Salmeo actually smiled at his own cleverness, although the expression died on his face as he came out of his private thoughts and registered the last few words of the Zar’s most recent sentence. Had he heard right? It seemed the Zar was mindful that not everyone would believe what he had just said and was reinforcing the point.
“Yes, brothers, you heard me correctly. I am leaving our realm in the very capable hands of the Valide, who has my authority to rule by proxy until I return. Forget that she is female, that she is my mother, that she belongs to the harem. From today, she is your Zar and you will obey her. She has my instructions and I trust her implicitly not only to follow them but to rule well in my stead. Anyone found to be defying the Crown Valide, as she is to be addressed, will face death upon my return. So, my brothers, I implore you to help her through this highly difficult time. Do as I say and spread word through Percheron that I go in search of the filth that has defiled my wife, stolen the heir of Percheron, and insulted my reign. I will bring him back for your pleasure and let the people decide his fate. His name is Arafanz…let everybody know.”
Salmeo didn’t hear any more. He couldn’t care less about Ana, or the heir, or which renegade was insulting whom. But he did care about his own huge neck and how it was threatened right now by the woman staring down from the dais, directly at him, and clearly smiling behind her veil.
Pez was gasping for breath. Physical pain was not something he had had to face much of during his time in Percheron and he had always felt safe in the knowledge that the Lore could protect him anyway. Not now, it couldn’t, not with Maliz bending over him. He knew that if asked, he would not even be able to describe the pain racking his small misshapen body.
The Grand Vizier had screamed at him throughout the shocking agony he had inflicted upon Pez, but though his body now lay slumped, broken, slashed in places, and even partly dismembered, he had given the demon nothing but nonsense. He had wondered, amid the exquisitely bright pain, how he’d become so brave. He’d had nothing but willpower and the memory of Zafira’s courage under the same torment. But it was that thought of Zafira that had urged him to utter the few words he did. Perhaps some small good could come out of his death.
The blood loss had to be enormous. He could feel himself floating. He wished he could let go and simply float away but Maliz ensured the pain was sufficient to bring him back to the nightmare.
“Well!” the Vizier said, holding up Pez’s little finger, bloodied and hacked from his hand. “That’s the last of them,” he said, throwing it aside to land near the other nine, discarded on Lazar’s tiles.
“What did he say?” a new voice asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business as a hired thug, but he told me that the Valide was made pregnant by the Spur in the desert but is hiding it well. I’m being led to believe that Lyana is connected to the Valide…does that make sense?” he asked, the sarcasm bitter and cutting.
“None of it. But I think he’s dying.”
“That’s the point.” Maliz sneered.
“You never said anything about killing the royal’s dwarf.”
“I’m not sure I ever mentioned killing you either,” Pez heard the Grand Vizier reply and assumed he had dragged a blade across the man’s throat, for fresh blood gushed over Pez before the man collapsed on top of him with a strangled groan.
He heard, rather than saw, the Grand Vizier stand up from his grisly work as the man’s accomplice ran in.
“Are you going to kill me or get paid twice as much?” the demon demanded. “Your friend’s always been a liability. Finish the job and have his share.” Maliz was only barely controlling his anger, Pez realized, and inwardly he found a dull spike of humor as he understood that the demon was confused. His mind was likely racing back to the desert, wondering how true the dwarf ’s claim might be. Pez hadn’t admitted knowing anything about Lyana but the mere suggestion of intrigue was leading the demon’s overactive mind to make assumptions.
Pez didn’t hear the second thug reply but he presumed money spoke louder than the threat of death because the dead companion was suddenly being dragged off him. Pez played dead himself. He couldn’t be far from it anyway.
He heard a guttural roar before feeling a rib crumple inward as the Grand Vizier kicked him, no doubt in deep frustration. Fortunately his head was turned to the side, so Maliz did not see him squeeze his eyes tighter as a new wave of pain coursed through him. He prayed to Lyana for a quick death.
“Wrap him in that rug and toss him into the sea. Get someone to clean up this mess. No evidence of bloodshed. Be quick!” the Grand Vizier said with obvious disgust. “What a waste of my time!”
The burly accomplice began to roll Pez into the blood-soaked rug. It took every ounce of the dwarf ’s determination, holding the face of Lyana in his mind, not to scream out in agony.
“What did you want from him?” the man asked. “Everyone knows he’s a half-wit.”
“Feebleminded or not–I needed to know which.”
The man laughed, the sound dull through the rug. “You believed he could be sane?” he asked incredulously, and chuckled again.
“Not after what I just did to him, no,” Maliz said, his tone as sharp as his hidden blade. “Get rid of him and your friend here.” Pez heard what had to be a pouch of gold hitting the floor. “There’s plenty more of that if you keep your mouth shut. If you don’t, you’ll be dead before you have a chance to spend the first karel. Be warned.”
He didn’t hear anything further. Presumably the Grand Vizier had left. Within minutes after being heaved onto the shoulder of the paid thug, Pez felt himself falling. He was barely conscious now but just aware enough to realize he had obviously been tossed over the side of Lazar’s balcony. As he fell into the sea he had only a moment to send his undying faith to Lyana with his apology for failing her once again. Death had come sooner than expected.
