Iridor had not been able to hear most of the confrontation, but from the way Lazar hung his head and Ana’s body sagged into Arafanz’s, he had to assume their situation was hopeless. He had not understood the man unwrapping his headdress or the subsequent shock written across Lazar’s face but he could only see the back of the man’s head, so he could not even guess what Lazar was looking at. Boaz kneeling was also a mystery. Iridor felt helpless, trapped in the body of a bird, unable to communicate without magic he still dared not risk using.
Why won’t you draw on your powers? Ganya demanded when he returned to tell her all that he’d seen. He had to trust her; she was his only protection now.
I don’t trust that we are safe.
This is connected with the Grand Vizier; I can feel his presence in your mind and yet I have assured you of his death. I saw his body, bloodied and lifeless and left to rot in the desert beneath the sun, fed upon by the hawks and buzzards and vultures.
The vultures. Of course! That’s how he found us.
What?
Arafanz’s lookouts would have seen the vultures circling. They would have followed the small caravan. That is how he was able to surprise you.
Birds have no loyalty.
What’s that supposed to mean?
She sneered but said nothing.
Listen to me, Ganya. I am in Lyana’s cause. That’s all that matters.
So the rest of us can die and you don’t care?
I do care. Those are my friends who are in trouble. Your father was my friend, too. I am trying to find out what’s best for all of us.
You have magic inside you. Use it. Why does the Grand Vizier frighten you? He is dead and still you fear him, she urged through the bars of her cell.
I do not think he’s dead, Iridor replied with similar forcefulness.
She laughed. I just told you—
You saw a corpse. It is meaningless.
She stared at the owl. Meaningless?
It is merely a shell. No use to him anymore.
Him?
The demon Maliz.
She shrank back in horror at the mention of this name. Iridor felt their magical shield waver.
Be careful, Ganya—now you know why I need your ring of protection.
It strengthened again.
You know this for certain? she asked, eyes wide with alarm.
That he has risen, yes. That he had possessed the Grand Vizier, yes.
And now?
Iridor couldn’t say it. It was hard enough to think it.
She said it for him. You think he has taken over Fayid?
Fayid doesn’t exist, Ganya. Fayid is a cover for who the young man really is.
And who is he? He could see he was giving her too much disturbing information at once but there was nothing he could do about it. She needed to know everything.
The youngster is Zar Boaz.
She said nothing for several interminable seconds as the day lightened around Iridor and the strange wind that had been gathering since dawn began to test its powers. He would need to find shelter very soon.
I’m sure you can piece together the puzzle, he said distractedly. His thoughts were already racing to what Arafanz now had in mind.
You believe that the Zar of Percheron—the real one—is dead but that his body is inhabited by the demon Maliz.
The owl swung its neck around in the disconcerting way owls can. Precisely. But I cannot be sure, not until I look into Boaz’s eyes or he gives me a clue. Until then I have to be suspicious. The demon Maliz cannot die through mortal means!
I’m sorry, was all she could whisper, which served only to make Iridor feel even more distraught. Ganya, trapped in a desert prison, having just witnessed her father’s murder, was trying to comfort him.
Don’t be, he murmured back, forcing back his grief. Only Lyana’s success mattered now. If Boaz is dead, then he is gone. As with your father, we have no time to mourn those lost. We must concentrate on the living. I must leave and get to safety. This wind is going to blow me away otherwise.
This is no wind, she warned.
Pardon?
This is the Samazen. It will kill you. Get to safety. I will try and warn Lazar if I can.
Good luck, he said, and broke the mindlink, turning himself invisible for the short while he needed to fly into open space before he disappeared into the haze of swirling sand.
Arafanz laid a weeping Ana onto his bed. “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
“Are you?” she hurled at him. “It didn’t sound like it when you baited Lazar, with my husband kneeling in the sand before me as you did it.”
“It’s where he belongs, Ana. Kneeling at your feet.”
