by Dave Duncan
Before she could find a reply to express her annoyance, he laughed. "Our ways seem strange to you."
"They seem unnecessarily cruel."
"Anyone who tried to change them would be regarded as a weakling. Not that I want to change them, of course."
He was baiting her, and she was not going to be browbeaten like one of his princelings. "You killed your grandfather?"
"Kar did, on my orders. The old rogue knew his time was coming. He'd tried to kill me several times."
"Rasha said he was an adept."
"Then he was a mighty ineffective one."
Or else Azak had been aided by another adept.
"This shocks you, Inos."
"It is not the custom of my people."
"It is old here. You think like an imp. Many imperors have died by violence."
"But never a king of Krasnegar."
"Truly?" Azak said skeptically. "You cannot be certain. Kar can slide a bodkin under a sleeping man's eyelid. That leaves no mark."
Inos felt sick. "How many men have you killed?"
"Personally, you mean? In fights or in execution? Fair fights or cheats? Or do you also count those I sent Kar after—Kar or others? I suppose a couple of dozen. I don't keep count."
"I'm sorry! I should not have asked. It is none of my business, and I should not judge Arakkarn by the standards of other lands." She turned her attention to the arid and dusty countryside—the goats roaming the dry hills, the greener valleys falling seaward. Now the haphazard little road ran between dry stone walls and thorn hedges, landscape new to her.
But Azak had not done. "I had no choice."
"What?"
"Even as a child," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the clatter of hooves, "I was obviously superior. I had to try for the top or be killed myself. The first attempt on my life was made when I was six years old. There have been two attempts on Quarazak already and he is rubbish, barely above average. His brother Krandaraz has survived three tries so far, and even he does not compare to what I was at his age."
She was horrified. "Kill children? What good would that do?"
"It would belittle me, of course."
"It is a barbarous custom!"
"It is very efficient. We measure a man by many things, but his virility and the number of his sons count high. So . . . always many princes. Princes cannot work in the fields. It costs money to support the royal family. This is one way we reduce the burden on the country, and we make sure that the ruler is a strong man."
"Strong?" she said with her heaviest scorn.
"Strong. He must be able to win loyalty, and that requires excellence. He must have iron nerves. He must be cunning and treacherous and totally ruthless. I am all these things. I may kill or banish Krandaraz eventually, if I think one of my younger sons is better. It is an efficient system, good for the land."
Before Inos could find an answer to this outrageous rationalization, they rounded a bend and there was a village ahead.
"Cover your face," Azak said, "and do not speak."
The mud-brick houses had low doors and no windows. Possibly the massive walls kept them cool in this blistering climate, but Inos had seen pigsties with more grandeur. The hamlet merged in all directions into olive trees, and there was a scent of oil in the air, barely detectable under the other stenches. The drone of insects was a constant low undertone.
The royal visit had been expected. The single street was blocked by people, obviously the whole population—every man, woman, and child crouching with face in the dirt as the sultan arrived. He reined in Dread, and Inos halted Sesame a few paces back on his right. Prince Kar's gray drew level on Azak's left, and the family men spread out on either hand. Then there was a pregnant pause, while everyone listened to the flies and the muffled coughing of the sick.
"Azak ak'Azakar ak'Zorazak!" Kar proclaimed in an astonishing roar, "Sultan of Arakkaran, Increaser of the Good, Beloved of the Gods, Protector of the Poor. You may greet your lord."
The village surged to its feet and cheered until it was hoarse.
Kar raised a hand for silence. An ancient headman came limping forward and held out a tray to offer Kar a selection of fruits, pastries, and insects. The prince selected a fig, bit half of it, chewed for a moment, and then passed the rest to Azak, who raised it to his lips. Inos thought he palmed it.
"His Majesty has graciously accepted your hospitality," Kar announced.
