Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “I have something for you, Lazar,” Salim continued.

  “Apart from my camels?”

  The man grinned, his teeth white against his bronzed face. “This is a gift. But you will have to pay for the camels.”

  Lazar returned the smile. “What gift?”

  Salim called over his shoulder. Another man walked toward them, a bird perched on his arm. Lazar noticed that its eyelids were stitched and the bird appeared understandably nervous. “A new falcon?”

  “We caught him yesterday, whilst we waited for you.”

  “He’s for me?” Lazar said, disbelief evident in his tone. He was deeply touched by the gesture. As a child, he had always wanted his own hunting bird but somehow his father had never gotten around to teaching him falconry skills. His father had never gotten around to much at all in terms of teaching his headstrong, eldest son, he thought.

  “He is called Jumo,” Salim said proudly, “and we have branded a sign–a sword–onto his beak. Throughout the desert this sword now denotes you because you are such a fearless fighter. No one will ever dare steal this bird now that he has your mark. You must keep him close and pet him as we showed you. That is how you will make him yours. He is a ferocious bird with enough courage to match your own and he will train well. He will be brave, like his namesake, and he will make you proud.”

  Hearing this man of the desert speak so proudly of Jumo had caused helpless tears to well, threatening to spill down Lazar’s face. “I don’t know what to say,” he managed to croak, fighting through the emotion.

  The Khalid quickly grasped Lazar’s sentiments. “Nothing to say, other than that you will accept him and let me help you train him.”

  “That’s a promise.”

  “Then he is yours to keep. Remember: a man and his bird should not be parted. Jumo will die of grief if you should die; that’s how close the bond will be, must be.”

  All Lazar could do was nod, relieved he hadn’t disgraced himself in front of Boaz or the demon. “I am without words. Thank you, brother.” He held out his hand, palm up. The little man placed his palm down above Lazar’s and they gripped fingers. It was a gesture, a bond of brotherhood, that encompassed all men of the region, be they from cities or desert, from Galinsea or from Percheron.

  The Khalid smiled.

  “Lazar,” Boaz inquired, “what has occurred?”

  The Spur sniffed back the emotion and explained quickly to the Zar and the Grand Vizier what had taken place.

  “Are you going to the fortress?” Salim asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we are coming with you.”

  “There is no need.”

  “I know. But my son may be there and you can use our help. We will not run this time. We will stand firm with you.”

  “Only you. I can’t risk more.”

  Salim nodded. “Do you know how to get there?”

  Lazar realized they’d arrived at the point he’d dreaded. He was glad that neither Boaz nor the Grand Vizier could understand this conversation. “I was hoping you might lead me.” His tone was sheepish but he made sure his body language didn’t betray him to the avid listeners.

  The Khalid looked momentarily stunned. “I know only the rumors…a rough direction to the west.”

  Lazar thought of Pez, prayed he would find them somehow. “We head west, then. I have some ideas, too,” he lied, praying Pez would make contact soon. “Come, Jumo,” he said, liking the sound of hearing his friend’s name rolling off his tongue again. The falcon gave a brief, soft whistling sound and Lazar felt an instant bond.

  They left their horses with the Khalid in exchange for camels and would exchange the beasts back for the horses upon their return. Salim and Lazar never discussed ownership of the horses should the Percherese not reemerge from the desert, as if to talk of it might invite bad omen.

  14

  Herezah awoke with a start and a hammering heart. She had dreamed of herself laughing with King Falza, who looked very similar to Lazar. He had been enchanted by her witty retorts and gracious attention. She had impressed him with her hospitality and charmed him with her tinkling laugh and engaging personality. He had just leaned across to his general–although who knows what that fellow was doing in her dreams–to discuss the withdrawal of the Galinsean fleet and Herezah was imagining her son returning to a peaceful city because of her ingenuity, when the door burst open. In stomped a squattish, paunchy woman of indeterminate age but definitely well past her prime, with washed-out brown hair piled on her head and held in place by a clip studded with gems. The woman’s face was powdered, adding to her pale, floury appearance, but her skin was oily and she wore a light sheen about her forehead and nose.

