The Golden Griffin (Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  “Aren’t they supposed to be powerful wizards?” Darik asked.

  “I haven’t faced them, but I would imagine so.”

  “And only slightly more honorable than the torturers guild?”

  “They are difficult enough, yes. In any event, Chantmer the Tall is still roaming about, disguised, while he rebuilds his strength. Narud confronted him, then foolishly let him go. I don’t mean to make that mistake.”

  “Do you know, I actually thought we’d won the war,” Darik said. “When the enemy fell at Arvada, I imagined we’d chase the Veyrians all the way to the sea. What a fool I was.”

  “If you’re a fool, then so am I. That’s exactly what I was expecting.”

  “And now Daniel has abdicated the throne, Whelan’s army is stalled on the Tothian Way, Chantmer is ready to stir up more trouble, and my captain was killed and turned into some sort of unliving, almost unkillable knight.”

  “Don’t forget the dragons lurking in the mountains,” Markal said with a hint of his old cheerfulness. “And the dark wizard’s spawn growing in the khalifa’s womb. Oh, and wights are bleeding out of the Desolation.”

  “When you put it that way, it sounds impossible. Would it have been so bad to fly off with Daria?”

  “Cheer up, we’re in better straits than we were a few months ago.”

  “Maybe so, but tell me how we deal with all those threats.”

  “There’s a clear path to victory. Whelan has amassed a huge army, and the Veyrians are dispirited, their master weakened. They can’t hold him off forever.”

  “But what about the dragons?” Darik asked.

  “Let Daria worry about them. And as for the ravagers, their numbers are still few and comprised largely of thieves and bandits—hardly the army of legends.”

  “They have Roderick now.”

  “And by tomorrow our side will have Hob and forty more Knights Temperate. Enough to overpower these ravagers before their threat grows.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Not easy, but a path for victory. That’s all I’m promising.”

  “Fine. Then the khalifa’s baby?”

  “It will settle itself,” Markal said. “I don’t know how—but trust in your queen. She is strong and brave.”

  “That leaves Chantmer the Tall.”

  “Yes, exactly. Together, the two of us—”

  “What about Narud?”

  “Very well, three, if you count Narud, when he finishes eating mice and making owl pellets. The three of us will find our old friend and either turn him or destroy him.”

  “Chantmer the Tall held off an entire order of wizards, killed Nathaliey Liltige, who was your second most powerful member, and escaped the dark wizard himself. But the two-and-a-half of us are going to defeat him. Just like that.”

  “Your point?” Markal asked.

  “Hmm.”

  “Good. I knew you’d agree in the end.” Markal rose to his feet.

  “Now? It can’t wait until morning?”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because I was riding all day, followed by a battle, then a late-night watch. How about I wake Brannock to take the watch and curl up downstairs by the fire where it’s warm?”

  “Brannock can take his turn, but the two of us have places to go. Wizards to confront.”

  Darik sighed. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

  Ten minutes later, Darik found himself on a very reluctant, very grumpy horse, riding down the darkened road behind Markal, who sang a bawdy tune about a girl with big breasts and a narrow waist.

  Something soared silently overhead. Alas, it wasn’t a griffin, but an enormous horned owl. It swooped down to rest on the saddle horn in front of Darik. It fluffed its feathers, glanced at the road ahead, then swiveled to eye him with what could only be disapproval.

  Darik decided to allow himself one final cranky comment, then he would shut up about the vagaries of his situation.

  “Wizards,” he muttered to the owl. “You can be very annoying, do you know that?”

  Chapter Five

  Kallia Saffa began to wonder if the baths weren’t the best place to meet her sister as soon as she saw Marialla lounging in the hottest end of the pool. The khalifa had chosen the baths to strip her sister from the viziers who surrounded her at all times and whispered advice into her ear. The women’s baths were the one place in the palace, indeed, in all of Balsalom, where a woman could seclude herself from the continual advice, wanted or otherwise, of men.

  But Kallia reconsidered as she watched her sister lounging half-in, half-out of the water. She was so beautiful that it was intimidating.

  Servants had pinned Marialla’s tresses atop her head with turtle-shell combs encrusted with topaz, which emphasized her smoky brown eyes. Sweat beaded down her neck and trickled between her breasts. The full length of her smooth, perfect legs stretched languidly into the pool. She gave Kallia a half nod. Half a dozen naked servant girls stood on the tiled surface above the pool, waiting for their mistress’s orders.

  One of them poured oil onto her hands and rubbed it into the princess’s shoulders. Marialla’s eyes slid shut and she drew her tongue over her lips with a sigh of pleasure.

  Kallia slipped into the water, feeling short and ugly. Her belly was already swelling with her pregnancy. She glanced at Marialla, who looked like a goddess, and laughed.

  Marialla opened her eyes and gave her an inquisitive smile. “Is something funny, Sister?”

  “Not particularly, no.”

  “Where are your servants?”

  “I prefer to bathe without them.”