The headman scrambled out of the way as Dread moved forward, Kar's gray following. Uncertain what to do, Inos stayed where she was, sweating behind her veil but very grateful for its concealment. Apparently she had made the right choice, for the family men did not move either. Azak and his brother rode slowly around—Azak inspecting the village, Kar guarding Azak. The sultan took his time, scrutinizing everything out as far as the trees on either side of the road, although he did not dismount and enter buildings. The inhabitants shuffled their feet in apprehensive silence.
Insects buzzed. In the distance a donkey brayed.
A sudden eruption of barking from inside one of hovels cut off in terrified yelps. Inos realized that there were no dogs in sight.
At last the royal inspectors came back to the same place as before, and the headman returned warily to Kar's stirrup.
"His Majesty congratulates you on the condition of the trees."
"His Magnificence is most gracious."
"His Majesty inquires when the pits were dug?"
"Pray inform his Beneficence . . . about three months ago."
Kar's riding crop slashed across the old man's face. He did not flinch or raise his hands. He bowed. "I was in error."
"They will be filled before sundown, and new pits dug. Twice as many of them, with the male and female areas farther apart."
"As his Majesty commands, so it is."
Azak was staring straight ahead, over the crowd's heads. He had not spoken, or moved a muscle. The old man's tongue sneaked out to lick a trickle of blood.
Again Kar produced his astonishing roar. "His Majesty will now receive petitions, on any subject except taxes. All may speak freely, without fear. None but his Majesty will hear the words that are spoken."
With trembling hands, the headman pulled a dirty scrap of paper from his gown and held it up. The baby-faced prince took it. After a glance he let it fall, and a second slash turned the scarlet stripe into a cross. "I said no taxes!"
He old man bowed again and backed away.
"Any may speak!" Kar repeated, looking at the crowd.
A younger man took one step and then halted, losing his nerve.
"Approach!"
Then he came—legs stiff, head held high, and fists clenched. His rags were barely decent covering. He sank down and touched his turban to the ground beside the hooves.
"Speak," Kar said softly.
The petitioner raised his head to address the horses' knees. "I am Zartha."
"You may speak without fear, Zartha."
Zartha licked his lips. "Two months ago an ox we—my brothers and me . . . our ox was struck by an arrow. The wound sickened and it died."
Kar stiffened. "Have you the arrow?"
The man scrambled to his feet. Head still down, he held up an arrowhead. The prince bent to take it, looked it over, and glanced to the sultan. There was an exchange of nods. Kar slipped the evidence into a pocket and produced a leather bag.
"Did you see who shot this arrow?"
The man nodded dumbly at the shadows on the dust.
"Would you know him?"
Another nod.
"He wore green?"
A pause, then another nod.
"You may be called to the palace to identify him. If a summons comes, do not be afraid. It is his Majesty's wish to punish the guilty, whoever they may be, as well as to recompense the victims. None is above his Majesty's justice, and none below. He gives you back your ox." Kar began tossing gold pieces down in the dust, five in all. The crowd oooed apreciatively, and the p
easant fell on his knees to gather them up, crying blessings on the sultan.
"Any may speak!" Kar proclaimed again. A long pause . . .
The crowd rippled. A couple emerged, with a child walking between then, wrapped in a sheet. She could be no more than ten, too young to wear a veil, but the sheet concealed her hair and shadowed her face. Nevertheless, Inos decided she was terrified. The young father obviously was. The mother's face was invisible.
For a moment nothing happened, while Inos wondered if she would be able to contain her fury. She feared her veil might burst into flames if she looked at Azak. Then the parents opened the blanket, holding it out to the sides so the sultan could view the girl. They made her raise her arms and turn around.
Kar glanced inquiringly at Azak, who nodded. As the mother hastily wrapped up the girl again, Kar gestured. One of the family men slipped from his horse and came across. He made the surprised peasant bend over and then used his back as a writing desk, asking questions and making entries on a piece of parchment with a silverpoint. Then he handed the man the parchment.