“He is going to kil—”
“The young Zar is going to do nothing except die at my command.”
“Don’t, Arafanz, I beg you.” She grabbed for his hand. “I am pleading with you to spare Boaz’s life. He is a good Zar. I have never heard him speak ill of Lyana. He was born into Zarab’s world. He didn’t choose it.”
“He knows no better—is that what you’re saying?”
“Teach him! Tell him about Lyana and all that you believe in. Boaz is a scholar at heart. He loves knowledge, he loves to learn new things. He can be convinced if you’re persuasive enough.”
“To change faith?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes searching his face.
“To change a whole nation’s faith?”
Her eager expression faltered. “He can try. At least with him it’s got to be easier than how you plan to do it.”
Arafanz shook his head. “He is too much part of the old traditions, Ana. He will cling to them.”
“No, no—that’s just it. Boaz likes change. He has been trying to introduce new ways into the harem and the palace since he was crowned.”
“It’s not fast enough. I’m talking about a change that will shake the world of most Percherese. He can’t do that.”
“What makes you think my baby can?”
“Your baby will herald a new era. And the Galinsean war only aids my plans. War always brings change—a sweep of the broom, you could say. King Falza’s timing couldn’t be better.”
“What do you plan to do?” she wept.
“I await your son. Give him to the world soon, Ana.”
“He’ll come when he’s ready and not for me and not for you. I have no say in it.”
“Well, until I hear the cry of a prince, I shall have to find some way to pass the time whilst the Samazen keeps us imprisoned in our own fortress.”
His intention was obvious. “What are you going to do to Lazar?” she demanded.
“Whatever I choose. He is my prisoner. He is also my enemy. I normally kill my enemies.”
“If you kill him, then I become your enemy!” she hurled at him.
“Do you remember our time together at Lyana’s cave, when her Crystal Pillars sang for you? That was a good day. We became friends that day. We have hardly been out of each other’s sight since. I don’t think you hate me.”
“But I am your enemy, Arafanz. If you hurt him, I will hate you in a way I know I haven’t been capable of yet. And so help me, if I can call down the wrath of Lyana, I will beg her to use it against you and to tear you limb from limb.”
He faltered at the ferocity of her tone. “And I love you in a way I know I haven’t been capable of before, no matter what you choose to do. But I cannot save your precious Lazar. I told him not to come back. I allowed him to escape the last time he trespassed. He can live on through his son. He knew it would mean death for one of us if he returned.”
“Then I hope it is you,” she said, and turned her back on him before groaning as the first genuine pain of labor began to take its relentless toll on her body.
Lazar and Boaz sat bound and chained to the wall on opposite sides of their windowless cell. A single tallow candle sputtered on the floor and dimly illuminated the gloom of their prison. Lazar had shouted for Ganya but either s
he couldn’t hear him or was located nowhere near them.
Boaz had spoken not a word. His head hung between his legs in the silence.
It was hard to find any words of comfort but Lazar tried at least for some sort of conversation. If he could keep Boaz talking, no matter how angry the Zar was, it meant he wasn’t giving in as he appeared to be; talk, rage even, meant he could get Boaz to fight back, perhaps work with Lazar to save themselves…or at least, the Zar.
Lazar turned to face his Zar. “If you knew, why didn’t you just have me killed?”
Boaz took his time formulating a reply. “Because I’m a pragmatist, Lazar. The announcement of an heir at the time it came was helpful for the Crown. And I needed to be sure. No one had confirmed Ana’s pregnancy, so I didn’t want to make accusations without having the correct information. Now I do.”
“Pez had—”
“Pez? Do you believe that story from the desert, that he could survive that time alone, lost, and still somehow find his way back to us? I didn’t know what to think about Pez’s return. I was incredibly happy to see him alive, safe, but I didn’t know whether to trust him.”
“You mean after all these years you don’t?”