  “Angeline!” Falza exclaimed.

  The wife? Herezah had smiled, for the woman reminded her of mounds of rathas before frying, an entire pyramid of them rolled together to form one huge wobbly ball of ratha.

  The Queen of Galinsea had yelled at her husband in guttural Galinsean, of which Herezah was able to understand only a minute amount. She made out the word that meant “to lie” and something about livestock. Perhaps it was the word “pig”? She couldn’t be sure. Falza was on his feet, yelling straight back at her in Percherese–which was curious but helpful–and then Pez cartwheeled into the room and urinated on the ratha mound’s silks. The dream turned decidedly dark at this point as the Queen of Galinsea had withdrawn a bow and arrow–of all ridiculous weapons–and carefully taken aim.

  “No!” the King had yelled.

  “Not you, my darling,” she had said quietly, suddenly in perfect Percherese. “You are too precious to our realm. But I can’t let you jeopardize our plans,” and she had swung the bow to point squarely at Herezah and let loose with her killer arrow, catching the Valide in the throat.

  Herezah exploded into consciousness, breathing raggedly, hardly daring to believe at first that it had only been a nightmare. Gradually her breathing evened. The dream had lost much of its clarity and she’d already begun to forget the fear, telling herself it was just a silly dream as Elza came bustling and curtsying into the chamber.

  “Good morning, Valide. Are you well?” the servant asked, throwing open shutters.

  “Distracted,” Herezah replied. “Where is my tea?”

  “The lemon infusion was too sour, Valide. I have sent it back and ordered a pot of pomegranate tea instead,” Elza offered, and Herezah could see the woman cringing, awaiting the inevitable tirade. But she couldn’t be bothered with trivia anymore.

  “Get me my silk wrap.”

  Elza threw it around the Valide’s shoulders as Herezah stepped into soft slippers. “Pack up my chamber, Elza. We’re moving.”

  The servant could not hide her astonishment. “Where to, Valide?”

  “Crown Valide, please, Elza. You are the person who takes care of my most intimate needs and you must set the tone for the other slaves.”

  “Yes, Crown Valide, forgive me.”

  “We’re moving into the palace proper. I don’t plan to take audiences with visitors, having to run from the harem every hour of the day!”

  “No, Crown Valide, but has Grand Master Salmeo given his…er, his permission?” Elza stammered.

  “His permission?” Herezah said, her tone sharp enough to cut ice. “Elza, have you any notion of what my new status means?”

  “Yes, Crown Valide.”

  “Then you should know I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, save the Zar himself–and he is not here. I rule in his stead. I will not be imprisoned in the harem and I owe no fealty to Salmeo outside of its walls. Even inside them I reckon a Zar by proxy or a Crown Valide–whichever you choose to think of me as–has far more status.” Herezah wasn’t convinced that the servant agreed with her on this last point; she looked doubtful despite the polite cutsy. “So get things organized. We move out this morning–I think the Peacock Suite will suit me. Now go away and make the arrangements. I shall dress myself, but have the Zar’s pri
vate secretary meet me in the salon just outside the harem immediately.”

  Elza’s anxiety was naked on her face but she disappeared to her duties as bid. Herezah quickly dressed herself in some day clothes and hooked a thick veil across her face. Bin wouldn’t even be able to tell it was her, if not for her voice. She hurried to the appointed chamber and soon enough the Elim who had escorted her announced that the secretary had arrived.

  Bin bowed low. Herezah was familiar enough with him to do feel relatively at ease, although this new one-to-one situation would test that comfort.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Herezah began, deciding this was one fellow she needed on her side, and politeness and appreciation toward him would go a long way.

  “It is my role now, Crown Valide, to serve you.”

  She inclined her head. “Bin, I wish to set up a meeting with the Galinseans. I presume my son briefed you that this was something he wished.”

  “He did. Do you have a plan for how you would like this to unfold, Crown Valide?” He noticed her frown and continued. “Do you prefer me to make arrangements for you to visit the Isles of Plenty, or that we request that someone from the Galinsean hierarchy visit the palace first? Or perhaps you have some other ideas?”

