It wasn’t an easy decision. Most of the people in that chamber were certainly under threat. Bin had stood stoically below her, glanced once or twice with approval at her calm, precise delivery, and then had escorted her briskly from the room full of stunned people to the balcony, where she now awaited the captain of the guard.
As she stared out across the harbor toward Star Island she was reminded of Lazar. She badly needed his counsel right now. She had since realized that it was only because of the letter he had left that the Galinseans had agreed to the private parley on the Daramo. What trust they had given her, and what fatal treachery the Percherese had shown in return. The nausea rose again, as it had so many times since the previous day, and threatened to overwhelm her. The temptation to simply curl into a ball, locking herself into her old room at the harem and awaiting whatever fate came, was seductive. But as irresistibly as cowardice beckoned, this was not Herezah’s way.
Fighting wasn’t her way either, and though deviousness and cunning were her weapons, she didn’t know how to wield those for this situation, which had long spun out of her control. So fight she’d have to, and she would pray to Zarab that she could achieve a stalemate for long enough to allow Boaz and Lazar to return. Hopefully the Spur would have the ability to persuade his estranged father against the savage reprisals. In her heart the hopes felt hollow, but for the sake of the pride in the Crown she represented, she knew she must not lose hope.
Bin interrupted her thoughts. “Captain Ghassal is here, Crown Valide.”
“Bring him in,” she said, not turning yet. “Does he look frightened?”
“No, Majesty. Resolute.”
“Good. I need his courage and reassurance.”
Bin bowed and disappeared. Herezah took one last look at the uncharacteristically quiet harbor and imagined it filling with war galleys. She turned away to greet Ghassal of the Protectorate and wondered if she’d be dead by this time tomorrow.
Ashar brought a clay flask of water and a goblet into the prison area of the fortress. “I’ve been told to give the female prisoner fresh water,” he answered the guard at the top of the stairs, a man Ashar knew well. The prisoners needed no more than this single person, for Arafanz felt safe in the knowledge that his prison was impregnable.
As the man checked the contents of the flask, Ashar asked, “Is everything all right?” He jutted his chin in the direction of the cells downstairs.
“Quiet,” the man replied. “Why do I get this boring task? You get to look after the beautiful woman.”
Ashar grinned. “I’m no more than nursemaid right now. She is in labor.”
His companion’s mouth widened. “It’s happening?”
Ashar nodded. “It’s almost time,” he confirmed, his voice quiet.
“Hard to believe we’re here at last. It’s been years. We’ll be riding for Percheron imminently.”
“Seems so. We have to pray that Lyana keeps that baby safe and he arrives without problem.”
“Have faith. He is Lyana’s future. She will protect him.”
Ashar nodded. “I’d better get this delivered. What about the others?”
“They took the young one away—he began to scream to be removed from the tall one’s presence.”
“Were they fighting?”
“No. I think the tall one frightened the younger one. Here are the keys. She’s in the one at the end, with the window. As you’re here, I need to relieve myself. I won’t be long.”
“Don’t be. I have to get back to my post.”
His friend grinned as Ashar disappeared down the stairs and into the dimly lit corridor. He hurried along to the last cell and put the key in the lock. What he was doing was wrong but he was too far down this path to turn back now. He had to satisfy his increasing hunger for the world outside the sheltered existence at the fortress. All the other young men seemed to be happy and dedicated to their cause, but their leader’s influence had never fully claimed Ashar as it had his peers. He’d worked hard to be like all the other Razaqin but something inside refused to allow him to give up all of himself; he had kept back a tiny portion, locked it away. Ana’s arrival and his closeness to her had opened the vault where he’d stored his few memories. He was a chief ’s son. He had older brothers and sisters. He had worshipped his father, a wise, gentle man, and he could still remember his sweet-natured mother, who had died in childbirth trying to push out a baby brother, who had also perished. Ana’s painful labor was calling up these old memories. He desperately wanted her to survive and for the boy to survive. Ashar covered his face as he entered, in accordance with Arafanz’s rules.
“Who is it?” said a woman’s voice from the darkest recesses of her cell. Morning light would normally be flooding sharply through this cell’s windows but the Samazen’s wrath had turned the day dark. Sand whipped around the chamber and Ashar could feel its grittiness beneath his sandals. He could just make out the woman in the corner, her robes pulled over her head to shield her.
“I have brought you water,” he said, unsure of what to say, “but perhaps you need shelter more than anything.”
“The wind can’t hurt me and I like to feel the sand in here,” she admitted. He could hear the puzzlement in her tone. “I didn’t expect any kindnesses.”
“I brought it of my own accord, not at his behest,” he said, feeling awkward but preferring to be truthful.
“Why?”
“Miss Ana said I should meet you.”
“How is she?”
“In labor and very sad, although I could be killed for telling you this.”
“Then why do you share anything with me?”
“I don’t know, I…I really shouldn’t be here. Let me give you this water and then I shall leave.” He bent to place the flask on the ground.
“No, wait!” she cried, pulling back the linens that hid her face. In the eerie half-light he froze, his face blanching.