  “Yes, and I find that strange. Are you expected to rub oil into your own skin?”

  “If necessary.”

  “And what of bodyguards? I’ll bet you didn’t bring any, did you?”

  “I’ll trust yours to protect us both.”

  “He’s one man. The lazy fool is probably asleep out there. Aren’t you afraid of assassins?”

  “Father was obsessed with assassins. He had as many personal bodyguards as there were men in the entire watchmans guild. Assassins still attacked him in his own bedchamber.” Kallia shook her head. “If assassins want me, they’ll take me anyway.”

  Marialla fell silent. A thoughtful look crossed her face.

  Kallia moved from the scalding end of the pool into the more comfortable water on the other side. She let the warmth seep into her bones. No other women were using the baths this morning. Kallia had sent a servant to clear the space of unwanted company so she could speak to her sister alone.

  “I’m intrigued,” Marialla said at last. “Your summons was both revealing and cryptic.”

  “That was my intent.”

  “And I noticed several handsome barbarians lounging about the gardens last night. Does this mean your husband has returned to Balsalom?”

  “Whelan came for reinforcements. We raised three thousand more troops to send east. And another thousand Eriscobans came up the Tothian Way the day before yesterday. They’re also riding with him.”

  “That will make the viziers happy,” Marialla said. “I’m tired of their complaints about soldiers raiding the palace granary. When do they leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “That doesn’t leave me much time.”

  “For what?”

  Marialla smiled. “I’d intended to seduce the tall blond captain.”

  “The tall blond captain is Prince Ethan. Whelan’s brother.”

  “All the better.”

  Marialla climbed from the water and walked deliberately across the tiles and around the pool toward Kallia. The next basin over was the cold pool, and Marialla sat on its lip. She turned and fell backwards into the water.

  Kallia watched her sister sink to the bottom. Marialla rose to the surface without so much as a gasp at the cold, then climbed out.

  “Refreshing. You should try it.”

  Kallia smiled and
shook her head as she ducked lower in her own pool. “Life is refreshing enough without making bath time an ordeal.”

  Marialla came around to sit on the tile behind Kallia, who was still in the water, then draped her legs around her sister’s shoulders. Marialla put her hands on Kallia’s shoulders and kneaded her fingers into the muscles. It felt good.

  “You’re too tense,” Marialla said. “You don’t have to carry it all on your shoulders. Lean on your ministers.”

  Kallia felt once again the child, completely enthralled by her older sister’s beauty and force of personality. No wonder her viziers felt intimidated by the princess. Her pashas, too. “Even viziers must be watched,” Kallia said. “And there’s simply too much work for them. Most are young, inexperienced.”

  “Then perhaps you need more viziers. Or simply different viziers.”

  “I suppose you have a suggestion,” Kallia said. “One of your pets?”

  “Don’t be so cynical, Sister. I’m on your side. You don’t doubt that, do you?”

  Kallia chose not to answer the question. “Tell me, Marialla. Have you considered marrying again?”

  Marialla removed her hands from Kallia’s shoulders, then entered the water next to her. She motioned for her girls. They hurried over from the other side of the pool. One massaged Marialla’s back, while another poured oil onto her hands and worked at Kallia’s shoulders and neck.

  “You have someone in mind, don’t you?” Marialla asked.

  “Of course. Is that too direct? Should I have equivocated?”

  “No, but you could have pressed a few coins into one of my servant girls’ hands to get her to talk.”

  “I’m not a schemer like Omar,” Kallia said.

  “No, you are not. You’re still alive, for one. The last time I saw our brother, his head sat atop Toth’s View, while a raven plucked at his eyeballs. Cragyn’s pasha took me to see it.” She shrugged. “I was never very attached to Omar. He was too, how shall we say? Acquisitive. But one of Cragyn’s pashas took a liking to the fear on my face and forced his way into my room the night after I saw Omar’s head.”

  Memories of Kallia’s own night of terror bubbled to the surface, unbidden. She put her hand on Marialla’s arm. “I’m sorry. So very sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I feigned interest, offered him tea while I prepared myself for bed. Omar wasn’t the only one to know something of poisons.”

  “You killed one of the dark wizard’s pashas? I’m surprised Mol Khah didn’t kill you for that.”

  “I expected him to, but you sprang your little revolt before he had a chance, and I slipped out of the palace during the fire.” Marialla pulled away from her servant and waded toward hotter water. She didn’t go all the way to the other side, but remained within conversation distance. “If only Mol Khah himself had come to me that night, I might have saved you some trouble.”

  Yes, and Saldibar might still be alive. Kallia’s grand vizier and closest friend had died when Mol Khah escaped from the dungeons and cut through her guards.

  “I’ll be even more direct,” Kallia said, not wishing to dwell on the events of the occupation. “I need you to marry Sultan Mufashe.”

  “Oh?” Marialla didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t look surprised, either. “I was hoping for one of Whelan’s handsome brothers. How is a barbarian in bed, anyway? Rough and passionate, or tender and attentive?”