"Bring her to the palace and show that letter," Kar commanded. "His Majesty will be munificent." Nodding steadily, the man put a hand on his wife's shoulder and began to pull her away, the child going with them. He was still nodding as he backed into the crowd.
"Next?"
Azak refused the next girl, and the next. But in all he bought four in that first village.
A couple of bowshots along the road, where olive trees were already giving way to pasture, Azak said, "Drop your veil."
Inos complied. "Why?"
He flashed white teeth in a contemptuous grimace. "Because you're beautiful when you're angry."
Angry? She was seething. "You bought those girls!"
"I agreed to take them into my household."
"You buy them like piglets!"
"I compensate the parents for the loss of their services."
"Slavery! You sell your own people into slavery? What sort of ruler . . ."
High on his giant stallion, he was smiling down at her, although there was a hint of something else on that arrogant mahogany face. Perhaps she had hurt his feelings. She hoped so.
"Inosolan, the parents have too many mouths to feed. My gold will benefit the whole village. The girls will be cleaned, clothed, and fed better than they have ever been. Trained, educated, and looked after, for three or four years—"
"Until they are ripe?"
He blinked, and his voice dropped half an octave. "Until they are ripe. Then they are free to go home."
"I don't—"
"They are escorted back to their parents and given the choice. Never, ever, has one preferred to return to her village. They always choose life in the palace."
"Well . . ." Those huts had been pigpens. Inos tried to imagine being faced with that decision. "So they return to the palace and the joys of your bed?"
A spasm like pain crossed his face. "I keep the prettiest, of course. That is what being sultan is all about. But most I give to princes I currently favor, or family men. As royal favors, they must be treated well."
"Concubines! Toys!"
"Mothers of sultans!"
"Oh." Inos forgot what she had been about to say.
"Did your father have no mistresses? No kept women? No loyal subjects' wives?"
"None." She believed she was speaking the truth, but of course she would not have known, would she? She was glad she need not meet Azak's eyes when she did not choose to.
"None, never? Strange! But if he had made bastards, they would not have been eligible to inherit his throne, now would they?" Azak chuckled mockingly. "At least, that is how the Impire does things. But all my sons are equal, and all my future sons, also. Their age does not matter, nor their mother's father—prince or peasant. That is fairer, is it not? My mother was so brought. I will show you the village. My relatives lived there until quite recently."
For a while there was only the thud of hooves. Inos was thinking of Vinisha and the others—witless, because they had no need for wits, but not unhappy. And she thought of that village.
A lady is never afraid to admit to a mistake, Kade always said. Inos assumed her most regal air. "I should watch my tongue. I admit I would prefer raising babies in a palace to raising them in a hovel."
"You might not raise them there. You might bear them and watch them die. Many more of them. And field work is hard on the fingernails."
She glanced up ruefully, seeing the scorn. So much for a private chat! She almost preferred being ignored. "Once again I must say that I am sorry."
"You're not beautiful when you're sorry. You must learn that monarchs never apologize." He nudged Dread into a canter.
They visited seven villages that day, seven that had obviously been selected with care, for the royal procession took a winding route along the byways of Arakkaran. Yet this was not merely a pretense staged to impress Inos—Azak had done this before. In one village he inspected fencing he had ordered, and in another a new well. Kar tasted the water.
Olives, dates, citrus fruits, rice, horses, goats, shellfish . . . Inos saw a wide range of Arakkaran's agriculture, all of which was strange to her. Mostly it was a poor land, every crop scratched from the rocks by the fingernails of its people. The valleys were lush, but even there the peasants were thin and often diseased. The children . . . she did not like to look at the children. Almost every headman risked royal displeasure by mentioning taxes and then suffered for his temerity. One village had failed to obey an earlier royal command to repair the road. The family men executed the headman on the spot, while Inos fought nausea and horror behind her veil. Azak accepted twelve petitions and bought twenty-three girls.
