“Shh,” she pleaded. “Don’t say any more. Let this lie unspoken between us. It has no future.”
To Ana he looked sad enough to cry; instead of doing so, he pulled back from her and offered the water again. She took the flask simply to have something to do with her hands and as a distraction for them both. She berated herself for feeling instantly bereft at his withdrawal. Was she truly heartless–no different from Herezah or Salmeo? How else could she find herself in the position of having three men in love with her? And worst of all, she held each in a separate place within; there was a fondness for Boaz, an irrefutable attraction to Arafanz, but there was a deep, abiding love for Lazar. Lazar alone owned her heart, yet their love seemed doomed.
Arafanz’s voice was more even when he spoke again. “If we cannot speak of my affection for you, will you tell me what just happened? Why you just became so upset?”
“Do you trust Lyana?”
“With my soul!” he declared.
“Then continue that way. She has chosen not to share her plans with any of us and I imagine there is good reason. I am not Lyana. I have no idea of my part in this struggle but I did feel something bad happening just now and Iridor came to mind.”
“You are connected to him?”
“Presumably. Of course I could have imagined it.”
He shook his head as he sat back, scratching at the newly trimmed beard and again she was struck by how often he reminded her of Lazar. “No. Something did happen. Did you notice the skies, did you hear the roar?”
“What roar?”
“You didn’t hear? I don’t know what it was–I think it was the wind.”
“The Samazen?”
“Possibly, but it came and went as the skies darkened and then lightened again. Is Iridor dead?”
Ana didn’t know, wasn’t sure she was remembering what had actually happened. She had felt pain, she thought. “Did I faint?”
“For a few moments, yes. You recovered swiftly.”
“I can’t remember what occurred. I just heard his name in my mind.”
“Is that all? What would prompt you to claim he was dead?”
She shook her head, baffled. She would think it through later when she was alone, convinced she would recall exactly what had taken place. The fear that something had happened to Pez would not leave her, though, and for once she wanted to return to the fortress.
“I…I don’t feel too well.”
Arafanz smiled sadly. “Let’s get you back. All we have to do is point Farim in the opposite direction. Remember that–she will always get you to the cave or to the fortress from the cave.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t make it there today,” she said, meaning it. This would have been their first return since the Crystal Pillars had spoken to her.
He nodded. “I’m afraid we will not risk you out in the desert again. I sense the child is due. We must take care of you now.” He began guiding her back to the patient Farim.
“Arafanz!” she called, a sudden notion all but taking her breath away. “Do you mean to steal my baby from me?”
His expression had never seemed so desolate to her. And she knew that expression, had seen it several times on the man she loved. She had to stop seeing Lazar in her mind’s eye. “I once threatened your baby to your Spur. I was lying, of course. The son you carry is not yours, Ana. He belongs to Lyana and the new Percheron.”
“So do I,” she countered, her breathing shallow, suddenly angry.
“He belongs on the throne.”
“And I will be Valide.” It came out as a threat.
“Ellyana never said anything about–”
“Oh, to Zarab’s Fires for Ellyana!” she yelled.
Arafanz stepped away as if slapped. He looked genuinely shocked. But Ana hadn’t finished. “I’m tired of Ellyana and her manipulations and what she’s told whom and what she hasn’t told someone else. She is using us all as pawns. I used to admire her. I wanted to help her. I felt…I felt as if we were connected somehow.”
His eyes narrowed. “And now?”
“I despise her! Zarab have her! She feels more like my enemy now and she brings nothing but heartache and gloom to us all. She’s convinced the few people who mean anything to me that they’re involved in the struggle between Lyana and Zarab and yet all she’s doing is leading us to our own demise. We’ll never experience the satisfaction of Lyana’s coming because we’ll probably all be dead–you included!”
His expression smoothed. “I am not afraid to die in Lyana’s cause.”