Although the rug absorbed a lot of the impact, he felt the last of his intact bones sigh and give way just seconds before he began to drown and Lyana welcomed her most beloved disciple to her dark and icy depths.
And as Pez’s drowning began, the skies overhead darkened with uncharacteristically heavy clouds that momentarily obliterated the sun, plunging the city into gloom. At the same moment many Percherese would later swear an earthquake began as a series of tremors, adding yet more terror to the already besieged land. The initial cracks that had curiously formed down the great giants who guarded the harbor now widened alarmingly and some believed their precious icons were preparing to crumble and crash into the sea.
But the giants were not disintegrating. Instead they bellowed in anguish to the only person they knew would hear.
Lazar, sitting on a horse, awaiting the arrival of his Zar, seething that Pez was not present as they had arranged, had looked up, surprised, as the heavens darkened without warning. A minute later he was overwhelmed by the outpouring of grief that hit his body so hard he had to dismount, half falling to the ground as Beloch and Ezram groaned into his mind: Iridor dies!
12
Ana was leaning comfortably against Arafanz’s chest as he reached his arms around her to hold the reins, guiding the camel on its plodding journey across the sands.
She had fully lost track of how long she’d been at the fortress now, but her taut, swollen belly told her that enough time had passed to be nearing the end of her pregnancy. And although the passage of time had been vague for her, she was aware of the subtle change that had washed over her during her confinement. Curiously, for the first time in her life she felt at peace. Since the day in the cave when the glittering pillars had welcomed her, Ana had felt as though she belonged–not to anyone in particular, but to this period in time, to this place…especially to the desert. If not for the quiet pain of losing Lazar for the second time, Ana would say she was happy…truly happy.
That early, horribly insistent nausea of her pregnancy had passed and her baby had begun to move inside her a couple of moons ea
rlier. Low in her body she had felt the faintest of flutterings. At first she thought she was imagining it but it recurred, becoming stronger. Consciousness? Her baby had become a person! The fluttering that she had convinced herself was a tentative unfurling of a hand had now evolved into something more dramatic–akin to an awakening. This baby seemed to be constantly on the move, one moment low, the next high in her chest. She was explaining it now to Arafanz.
“Feel here,” she said, taking his hand and guiding it to her belly in what was a familiar gesture.
“Ah, that feels decidedly like an elbow,” he replied, genuine pleasure in his voice.
“Very good. I forget you’re an old hand at this.”
She couldn’t see him shrugging but felt it. “I didn’t take enough notice of Razeen growing in my wife’s belly. I regret it deeply. Now that I share this baby’s growth with you, I realize it is something magical, something every father should participate in.”
Ana sighed. Even though she had quipped that she still felt like a child herself, this child coming into her life made her feel suddenly very grown up. And in truth she was thoroughly enjoying this maturity. It helped that the enforced separation from the harem and everything that had become so familiar to her gave her enormous pleasure as well. She felt at peace. “That’s a good way to describe it. My child seems to know precisely what to do and when. It’s a magic only it understands.”
“The baby and your body are one, Ana. Don’t forget that your body also knows what to do. It possesses its own knowledge of how to nurture the babe, keep him safe, nourish him. I am sure he hears your voice and knows you already.” He paused, adding a moment later, “To be a mother is to be closest of all to Lyana.”
She snuggled farther back into the security of his chest, privately amazed by how comfortable the two of them had become when they were alone together. “Yes. I wish I understood what she wants from me.”
He leaned his chin on her head. “We shall see what your role is in due course, although I say again that it is the son you carry that is of most interest to Lyana.”
Ana didn’t think so but kept her own counsel as she wondered at which point over the past few moons she and Arafanz had become close friends. All animosity had disappeared. Now they ate together of an evening, took regular walks, and especially enjoyed these rides alone. She watched from the rooftop of the fortress as he continued to train his men for the coming battle and he was always aware of her presence, acknowledging her with a glance, a brief wave, sometimes that rare smile. They were actually never long apart these days. But the knowledge of what Arafanz planned for the palace and all attached to it sat like a festering sore in her thoughts. She picked at it often, felt it bleed along with her sorrow for Boaz and all his dreams for Percheron. Yet she hated herself for allowing it to scab over so easily when Arafanz permitted his caring to shine through and charm her. These quiet times alone with him away from the fortress were special; when it was like this, she didn’t see him as Lyana’s zealot but simply as a man, with all the usual frailties and desires. She sensed he was allowing himself to cleave far closer to her than he knew he should. There had been moments when what was disguised as simple, polite gestures–a guiding hand, a helping arm, moving a wisp of hair from her face, or more recently, briefly massaging her back when she mentioned how much it ached–felt tender, meaningful. Right now, her leaning in so carefree a way against his broad chest, his chin resting casually atop her head–anyone could be forgiven for thinking them lovers. If she was honest, this shift in their relationship frightened Ana. She loved Lazar–that would never change–but it scared her that she could harbor such intense fondness for someone else.