After the fourth hamlet, the royal progress halted in an orange grove to dine on fresh oysters, jellied lamb in pastry, and many other treats. Inos sat on shaded grass with prince and sultan, while the family men stood guard at a distance. In the limp heat of noon the leaves hung drooped motionless on the trees. She thought that no place in all Pandemia could be less like her homeland of Krasnegar. And surely no ruler could be less like her father than Azak was. She had no appetite. Azak noted her distaste with evident amusement, then ignored her.
"The arrow," he said with his mouth full.
Kar smiled and produced the arrowhead.
Azak inspected it. "Hak?"
"Almost certainly."
Azak nodded and tossed the evidence over his shoulder.
That was too much for Inos. "What happened to the punishing-the-guilty procedure?" Honest as a djinn.
The red-brown eyes moved to study her. He stroked a finger along the fringe on his jaw—another petty habit that irked her. "Too late. Hakaraz ak' Azakar died last month."
She glanced at Kar and his inevitable boyish smile. "Snakebite," he said happily. She shivered at the ice in his eyes. They were discussing one of their brothers. Yesterday she had admired his collection of riding boots.
"A premature end to a most interesting career." Now Azak was taunting her. "But his archery was erratic. So were his loyalties."
After a few minutes of silent and desultory nibbling, Inos stoked up her courage and asked, "And what about the petitions you accepted?"
He shrugged. "I'll throw them in the tinder basket with the others. We monarchs are beset with petitions, are we not? I must get a dozen a day delivered to the palace. My women line shelves with them."
He spent his days in hunting and feasting. She tried raising one eyebrow, although she lacked his skill at the move. It amused him, but he quaffed wine from a drinking horn and did not comment.
It was the softly smiling Kar who spoke. "Queen Inosolan, he deals with every one of them. Every petition is answered within two days. He works half the night, exhausting whole teams of scribes. He never seems to—" The contents of the horn splashed in his face, silencing him.
Azak was scarlet with fury, menacing as a naked blade. "You are calling me a liar, your Highness?"
&n
bsp; Kar made no attempt to wipe his dripping face. He continued to smile. "Of course not, Majesty. That would be a capital offense."
"Once more and you're pig feed!" Azak sprang bodily to his feet and yelled at the retainers to saddle up again. He went striding off. The food had been hardly touched, yet obviously the picnic was over. Kar gazed at Azak's retreating back, but Inos could not tell whether his continuing inscrutable smile implied brotherly affection or incipient murder.
If that episode had been staged for her benefit, it had been very well done.
4
The sun that beat so savagely on Zark had not yet begun to shift the morning mists in far-off Faerie. As first light gloomed in the east, Rap finished shaving and nudged Thinal.
"Now you," he said.
"You think I'm crazy?" The thief snorted. "In the dark? I'd cut myself to ribbons." But he sat up and stretched, growling.
The settled farmlands around Milflor had been much harder going for fugitives than the empty beaches farther north. Without Rap's farsight they would surely have blundered into guards or dogs, but he had persuaded the others that they must rest by day and trust him by night. The moon had helped, of course, but he had led the way along narrow trails, staying as much as possible within patches of woodland and scrub. Now there was no more good cover; they had reached a land of larger houses and dairy farms, signs that the city was close.
They had stolen a few hours' rest in a hayloft. Dawn was near and they must make themselves respectable, or relatively so. Somewhere Thinal had acquired a razor. With that he and Rap had already trimmed each other's hair. Little Chicken flatly refused to do anything about the straggly bristles round his mouth and Rap knew better than to suggest a haircut for him. No goblin would submit to that, and probably nothing less than an Imperial cohort could now impose it on this one. He had agreed to hide his face under a wide-brimmed straw hat. That would have to do, although he would be a conspicuous rarity in Faerie. Fortunately his beloved silk pants had failed to survive another day in shrubbery, and now he wore peasants' hessian like the others.