your company. Perhaps you would grace my humble home for dinner some evening?"
Safar dipped his head in a slight bow. "It would be an honor to be your guest, My Lord," he said.
Fari quivered, a jolt of alarm showing in his yellow eyes. "Quite, quite," the old demon said. "Of course, you are always so busy with your duties as Grand Wazier I suspect, alas, it will be a long time before you are able to attend."
"I’m never too busy for you, Lord Fari," Safar said. He couldn’t resist the tease.
Fari clacked his talons together, distressed. "I’ll have my clerk speak to your clerk," he said, "and arrange a convenient evening."
"Thank you, My Lord," Safar said, making another slight bow. "I eagerly await your kind invitation."
The sentry appeared, motioning for Safar to enter the king’s chambers. He made his polite farewells to the three and went in - leaving Leiria waiting in the hallway outside.
Iraj was at his desk, looking over some reports. At least he appeared to be. His head was down, paper documents were in front of him, but his focus was on one spot instead of sweeping across words or numbers, betraying his pretense of being totally absorbed in his royal duties.
Safar cleared his throat and Iraj’s head came up. He smiled. But his eyes seemed cold.
"Ah, there you are, Safar," he said. "Get a drink. Make yourself comfortable."
Safar sat and poured himself a cup of brandy from the spirits’ service on the desk.
Iraj pretended to go back to the report, but his bejeweled fingers gave him away, rap, rap, rapping on the arm of the chair.
Finally, Iraj nodded, slapped the report down and raised his head to regard Safar.
"This is a little difficult for me, Safar," he said. "But I need to speak to you man to man - and as a friend."
Safar felt the stone idol glow warmer, uncomfortably so.
He smiled, saying, "Always, Iraj."
"It’s about this marriage request of yours to the Lady Fatinah."
"What about it?"
"Are you sure this is wise, old friend?" Iraj asked. "I understand she is a beauty. And I congratulate you on your taste. But marriage!"
"I love her, Iraj," Safar said. "In Kyrania, marriage almost always follows love."
Iraj gave a nervous laugh. "That was Kyrania," he said. "You’re no longer a common potter’s lad. You are the Grand Wazier - second only to me in importance. You can have any woman you want. For your bed, or for marriage for that matter."
"I know that, Iraj," Safar said. "And it’s Lady Fatinah I choose for both."
"But she may not be suitable for you," Iraj said, "beautiful though she may be."
"To me she’s more than any potter’s lad, as you put it, could possibly deserve. Meaning, she loves me too. What other requirement should I ask of a woman?"
"Here’s what I think," Iraj said, leaning across the desk. "This is a mere romantic attachment. You know you have a weakness for such things. Remember Astarias? You thought the sun rose and set on her. You declared your love to the mountains. And even asked her to be your bride.
"She laughed, if you recall."
"This one didn’t laugh," Safar said.
Iraj studied Safar for a moment then, "All I’m asking is that you reconsider."
Safar started to speak. But Iraj raised a hand to stop him.
"I know you’re stubborn, Safar," he said, "so don’t answer just now. Think on it a day or two and we’ll talk again.
"I’m asking you to do this for me as a friend."
Safar bit off automatic refusal. "Very well, Iraj," he said. "I’ll do as you ask."
He wouldn’t change his mind, but agreement gave him time to figure out what was wrong and how to get around it.
Safar tried make a joke of the situation. "If Auntie Iraj wants a two-day cooling off period, she’ll get it."
Protarus didn’t respond. His eyes seemed glazed, as if he were elsewhere.
They snapped back to alertness. "Well, that’s one problem dealt with easily enough," he said, forcing a light manner. "On to the next."
"Which is?"
"I’m afraid it’s another delicate matter, my friend," he said. "So try to keep an open mind, as you did before."
"I will."
"It’s this business about the casting," Iraj said. "Asking the gods what the future holds."
Inwardly, Safar groaned. Outwardly, he let a wry smile play across his face.
"So that’s what my colleagues were doing here," he said. "Why, I’d thought they’d all gathered to sing my praises to their king."
Iraj frowned. "No one said anything against you," he said, curt. "I wouldn’t allow such a thing."
Safar recognized the lie for what it was. "Of course, you wouldn’t, Iraj," he said. "After all, we’re blood oath brothers. And no man of honor would let another speak against his blood oath brother."
Iraj gave him the steadiest of gazes. "Never," he agreed. His cheek twitched. So he added, firmer still, "Never!"
"So what new suggestion did my friends have about the casting?" Safar asked.
"Fari proposed a compromise," Iraj said. "Make it two years, instead of one. My subjects will take just as much heart at that. Two years in not such a long time to wait for the Age Of Great Blessings."
"Oh, so it’s got a name now, does it?" Safar said. "The Age Of Great Blessings?"