There! She’d allowed it out into her mind. She was attracted to Arafanz in spite of the darkness she attached to him; she would be lying to herself if she admitted anything else. The attraction, she knew, had a lot to do with her longing for Lazar; the two men were very similar. But Arafanz had qualities of his own that she found irresistible, especially his vulnerability. For all his arrogance and unswerving faith in himself…Arafanz was mortal. He was prone to all the same temptations of his men, even though he had convinced himself he was impregnable to any attack, especially any weakness in his heart. She sensed, rather than knew, that Arafanz was in love with her. He had never voiced anything along such lines but her intuition told her he only barely controlled his feelings. She wanted to hate him as completely as she had when she had first met him but she had seen a different side to him that she enjoyed. And now, with the birth of her child almost upon her, Arafanz had become her closest confidant–the friend she trusted.
He gently squeezed her shoulders. “Are you all right? You’re very quiet.”
“I was just thinking about us.”
“Us?”
“What is this relationship between us, Arafanz?”
His hands stopped working. “I don’t understand.”
“You do. You’re being coy. And there’s no need to because there’s only us. You are my captor and yet you go to such lengths to give me freedom. You are my enemy but you are also my close friend. When we met, you treated me with scorn and yet why do I feel something else blossoming between us? Is this a deliberate ploy or can you not help our bond either?”
His large hands returned to massaging her neck through the linens of her sand veil. It felt wonderful and she wished she could ask him to pay attention to her lower back, which was particularly painful today. She hadn’t yet mentioned the soft bands of pressure that came now and then, moving up and down her belly. She had to assume these were early warnings of what was to come when her son was ready to enter the world.
Arafanz’s voice was thick with emotion when he finally replied. “I want to be impartial about you, Ana, but that is not as easy as it seemed to be before I’d met you. Ellyana should have warned me.”
“Is that why you kept me locked up and remote?”
Again he didn’t answer immediately. “You are too insightful. Yes, I didn’t want to know you. I just wanted to follow my cause, keep to my set path. We have been building toward this for too many years–since the day you were born in fact–before, even.”
Again the mention of his knowing of her birth staggered her inwardly. But she kept her poise. “Is that why you punished those men?”
“Not entirely. I did need to show you how committed we are to Lyana.”
“Not entirely?”
“I was angry. Hurting you, threatening you, did help to make me feel immune to you.”
She gave a soft anguished groan. “It’s so wrong. I wish we could give those men their lives back.”
“They gave them willingly.”
“To Lyana perhaps. But you made them sacrifice their lives for no gain in the cause to which they pledged their lives.”
He held a long silence this time before clearing his throat. “You shame me.”
“You didn’t need me to do it. You’ve felt the shame anyway.”
“You know me too well.”
“I hardly know you at all.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, lovely Ana,” he said, stroking her aching back.
She arched it, unsure whether her reaction was from pleasure or fright from enjoying it, an attempt to escape his touch.
He was about to say more when the skies deepened above them. “What–” Arafanz began.
And Ana shrieked as a sharp pain seared through her belly, and her baby–she knew it was the child even though her head told her it was impossible–opened a passage into her mind and spoke to her in an ancient tongue. “Iridor dies. It is not his time.” The voice was beautiful but anguished and it tore at Ana’s heartstrings.
Disoriented, Ana overbalanced, while Arafanz, in an effort to prevent her injuring herself, slid off the beast with her, toppling below and breaking her fall as they hit the soft sand.
“Ana…Ana!” he shouted, terror infusing them both.
She hadn’t realized she had screamed Lyana’s nam
e just before they fell but she could hear it echoing off the rock face.
“Please,” Arafanz begged, scrabbling out from beneath her, “tell me what is happening. Have your pains begun?”
She didn’t know what to tell him. She shook her head in silent fear as tears leaked out of her eyes and dampened her hair. Surely Pez was not dying?
Arafanz was hovering above her, his face a mask of worry. “Speak to me. What has occurred?”
“It’s Iridor,” she gulped. “I think he’s dead.”
As he sank, the rug unraveled about him and Pez finally found himself floating free in the depths of the Faranel. It was soundless and dark and it would not be long now, for he didn’t have the strength or ability to do anything but give himself to the water. The burning in his lungs distracted him from the throb of his fingerless hands.
As he began a final prayer to Lyana, knowing he had but moments, for there was truly was no more breath in his aching lungs and his chest was racked with pain from broken ribs, he saw a vision floating toward him. It began as a soft green light that strengthened into a shimmering brightness, so bright that it was almost unbearable by the time the figure was clear enough to make out.
Ellyana drifted fully into view and gave him a heartbreaking smile. Her luster seemed to dim the terrible pain and the exquisite desire to give up his last and most precious air. She was young and dazzlingly beautiful. He felt suddenly safe in her cocoon of luminescence.
“I am dying,” he said, shocked that he could speak.
“Not yet, dear Pez. This is not your time.”
“But how can I live?”
“If you were going to drown, believe me, the Faranel would have claimed you by now. Maliz should have finished you off himself; if he had, we could not interfere. This is his mistake. He will rue this day.” She smiled again. “You must trust me now.”
“I always have,” Pez replied, entranced by her shimmering beauty and the realization that he was no longer struggling for breath, no longer cold or even frightened.
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