Boaz looked up. His face showed none of its usual serenity. His peace and his good looks had transformed themselves into a mask of hatred and bitterness, fueled by anger. “Do you still trust Pez? Now that you know how he hoodwinked you?”
“There had to be reason for it. We have to—”
“We? There is no we anymore, Lazar. There is the treacherous Spur and his trusting Zar. We are enemies, you and I. From now on, don’t even mention us in the same breath. We no longer exist.”
“Boaz—”
“I am Majesty to you, Spur. If you’re going to address me, use my title.” He stood, shocking Lazar by beginning to yell and shout for the guards. Predictably the door was opened and three men came in, checked their prisoners were still secured. “Get me Arafanz!” Boaz began to demand. His demands escalated to screams, repeating the rebel’s name over and over to make himself understood. Language barrier or not, they understood. Several minutes later, after one of the captors had disappeared and Boaz had kept up his howling demand, the rebel himself appeared.
“Zar Boaz?”
Boaz slumped against the wall; his wailing stopped as Arafanz continued: “I’m attending to your wife at present, who seems to be in labor. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing her lover again, or maybe it was seeing you both, or, most likely, having her secret shared. It matters not, for the next Zar of Percheron is soon to be born—shall we call him Lucien, out of respect for his soon-to-be-dead father?” He threw a sly glance toward Lazar. “What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?” he asked, his last two words, though polite, loaded with irony.
“Get me away from him. I don’t wish to be near him, to lay eyes on him. Or give me a blade and I’ll kill him for you.”
Lazar stood, knowing that he was in no position to defend himself.
“How interesting, Majesty. Now, that might be amusing to witness. But I have a better idea. Take him from here,” he ordered one of the men, who did as asked, pulling Boaz from the chamber.
Lazar saw the look of hate thrown at him by the Zar. His sorrow deepened at knowing he had lost Boaz through his own weakness for Ana.
“We shall be back soon, Spur. I would take the opportunity during this quiet period to say your final prayers. Your time has arrived,” Arafanz suggested.
Lazar ignored the warning. “What about Ana?”
“She is laboring. First child? Who knows how long—you may be dead before you see your son, Lazar. Now, wouldn’t that be cruel?” He turned to leave, looked back. “Don’t waste the precious little time you have left. Make peace with yourself and your god. I make you this promise. I will put your son on the throne of Percheron—he will be safe and protected for all his life. He will never know that his father was not Zar Boaz, nor will any of his people.”
“Do you expect me to thank you?”
“The only thing I expect is that you will try and upset my plans.”
“You can count on it, Arafanz. I and only I will decide the fate of my son…if that is my son. He could be yours!”
Arafanz left, smirking. “No such luck, Spur. The boy has Galinsean blood running through his veins. But forget escape, Lazar, none of us are going anywhere right now. You can’t hear it but the Samazen began howling this last hour. No one can survive it.”
Ana was restless, unable to sit or to lie. She found it easier to pace through the waves of pain.
“I cannot eat, Ashar,” she warned as the young man sidled up to her.
“I brought you some juice of the fresh relicca.”
“How?” she wondered aloud, despite the sharp ache.
“Some of our members are in the city regularly. Fruit is a rare delicacy in our life but I stole this for you. He won’t mind. Everything’s for you anyway.”
“They say relicca can stimulate,” she said, hesitating to take the cup of pale green juice.
“It will aid your stamina for the day ahead. Please, take it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, sipping. It tasted wonderful as it slipped down her suddenly parched throat. “Ashar, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Don’t be frightened, Miss Ana. Your baby will find his way out.”
She smiled sadly. “Where do you come from, Ashar?”
“He has told me I was taken from my tribe at a young age, though I have no recollection. This is my home.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know your real home? Know if you have family?”
“I don’t permit myself to think on such things.”
“I was taken from my home—a father I loved, brothers and sisters who were my playmates. I think of them often. I refuse to forget them.”
He shook his head. “I have no memory of family.”