"Call it anything you like," Iraj said. "So long as it sounds positive. The point is, we want to say - quite firmly - that things will get better by and by, if only we make suitable sacrifices to the gods and be patient."
"I’ll give you the same answer I gave before, Iraj," Safar said. "I won’t lie. An extra year won’t make it less of one. Or three, or five, even."
Protarus looked alarmed. "Five years!" he said. "You don’t think it’ll last that long, do you?"
"I have no idea," Safar said. "And that’s the point. No one does. Not a bone caster, entrails reader or stargazer in your kingdom could say. All the signs are blank. As i
f there were no gods listening."
"That’s ridiculous," Iraj said, features flushing. "Of course they’re listening. Why else am I on this throne? Who guided me here but the gods? There’s the Demon Moon. The comet ascending. Your vision long ago. All those things point to a decree from the Heavens themselves!"
Safar knew better than to argue. Iraj had fixed on this "divine destiny" idea when they were boys. To dispute it would be pointless - and dangerous.
"Whatever the reason," he said, "the gods are silent just now."
"Just say it for them, then," Iraj urged. "Say all will be well in two years. It’s as good a guess as any."
"I can’t," Safar said.
"It would offend your precious honor," Iraj scoffed.
"Something like that," Safar answered.
"Fari doesn’t have that problem," Iraj said. "He told me he used to do such things for Manacia all the time."
"And look where that got Manacia," Safar said.
Iraj glared at him. "That has nothing to do with it," he said. "I was talking about honor, not Manacia."
"Well, if it doesn’t trouble Fari to lie," Safar said, "then let him do it. He can oversee the whole thing. Feasts. Sacrifices. Prayers. Then the big lie. Let me know what date you decide on so I can be sure to be absent."
"That’s damned foolishness!" Iraj shouted. "You’re my Grand Wazier! Everyone will think you’re opposed and are making yourself absent to show disfavor."
"That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?" Safar said.
"Well, let’s not have one, then," Iraj said. He’d calmed himself. He flashed his most winning smile. "Just do as I ask, Safar. A favor for a friend."
"Don’t stake our friendship on this," Safar warned. "It would be a grave error to let it come to that."
Iraj trembled in fury. For a moment Safar thought he would lose his temper.
Suddenly, Protarus relaxed. He sighed deeply, emptied his cup, then sighed again.
"What a difficult man you are, Safar Timura," he said. "As immovable as the mountains themselves."
"I take no pride in it," Safar said. "It’s only how I was raised."
"Then thank the gods," Iraj laughed, "that I only made one friend in Kyrania. Otherwise I would have been driven quite mad by now."
* * *
"There can only be one explanation for it, Majesty," Lord Fari said. "The Grand Wazier has clearly gone mad."
Protarus looked surprised. "Safar mad?" he said. "Why, he’s always been the most stable of individuals. Oh, he has some silly flaws, of course, like that Hadin obsession of his. But madness?"
The king, led by Fari, Luka and Kalasariz, was moving along a narrow corridor toward the chambers containing what had once been King Manacia’s Necromancium. The atmosphere was dank, the air smelled of embalming fluids and their bootsteps sounded unnaturally loud as they approached, making all seem very surreal.
"If I may so, Majesty," Fari said, "madness is an affliction all wizards should guard against constantly. I am very old and know of what I speak. I’ve seen many a young mage overcome by the powerful forces he must reckon with. He forgets all true power resides with the king and he merely manipulates the spirit world for his monarch’s benefit. After all, the king rules by Divine Decree. That is the nature of things, as the gods revealed to us long ago."
Luka snorted. "What else could you call it but madness?" he said. "Only a madman would play such a dangerous game. This is no ordinary monarch he’s dealing with. But the King Of Kings. Absolute monarch of all Esmir."
"What really troubles me," Iraj said, "is his attitude that somehow I want to harm my subjects. My whole purpose - my whole life - has been dedicated to the exact opposite. I want nothing but good for everyone. I truly do seek an Age Of Great Blessings. Peace and plenty for humans and demons alike.
"Why, I remember telling him something almost exactly like that years ago when we were boys. And I’ve certainly done nothing but become stronger in that resolve.
"I consider it my holy duty."
"The root of the problem, Your Majesty," Kalasariz said, "is that Lord Timura has become not just mad, but power mad. This is not speculation, Majesty, but fact supported by your very best spies.
"Lord Timura has said time and again that he is more popular than Your Majesty. He believes he is revered by all your subjects. And that he should be king, instead of you.
"This is why he refuses you, Majesty. He holds his own reputation as more important than your own."
Iraj was seething when they entered the Necromancium. Rather than needling that anger further, the three conspirators changed their manner, pointing out different objects of interest.
Fari, the old demon wizard, took the lead.
"You see this, Majesty?" he said, showing him a flask covered with magical symbols. "It contains a potion that would enhance even your mighty abilities with women. One drop in a glass of wine and you could pleasure a hundred maids."