“Ganya?” he whispered, barely able to form the word.
She stared at him. “How do you know me?”
Ashar hesitantly raised his hand to pull free the black fabric that covered his face. “I am your brother, Ashar,” he prompted, realizing she probably couldn’t recognize him; he had been secreted away from their tribe as a child and now he was a man.
“Ashar?” she croaked, her expression telling him that she barely dared to believe what he said. He understood that in growing up, he had obviously changed enough not to be immediately recognizable to her.
“What are you doing here?” he breathed. Before he could say anything else, though, recognition swept across her face as she did make out the beloved features of a brother and he was swept into her arms, was hugging and kissing through tears and smiles.
“Our father came to find you,” she explained finally. “He never stopped searching, never gave up hope.”
“I think he’s the reason that I took this risk. This place has become my home and the other Razaqin have become my family but I have not forgotten my real home, my real family. I want to see my father again.”
Ganya began to weep once more. “Oh, Ashar. My poor little brother. Our father is dead. His body still likely warm, his murder is so fresh.”
“Murder?”
“Your precious Arafanz. I had to stand by and watch the madman slit our father’s throat as he tried to explain why he was in this part of the desert, that he was searching for his son.”
Ashar felt as though his lips had gone numb. He had trouble forming a response. The shock that his beloved father had come so close, only to be denied so much as a sighting of him, broke his already bleeding heart. “You saw this? You know Arafanz wielded the knife?”
“It was his own blade, I tell you. I witnessed our father gasping about finding you as his blood spilled into the sands and the man who sees himself as Zar maker talked over him as though he were a mere dog being put out of its misery. His body was left for the vultures circling overhead.”
Ashar violently pulle
d away from her, hammering the walls with his fists until the skin of the knuckles broke and bled. He groaned his despair, his head swiveling in denial. Ganya let his pain pour out before she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“We must get you away from here,” she whispered.
“He killed my father,” Ashar said. “He must pay for that.”
“No! Ashar, listen to me. You know he has a small army behind him. They are fanatical; they will cut you down if you so much as threaten a hair on his head. Let them do whatever it is they need to do. You escape. You get yourself far away from here so that our father’s death will have achieved something.”
“And you?”
“They will miss me—not that I’m important—but they won’t miss you. What’s one less black-robed killer amongst so many?”
“He has given me a specific task. He expects me to be at my post.”
“Then feign illness. Think of something, Ashar—anything that allows you to get away.”
“There is nowhere to go. It is Samazen season and this is an angry one. Look at your chamber—this is just the beginning. We have days to go yet; its strength and ferocity are only going to increase.”
“Promise me you will do nothing rash,” she begged.
“Nothing rash, I promise you,” he replied. He knew Ganya heard the message behind his words.
“Talk to Lazar. He’s incarcerated here somewhere. He will know what to do. I beg you, Ashar. Take him into your confidence—he is…was…your father’s friend. He has sworn to avenge his death.”
“Then he is my friend, too.”
“Find him. Tell him all that you know. Help him to escape if you must.”
“That’s what Miss Ana asked me to do.”
“Then listen to her. Don’t bother about the young one. He is not to be saved. Go. Lock me back up and go. Here, take the flask, and give it to Lazar. Use that as your excuse. If anyone asks, tell them that Miss Ana instructed you to do this. It will leave you blameless. Your leader clearly has no intention of harming her.”
Ashar obediently took the flask that she anxiously pressed into his hands.
“Go, Ashar. Be safe.”
“You, too, be safe,” he said, his eyes trusting.
Ganya pushed him back out of her cell door. He carefully locked the door behind him. There were five cells. He tried two that were empty before the third opened to a sigh from the darkness. With the soft light that spilled from the small lamps in the corridor, he could just make out the figure on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest.
“Lazar?” he whispered.
“What?” The man spoke in Percherese. His meaning was clear, though Ashar didn’t understand the word.
Ashar spoke in the desert language rather than Sharaic of the fortress. “I’m here to help,” he tried.
“And who might you be?” came the reply in Khalid.
The youngster felt a spike of relief. They could comprehend each other. “I am called Ashar, I—”
“Salim’s boy!”
“That’s right.”
“Your sister is—”
“I know. I also know about my father. I will avenge his death.”
“With your own?”
“With your help, perhaps.” Ashar slipped farther into the dark chamber.
“I am not in a position to do much right now.”
“Miss Ana sent me to find you,” Ashar whispered.
“Is she…?”
“She is managing. The pains are more frequent now.”
“Where have they taken Boaz?”
“He is accommodated on a floor below Miss Ana.”
“What are they going to do with him?”
Ashar shrugged. “I have not seen him. I know nothing about him, although our leader has specifically given me orders to take care of his needs.”
“Arafanz obviously trusts you.”
“Yes.”
“All right, Ashar, listen to me. If you want to avenge your father’s murder but you also want your sister and yourself safe, you will have to think with your head and not your heart. Right now nothing you do can bring Salim back. So do what he would want you to do: find a way to save Ganya and yourself. And I need you to help me get Miss Ana away from here, too.”