“How did you become so fanatical, Arafanz? You must have had a life once, somewhere away from here? Be sure it’s not Ellyana’s cause you die for,” she snapped, knowing her words were ridiculous but wanting to hurt him, wanting to injure him into seeing how he was being manipulated.
“They are one and the same, Ana. If you despise Ellyana, then you despise the Goddess herself.”
“I don’t,” she said, her voice breaking, treacherous tears rising. “I don’t despise Lyana. I want to serve her, I just don’t see the point of constant suffering as a means of being her servant.” Her hood and veil had fallen away and her hair was being blown softly by the gentle breeze beginning to stir across the dunes. He stroked her hair now, his gaze helplessly filled with affection, and again she saw a shadow, a reminder of Lazar. She was glad she was likely not to survive this struggle; she felt sure that she would begin to see Lazar in every man she ever spoke to, so desperate was she to see him again.
“You are so much more than her servant. Wait and see, Ana. She has a role for you that is yet to be explained. And your son will be a good ruler for Percheron–can you want more?”
“Yes! I want to be his mother in more ways than simply the vessel that carries him. I want to nurse him, watch him grow, witness his personality forming itself.”
“See if he’s like his father?”
She blushed brightly. “Perhaps he will be like me.”
“Perhaps.” Ana heard the end of their conversation in Arafanz’s comment. “Come, this wind is strengthening and the camels sense it. We must return.”
“It is early for the Samazen,” she pondered aloud.
“Nothing is how it should be,” he said. “We have all been warned that this time it is different…even for the desert winds.”
“You are the difference, maybe?”
Farim knelt for her and Arafanz helped her position her cumbersome body on the saddle, luxuriously softened by blankets and cushions. “Not me. I certainly add a fresh aspect to the fray but I am not directly involved in Lyana’s battle. My role is to put a new Zar on the throne–one who is Lyana’s disciple.” He paused, then added, “Fresh blood, you could say,” and she thought she saw guilt spark in his eyes before he looked away, cleared his throat.
“Then who? What is the difference?” she begged.
He shook his head. “Look to the other men who love you, Ana…and who love her, too. Perhaps the secret lies there.”
13
Iridor flexed his wings to let them dry. So this is me from now on?
Yes. You can be only Iridor.
I miss my old form already.
But you are so beautiful as an owl.
I was beautiful on the inside as Pez, too.
She regarded him gravely before looking around them one last time at Star Island. This is a lovely, lonely place. I’m glad I could see it once more.
Once more? He shook himself.
I shall not return.
Are we close, Ellyana?
She nodded. I sense that we are drawing to the end. Have we done enough? I cannot tell you.
But what have we done? he asked, surprised. I feel as though all we’ve done is hide.
Ah, but you see all that hiding has nevertheless revealed so much. We know who our enemy is and now you must be very careful. Maliz has declared himself.
Iridor instinctively looked down toward his clawed feet, talons sharp on each toe. All that was still
Pez recalled in horribly clear detail how Maliz had savagely cut off each of his fingers, snapping them first for maximum pain before removing them with his small, keen blade. But it was the casual way in which the demon had cast aside the small, gnarled fingers that had bothered Pez the most. The horror of Maliz’s cruelty would stay with him always. Nevertheless, he had beaten Maliz. And Maliz did not know it yet.
What now? he said to Ellyana.
You have your own journey. You alone know the next stage of it.
He sighed. She was obviously not going to help him. I shall find Lazar.
She nodded but then again he felt sure she would have nodded if he’d said, “All right then, I think I shall fly to the moon.” Be careful, she warned. The demon must not know of your presence. It is the only surprise you have left now, my friend.
I understand. Will I see you again? He wasn’t sure he cared.
She shook her head and shrugged. Who can know?
Well, he began awkwardly, hating the coy manner in which Ellyana handled every question. Thank you for saving my life. It was the least he could say.
As I said, it was not your time, no matter what Maliz thought. But I cannot rescue you again, you understand?
He nodded, not understanding at all. Farewell, then, Ellyana.