  “The Zar cautioned that we are not in a position to make demands of the Galinseans,” Herezah replied. “But then again I am not inclined to set off across the bay aboard a ship.” She looked again to him for his guidance.

  “It is not my place, Crown Valide, to tell you how you should behave–”

  “No, but I am asking for your advice, Bin. In the absence of my son, the Spur, and, I suppose, the Grand Vizier, it is down to you and me to make these decisions. I could consult some of the more senior dignatories around the palace but the Zars of Percheron have always prided themelves on resolving political issues within these very walls. I don’t wish to dilute my son’s powers by seeking their aid.”

  “The more input, the more muddied those matters become, you mean, Crown Valide?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And next they’ll be offering advice you have not requested,” he added.

  “Quite,” she said, pleased that she was dealing with someone with a sharp intelligence. Bin had always seemed so young to her. He was barely older than Boaz and she had been worried by her son’s choice of someone so young for such an important role, but now she was seeing the wisdom of his selection.

  “The way I would recommend, then, Majesty,” Bin began, for the first time addressing her by the title that most pleased her, “is that we suggest a meeting of the royals on neutral territory.”

  “Ah.” Her eyes gleamed. “Where would you suggest?”

  “Outside the Bay of Percheron in close-by waters of the Faranel. They belong to neither Galinsea or Percheron but are easily accessed by both royals from their present locales. You would only have a day’s travel at most, Highness, and the Galinseans would face a similar journey. Galinsea would be permitted one ship, yourself the same. We would need to talk with Ghassal regarding the meeting specifics, on which vessel it would take place, and so on. Ghassal has specialist lieutenants who are in charge of our fleet, Highness, and they would advise us best in this matter.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Thank you, Bin. Can I leave it up to you to pursue this matter? I would like to set up this meeting during the next couple of days.”

  His eyes widened. “Then I must move quickly, Majesty. Is there anything else for the time being that I can help with?”

  She was about to say no but nodded instead. “I am moving into the Peacock Suite and will take all messages there from now on. Please organize a salon where I can receive visitors who relate to state matters.” He nodded. “I no longer want the escort of the Elim. I do not belong to the harem for the time being. I wish you to set up a guard from the Mutes.”

  She watched the secretary’s nostrils flare briefly, but to his credit, Bin simply nodded. “Of course, Crown Valide. I’m sure the Zar would want all resources put to work for you.”

  “And because I do not understand the special sign language that you and my son use with such ease to communicate with the Mutes, I wish you to instruct them that no one from the harem is admitted to see me merely on the grounds that I am one of its members. Until the Zar of Percheron returns, I am his representative in all matters and in stature. It would not be fitting for me to be receiving any instructions from Grand Master Eunuch Salmeo, for instance,” she said carefully.

  Bin didn’t blink. “Of course. That is how it should be.”

  She smiled behind her veil. “Thank you, Bin. Perhaps you could get a message to the harem for me as you leave?”

  He was already bowing, having heard the polite dismissal. “I would be happy to do so.”

  “In that case ask Salmeo to visit me in the Peacock Suite at fifth bell.”

  The secretary nodded. “It will be done, Crown Valide,” he assured her, departing quietly. Herezah knew her orders were now in good hands.

  Alone once more, the new Crown Valide remembered her nightmare and experienced a vague notion of residual fear but the situation and details of the dream had vanished. She could barely remember what had so disturbed her, as she absently moved her hand to her throat, and why she made that gesture was lost on her. Instead, she dismissed her faint dread as being nothing more than nervousness about what lay ahead and busied herself in preparation to charm a king.

  This was their first full day on camels and the memories rushed back to Maliz. There were moments, like now, when he regretted his interest in Boaz. Perhaps he should have chosen some other bright young thing to inhabit for the next cycle, but then, he reminded himself, Boaz did offer marvelous status and wealth and access to women. Of course there was always Lazar, but somehow Maliz didn’t think even he could persuade Lazar to invite him into his body. As it was, he realized that Boaz would have to be coerced. He wouldn’t be tricked as easily as Tariq but Maliz was sure there would be a weakness that could be exploited. He just had to find it…and fast.