“She asked me to help you get away. She is going nowhere, Spur Lazar. She is too frail, too heavy with child. She could move into the next stage of her birthing process anytime, or so I believe. I have watched camels give birth. It can’t be much different.”
Lazar smiled grimly in the dimness. “Not much,” he said, a tone of irony in his voice. “Do you have access to the camels?”
“I know where they are kept. They will all be under cover now.”
“I want you to get one readied for Miss Ana and one for yourself and sister. Two only.”
“You’re going to risk the Samazen?”
“Our chances are better out there than in here.”
“What about you??”
“I will find a way, I promise you. Take your sister with you. Dress her as one of the hooded Razaqin. But have that camel for Miss Ana ready. Does she know her way to where they’re kept?” The boy nodded. “Good. No one will be checking. Only a fool would be out in this storm.”
“What about the Zar?”
Lazar shook his head. “I’m not sure how to help him. I fear he will kill Ana. I’m beginning to believe that’s why he came with us into the desert in the first place. He is seeking revenge. I cannot permit him to harm her or the child.”
Ashar nodded again. “Will you allow Arafanz to kill your Zar, then?”
Lazar looked lost. “No. He is the Zar and I must still consider his protection. Although the child now takes precedence.” He sighed. “I swore an oath to protect the Zar. I cannot break that oath, will not break it.”
Ashar didn’t envy the Spur his choices. “I shall go,” he said, moving toward the door. But before he could leave, they heard footsteps. Lazar just had time to raise his fingers to his lips before suddenly men blocked the doorway. As Ashar stood rooted in place, unsure of what to do, Lazar picked up the clay flagon, smashing it against the wall with a howl of rage.
“Tell him to go to hell. I’ll drink not a drop unless it’s his blood,” he raged at Ashar.
“What’s going on?’ one of the men asked Ashar in Sharaic.
Lazar continued in the desert language. “I don’t want Arafanz’s pity or his water. Tell the boy to clear off,” he yelled.
Ashar shrugged at his companions. “I was told to bring him water. Looks like he doesn’t want it.”
“He won’t be needing it where he’s going,” the Razaqin replied. “He’s been summoned to the ring.”
Ashar nodded. Glancing toward Lazar, he hoped that the Spur could see that he would keep his end of the bargain although he couldn’t imagine how Lazar would be able to do likewise. “I must get back to my post,” he said dutifully. As he left, Lazar’s cell door was closed behind him. Ashar took his chance and crossed the corridor to his sister’s cell and quickly unlocked the door.
“Stay here,” he hissed under his breath. “Don’t move until I return, and if anyone asks, you know nothing about this unlocked door. They will likely not even notice.” Ganya nodded. Closing the door, he ran down the corridor and up the stairs, passing the man returning to his post. “I left the keys on the hook,” he said. “They’re taking the man away.”
“I heard. He’s going to the ring. Can’t imagine he’ll survive it.”
Lazar realized that Ashar would need some time to either fetch Ganya or let her know what was going on, as well as to be seen entering Boaz’s room and going about his duties, so he distracted the three Razaqin who had been sent to fetch him by shouting obscenities. He knew they likely didn’t understand, and frankly didn’t care if they did. Finally he feigned exhaustion, collapsing. When one pulled him back to his knees, he put his hands together in supplication and, using gestures, made them accept that he n
eeded to say his prayers.
The Razaqin nodded and Lazar took as long as he possibly could during the period of silence that they granted him to genuinely send a plea to Lyana to guide him this day and spare his life just long enough for him to save Ana’s and that of their son. He also begged Lyana to guide him to do what was needed for Boaz. He wished Iridor would enter his mind; Iridor would help him to sort the confusion he was feeling.
The men manhandled him back to his feet and pushed him out of the cell door, bundled him down the corridor and up the rocky steps he recalled from earlier that day. After that he lost track of their path and had no choice but to follow the leader until he found himself being pushed into what felt like an arena. It felt cool, was presumably deep inside the belly of the fortress, especially as he could no longer hear the roar of the Samazen, and it was lit only by torches flaming around the walls.
The Razaqin had gathered. His quick estimate told him there were at least two hundred men. A small army indeed. The large chamber was eerily quiet as he was led in. Arafanz obviously enjoyed absolute control, for no one spoke, not even a murmur.
He was pushed into the ring, his robes ripped from him to leave him standing in only trousers and boots. The silence was heavy, and meant to humiliate, and he refused to buckle under the searing gazes of the fanatical group of men. Instead he bent his head and closed his eyes. He needed to gather his wits and all of his strength for whatever opportunity might present itself. He would not go meekly but he would gladly die if in doing so he could find a way to help Ana escape. Lazar did not expect to live beyond this day but he had to be sure that his son did.
Ashar checked on Ana, who was pacing.
“It helps in between the pains,” she explained breathlessly. “One has just finished.”
“How close are they?”
“Not close enough yet from what I know of childbirth. The baby is still hours away. It is not unbearable but I can’t do much except focus on coping with the pain when it comes.”
Goddess Page 36