Lyana guide you. May her light forever shine upon you.
He swallowed. Her farewell sounded ominous. In a practiced move and in a hurry to be gone from Ellyana’s gloom, Iridor leaped from the rock on which he had been standing and flew out across the Faranel. He didn’t look back. There was nothing to look back for. Ellyana was surely already gone and so was life as he had known it. All he could do now was fly toward his destiny.
Boaz had talked and talked during the entire journey about everything from how to ride a horse bareback to his favorite foods and Lazar could forgive him his excitement. The young man had never been beyond the city’s gates in his near seventeen summers. By the same age Lazar had been spending more time outside of Romea than in it. What he felt sure he could never convince the young Zar of was the fact that no matter how many cities beyond Percheron there were, none–in Lazar’s experience–could match her beauty. No, Boaz would have to find that out for himself. He was grateful to the youngster for his ebullient conversation and especially for the fact that Boaz didn’t seem to need any responses from his two mostly silent companions. Lazar felt the frisson that had passed between himself and Maliz at the beginning of their trek. He knew the Grand Vizier had lied about Pez and obviously the demon had no idea that the dwarf had survived his attempt at murder. Lazar made a silent promise to never be off guard around the Grand Vizier–not anymore. It had gone beyond the threat of touch. Maliz would likely stick a knife in him if he came to the decision that Lazar was a risk to his cause.
“…and I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t get the city stonemasons to take a closer look.”
“Pardon, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about the next stage of our journey,” Lazar replied into the silence that his Zar had clearly left for him to fill.
“I was talking about Beloch and Ezram–haven’t you noticed they seem to be crumbling?’
“I have seen cracks appearing.”
“Cracks?” Boaz repeated with feeling. “Lazar, I think our precious giants are going to collapse. There must have been some sort of tremors beneath the sea.”
“I don’t think so.” Lazar seized a fresh opportunity to bait the Grand Vizier. “Some people are saying the giants are returning to life, breaking free of their stone prisons.” He smiled briefly at the Zar to ensure that those listening could see he was speaking fancifully.
Although Boaz began to laugh at the suggestion and offered an answer, Lazar no longer heard him. He felt, rather than saw, the Grand Vizier turn and stare at him. Lazar kept his eyes fixedly on the landscape ahead.
“What makes you say that, Spur?” Maliz said, cutting across his Zar’s amused retort.
“Forgive me, what did you say?” Lazar replied absently, feigning the look of someone dragging his thoughts back from elsewhere.
“I wondered what prompted you to say such a thing.”
Lazar frowned. “About the stone giants, do you mean?”
Maliz nodded, tight-lipped.
“Oh”–Lazar shrugged–“it’s just something I heard in the streets. People jesting to cover their fear that some sort of earthquake is going to shatter our fair city.”
“I see. And what do you think?”
“Me? I don’t think about them much,” he lied. “Although I would hate to see the giants perish.”
“Why?”
“Well, they’re icons. They are precious art from our history. They reflect a time and a style.”
“Perhaps it’s time for a new style? We have a new Zar after all.”
“Perhaps,” Lazar said, tired of the banter and deciding he would not bait the demon again. “I think they’re wonderful but then I’m a lover of history.”
“Do you know the story behind those icons you speak of, Lazar?” Boaz asked. Not waiting for the Spur to answer, he continued: “The legend goes that a demon called Maliz made a terrible bargain with Zarab–”
“Yes I know the story,” Lazar admitted, not at all keen for this conversation to continue and now deeply regretful that he had been stupid enough to provoke it.
“I don’t,” Maliz said, a glittering gaze fixed on the Spur.
“Oh, then let me enlighten you, Garjan. I didn’t think I’d ever teach you anything!” Boaz said, clearly delighted. “The legend says that Maliz was actually a warlock, but he gave his loyalty fully to Zarab in return for life eternal.”