  There was no weakness, as far as he could tell, in the wretchedly arrogant Spur. He was increasingly convinced that the Spur was not just a follower of Lyana but an important disciple. He had long ago decided that Lazar was connected with Lyana’s struggle, but now he believed this Prince, masquerading as a soldier, was intrinsic to this cycle. He had no idea what the Spur’s role might be, though; there had never been this person in any previous battles. It was frustrating because there was no magic of Lyana within Lazar–Maliz had touched him to be certain–and yet Maliz could not let the thought go. Right now Lazar remained useful but his time would come, too.

  He cast a glance the Galinsean’s way, noted how proud the Spur looked atop his tall camel as he whispered sweet words softly to the falcon perched silently on his arm.

  Yes, indeed. His time would come, too.

  Lazar felt the weight of the Grand Vizier’s gaze fall upon him but he did not glance his way. It was obvious Maliz was measuring him, wondering what Lazar knew. And Lazar had only himself to blame for this fresh interest; he had baited the demon with innuendo. Well, the demon needed him for now. As long as he was leading them toward Ana, and in turn another step closer to Lyana, Lazar knew he was safe. After that, he was expendable and it was likely that Maliz would act upon that fact.

  He stroked Jumo, already feeling as though the two of them belonged together, and wondered how, in Lyana’s name, he was going to find Ana.

  Boaz was having similar private thoughts, although his were more sinister.

  He was not wondering how they would find Ana, so much as when. He held no doubt that somehow Lazar would lead them to the Zaradine. And when he got to this fortress they spoke of and finally confronted the man who had stolen his wife, he would take great personal pleasure in killing him.

  And then he would kill Zaradine Ana…but take no pleasure in it.

  15

  Iridor flew. He was not ready to consider hi
mself entirely Iridor, even though he had to accept that from here on the owl shape was all that was left to him. There would be no more cartwheeling in palace corridors or belching at opportune moments to achieve the personally amusing silence his bad behavior could provoke. There would be no more accidentally on-purpose treading on toes or screeching so loudly that he could terrify the Elim guards. Pez the dwarf no longer existed, other than in his mind.

  No body would ever float to the top of the sea and alert the palace to his fate. Neither would the body, as Maliz had planned, sink too deep or be pulled out to deep sea. There was no body; it had disappeared in the single instant that he had transformed into Iridor and then, with strength he didn’t know he possessed, lifted himself free of the water, and despite soggy feathers flown far enough to dry out on a rock. Later he had flown to Star Island, amazed that his bird form had suffered no ill effects from his trauma, whilst Pez’s body had taken such punishment.

  But there was no more time for sorrow. Ellyana had ordered him to leave his grief in the Faranel’s depths and to emerge from the water a new individual. It must have sounded appropriate to Ellyana but to Iridor the words were hollow, all but meaningless. How do you leave yourself behind? How do you suddenly stop sadness? It is not a tap that can be twisted on or off at will. But it was Lyana’s will that he return from certain death as the owl–he had no choice if he wanted to live, wanted to go on fighting in her name. And though he had chosen life in front of Ellyana, privately he had chosen revenge. He wanted to see Maliz not so much suffering–as he had made Pez suffer–but destroyed.

  He had to find Lazar and knew the Spur would be heading in a westerly direction into the desert. They would have met up with their camels and probably with the Khalid by now. He estimated the royal caravan would have been traveling for a full day now and would be approaching the second night. It was important he reach Lazar at some time this night, for he needed to direct them on the fastest route to the cleverly disguised fortress. Arafanz had not positioned himself that far from Percheron in fact; certainly deep enough into the desert that his presence drew no stray visitors, but though his fortress was cunningly positioned away from the traditional slaving and trading routes, it was within easy striking distance of the city. No wonder the leader of the assassins felt so confident of his own success.