Next, he displayed a small purse. He upended it and a handful of rare gems poured out. "With the proper spell, Majesty," he said, "these gems can become many. I mentioned their existence to Lord Timura, saying they would help solve your financial difficulties, but he declared them black magic, evil magic, and commanded me to say nothing."
Then he picked up a skull with the unmistakable shape of a wolf. "This is a shape-changer’s amulet, Majesty," he said. "Used wisely it could give you amazing powers. Magical powers, Majesty. Which I hesitate to suggest, is the only thing Your Majesty lacks.
"Why, with magical powers, Majesty, you would have no need for wizards, other than to perform rote duties."
"Then I’d be like Alisarrian," Protarus murmured.
"Yes, Majesty," Fari said. "You would be master of both worlds. Temporal and spiritual."
"And I’d have no need for Safar," Iraj said.
Fari shrugged. "I hadn’t thought of that," he said. "Lord Timura is such a mighty wizard it prevents such thinking.
"But I suppose it’s true. You would have no need for him." He chuckled. "Or me either, for that matter. Except, of course, I’m more than willing to tutor Your Majesty in the magical arts."
"And Safar wouldn’t?"
Another shrug. "You would be the best judge of that, Majesty," he said. "After all, you have been friends for many years."
Iraj pressed the point. "If that were the case," he said, "I could declare the Age Of Great Blessings."
All three conspirators showed surprise.
Then, "I suppose you could, Majesty," Fari said.
"Indeed," said Luka.
"Why not?" posed Kalasariz.
"I must think on this," Protarus said. "I don’t want to react too swiftly. That way leads to errors and disappointment."
"That is a truth that should be engraved on stone, Your Majesty," Kalasariz said. "A pause, well used, is what separates the good from the great."
At that moment a shrill noise sounded. All four heads, two human, two demon, swiveled to the source of the sound. It came from a small alembic, made of jewel encrusted crystal, which sat upon an ebony stand. The alembic had a large bulbous stopper which was flashing a purplish light.
Luka displayed his fangs in a most lascivious grin.
"Wait until you see this, Majesty!" he said.
Iraj was puzzled. "See what?"
"We had a small entertainment planned for you, Majesty," Fari said.
"Actually, it was completely unscheduled," Kalasariz added. "Everything depended upon luck. We prayed it would happen when you were here to see."
"I hate to repeat myself," Iraj said. "But... see what?"
Chuckling, the three conspirators guided the king over to the alembic. As soon as he came close the noise stopped and the flashing light became a steady glow.
"Look into it, Majesty," Fari said. "I guarantee you’ll be delighted at what you see."
Iraj stared at the alembic, an expectant smile playing on his lips.
Then an image formed.
&
nbsp; The king gasped. "By the gods," he said, "she is beautiful!"
* * *
Nerisa thought she heard voices. She stirred in her tub, head rising from the languorous waters. She looked around and saw nothing unusual in the huge marble bath chamber. It was hazy with perfumed steam rising from the sunken tub - large enough for four Nerisas to splay their limbs comfortably and wriggle them about to feel the water’s gentle massage.
When she was certain there was no one around - and the voices were the product of her languid imagination - she eased back into her bath, breathing a long luxurious sigh.
The Lady Fatinah might have been a woman of immeasurable wealth, but she’d spent the short years of that nobility on the dusty caravan track gathering her wealth. Before she’d merely been Nerisa - a dirty orphan child who’d snatched a bath in cold rain barrels set beneath tenement gutters.
Abubensu had boasted of her mansion’s view, praised the nursery he’d had remodeled to her exacting specifications, but he’d never said anything about the bath. When Nerisa had discovered it she’d whispered a fervent prayer of thanks to whatever god had sent such splendor her way.
Nerisa captured the huge sponge floating on the water. She reached over to the ledge and picked up the ornate bottle of bathing oils - one of many gifts she’d received from the guests who’d attended her welcoming banquet. The liquid inside was a deep purple, so rich in oily texture that it nearly glowed.
She withdrew the bulbous stopper, dribbled oil on the sponge, replaced the top, then smoothed the delicious, perfumed liquid over her body. Nerisa breathed another long sigh. She’d never felt so clean, so pampered, so-
The thought broke off as once again she thought she heard voices.
She let the sponge float away and looked up. Once again there was nothing and no one to be seen.
Then she heard a high-piping voice and smiled.
A moment later Scani came in, Palimak perched on her hip.
"Lord Timura is here, My Lady," the nurse announced.
"Thank you, Scani," Nerisa. "Tell him I’ll be with him when I’ve done with my bath."
Scani bobbed a curtsy. "Yes, My Lady."
Nerisa smiled up at the child.
"And how is my darling Palimak?" she said.
The child’s finger jabbed out - pointing directly at her.