“I can see that you lie. You do remember. Oh, Ashar, stop this—this is not your crusade, it is his! His vision, his dream, his madness! Run away while you can.”
“He will hunt me down.”
“No. Once, maybe. But not now. This is the end of it. This is what Arafanz has worked toward. Whatever happens over the next few days will be all that consumes him. He will not care about a runaway.”
“Loyalty is my life.”
“Not to him and his madness. Be loyal to your family. He stole you. He admits that. They did not sell you as my family did me. You were taken without their consent. They must love and miss and no doubt mourn you to this day.”
He looked uncertain. Ana had worked hard on Ashar since that first day they spoke and found that fragile connection that often springs up between two lonely people of like age. In a strange way they had become friends. Perhaps now she could use that friendship—not for her own safety, for her future was here, certainly for the next day while her son arrived. But for Lazar. Lazar could be dead within that same time frame and she had to find some way to help him flee…she was sure he would rather die consumed by the desert, trying to escape, than helpless on the end of Arafanz’s blade.
She pushed Ashar further. “Find the woman. She was of the desert tribes, wasn’t she? I only glimpsed her but perhaps she can tell you which direction to head in—she may even know something of your family. Try, Ashar, try. This is no life for a young man. This is for clerics, mystics, and—”
“Madmen?”
She sighed softly. “Yes.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do. When he’s not being cruel, he’s such a sad, vulnerable, beautiful man. He could have been so much more than this.”
“He told me he was chosen. As I was chosen.”
“Yes, and I believe him. But whilst he was chosen by someone he considers his god, you were chosen by him—a mortal. If anything, he has been a destructive influence. Surely you want more than to die in the service of a god who has yet to ask anything of you? If Lyana calls to you, that’s differe
nt. But I suspect she calls only to him. The rest of you have been coerced, your minds stripped of everything you once knew and loved and trusted. He has replaced that with himself and his crusade. It is wrong, Ashar. I promise you, it is wrong.”
He looked at her and for the first time she saw the usual zeal blur and a new, fresher clarity shine in his eyes. “Go and see the tribe woman if you can…and, Ashar, if you can think of anything to help the tall, golden-haired man, I beg you to share it with me or do what you can. He is a good man. He is of Lyana, he is not your enemy. He is in tune with the desert, respects your people. He is the man I truly love, the father of the child I carry. He is the Crown Prince of Galinsea. You have a future king preparing to die in your prison. Help me find a way to save him, I beg you.”
Ashar backed away, fearful. She had said too much, frightened him.
Another wave of pain grabbed her, took her on a long ride of agony, leaving her gasping. When she had recovered her wits, Ashar was gone and she was alone with her fears and the laboring child who would be soon pulled from her womb and taken from her.
Ana wept.
28
Herezah could feel the tension in the city escalating. It unfurled from the crowded lanes of the bazaar and moved like a blanketing but invisible mist throughout the streets of Percheron, reaching up the hillside to the palace and the balcony where she now stood. Panic!
It was nearing fifth bell, not even noon, but the day was already unbearably hot. She had insisted that the messengers spread word that the general population was not under any threat from the Galinseans, that although there was no need to flee, those who wished to leave the city should do so immediately. Even to her ears it sounded hollow. If she were an everyday Percherese, living beneath the Stone Palace, she would grab her family and head for the foothills as fast as she could.
And whilst the city looked to be a roiling cauldron of activity, the palace seemed unnaturally calm. An hour ago all dignatories and senior members of the staff had gathered in the throne room as she had delivered them the news she had hoped to avoid. Herezah had deliberately gone nowhere near the throne itself, but had kept herself a step down on the lower plinth to make her announcement. She was sure her humility had not gone unnoticed—not that it mattered right now. No one was thinking about her dignity or her succinct speech. They were thinking about their loved ones, deciding whether to stay put and take their chances or leave everything behind and flee.
Goddess Page 35