“And what was the bargain?” Maliz asked, his gaze not leaving Lazar, who had deliberately turned away and pretended intense interest on the landscape ahead, which was turning from the greenish scrub of the foothills into the golden wilderness of the desert.
“Oh, well, he had to rid the land of the Goddess Lyana.”
“He was obviously successful,” the Grand Vizier replied, a mordant grin noticeable beneath his neatly plaited beard.
“He banished her and her supporters–the giants, the magnificent winged lion, the dragon and other creatures that no longer roam the land were–”
“Turned to stone?” Maliz finished, and Lazar felt his sneer.
“Yes,” he heard Boaz say, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
“My, my, what a tale. And you believe this?”
Boaz laughed. “I want to. I like the romance of it.”
“We’re here,” Lazar interrupted, determined to end the conversation before it dragged them all to a place he certainly didn’t want to visit.
“Ah,” Boaz said, untroubled by Lazar’s rudeness. “I see the camels.”
“And our Khalid again, my Zar,” the Grand Vizier added. “I recognize Salim.”
Lazar bristled. “Use only ‘Fayiz’ from now on, Tariq. They will recognize you and me, of course, but no one must know who travels with us. And if we meet any strangers besides the Khalid, we must rely on the names we settled on. No bowing, no titles, no special treatment for Boaz.”
“Surely the Khalid wouldn’t hurt the Zar?”
“We don’t know what they might do and we don’t know who they talk to. For all we know, the Khalid led Arafanz to us.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” the Grand Vizier admitted.
“No, and I don’t think it’s true, but regardless, no one is to know Boaz is with us.”
Maliz nodded. “I understand and shall be careful. But I don’t speak their language.”
“It is not necessary, probably even best–that way you can keep a distance and they won’t feel offended. What about you, Fayiz? Have you learned any Khalid in your studies? I know you’re a great linguist.”
Boaz nodded smugly. “As a matter of fact, I have a little Khalid–only a smattering, mind, but perhaps enough to follow a simple conversation.”
“Be friendly by all means but d
on’t get involved with them.”
“All right. But how am I supposed to fit into this traveling group?” Boaz whispered. They were close to the Khalid now; the men were waving.
Lazar frowned, considering. “You’re Tariq’s sister’s grandson and you’re training to be in the Protectorate.”
“That sounds perfect,” Boaz said, grinning. “This is fun.”
“Oh, for the sense of invincibility that only youth can experience,” Maliz drawled, and Lazar actually threw a wry smile his way.
“Lazar!” Salim came running toward them.
“Who is this?” Boaz asked.
“The leader. A good man,” Lazar murmured, then raising his voice, he spoke in the language of the desert people. “Salim! Salutations.”
The man caught up with them and put his hand on his heart as the Spur dismounted. “Spur Lazar, it gladdens my soul to see you alive.”
“We were fortunate,” Lazar answered in the Khalid tongue.
“You have forgiven me?”
Lazar nodded. “Nothing to forgive. I would have instructed my men to do the same if I’d been in your position.”
The man completed his welcome, his hand moving first to his forehead, then to his lips, and settling again on his heart before he bowed low. “We would all have been dead. He was after the beautiful young woman, I am assuming?”
Lazar flicked a glance toward Boaz. “I have no idea of his intention but Ana is why we have returned.”
Salim’s eyes narrowed and there was a wryness to his tone. “I imagined you would.”
Lazar cleared this throat, relieved the Zar was not privy to this conversation. “Salim, you remember Tariq?” Lazar said as the Grand Vizier came alongside.
“Of course, welcome back to the desert. You are a brave man.”
The Grand Vizier nodded politely, not understanding a word but no doubt understanding the sentiments being expressed.
“And this is Fayiz, who is training to be a member of the Percherese Guard. He is Tariq’s sister’s grandson.”
“A fine young man. Not far off my own son’s age, I imagine.”
For the first time since Zar Joreb had died, Lazar suspected, Boaz bowed in greeting.
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