  “You were expecting this?”

  “Why else did you send the grand vizier to Marrabat? Fenerath wouldn’t leave his precious guild unless it was urgent.”

  “We’re at war—there were several reasons. We need Marrabat to keep the camel tribes from raiding into Balsalom, for one. And the sultan has agents and spies in the city. We need to counteract them.”

  “That’s a partial truth.”

  “Yes, partial,” Kallia conceded.

  “What you need—what you always need—is another alliance. If Balsalom sat on the other side of the mountains, the Free Kingdoms might afford us protection, but our city is surrounded by asps and vipers. Very dangerous.” Marialla sank into the water until it reached her chin. “Is this your idea? I’ve never met the sultan.”

  “No,” Kallia said. “It was the sultan’s idea. Or one of his minister’s, anyway.”

  “Why me? The man has wives already. And I’m hardly a fresh peach. I’ve been married twice already, given birth, and will be thirty years old in three months. If you need someone, why not a cousin, or the daughter of a vizier?”

  Kallia had asked herself the same question and had yet to find a satisfying answer. “Who can tell? Maybe he’s bored with child-brides. Maybe he wants to challenge himself against your reputation.”

  Marialla’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, so I have a reputation? Please share.”

  “You know what I mean. In any event, he sent one of his sons as hostage so we’d trust his intentions.”

  “I don’t see what difference that makes. He must have twenty sons—I’m sure he’d sacrifice one for the right advantage.”

  “You think it’s a trap?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m inclined to believe him, if for no other reason than I have an inflated opinion of my own charms. But what’s in it for me?”

  “You’ll live in luxury. They say that the sultan can fill twenty vaults with gold and jewels. He lives in a palace that would put the Grand Palace in Veyre to shame. His wives bathe in asses’ milk, and he sends runners to gather snow from the mountains so he can eat iced coconut milk.”

  “By the Brothers, I do like to be pampered.”

  “Then you’ll marry him?”

  “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

  Kallia drew back in surprise. “Why not?”

  “Ten years ago I would have agreed, maybe even five years ago. But now? I have no desire to marry a fat oaf with twenty wives and twice as many screaming whelps bereft of discipline. Sultan or no.” She shrugged. “I’ve been married twice, and neither man gave me pleasure. Thank the Brothers the Harvester took their selfish, rotten souls.

  “If I marry again,” Marialla continued, “I’ll choose an entirely different man. Perhaps one of your barbarians. What about Whelan’s older brother, Daniel? Although it is a pity that he is no longer king. It lessens his appeal.” She gave Kallia a sly smile. “But I’m in no hurry. I prefer my lovers. They know how to treat a woman.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to persuade you?”

  “You could compel me to marry the sultan, but I’d find a way to misbehave.”

  “I won’t compel you.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to send back the sultan’s son,” Kallia said.

  “From what I hear, that will be a relief for all of Balsalom.”

  The khalifa laughed. “Yes, he’s a troublesome man, with enormous appetites—much like his father. Did you know he brought fifty guards and slaves? They’re destroying my coffers.”

  “See, I’m saving you money. It would probably be cheaper to simply bribe the nomads to go away.”

  “If only that were the end of it,” Kallia said. “Sultan Mufashe boasts thirty thousand men-at-arms. Imagine Whelan with thirty thousand desert dwellers guarding his right flank. We could throw the enemy into the sea before Toth roused himself from the Dark Citadel.”

  She made to climb out of the water.

  “What’s the hurry?” Marialla said. “You only just arrived.”

  “No time. I have an uncomfortable conversation with the sultan’s ambassador to face.”

  “Now wait a moment,” Marialla said. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help you win the sultan’s trust. Only that I wouldn’t marry him.”

  Marialla waded towards Kallia and gestured to her servants. They brought her towels and robes. She climbed from the water and lifted her arms over her head while they dried her. She slipped into her robes and removed the turtle-shell combs from her hair. It fell in waves that flowed halfway down her back.
A girl brushed her hair, while another dabbed her neck and wrists with sweet-smelling oils.

  “Now I’m the one who is intrigued,” Kallia said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “The problem with your plan is that it relies on the sultan’s honor. What if he has none? What if he doesn’t want me for a wife? What if he’s heard that the khalifa of Balsalom is so sentimental that she’d risk herself for a beloved hostage?”

  “To what end?”

  “To the end of seizing Balsalom. For all we know he has an arrangement with the dark wizard. That when the battle for Veyre begins, his thirty thousand men will howl across the desert to attack our exposed underbelly.”

  Kallia climbed from the water and was grateful when two of her sister’s servant girls gave her the same treatment they’d given their mistress.

  “Then why send Hassan as hostage?” she asked.

  Marialla shrugged. “The sultan has many sons. Not all of them honor their father equally.”

  Now dressed, the two women moved away from the steam and took a seat on the benches by the colder water, away from the steam. Marialla sent the girls back to wait with the others on the far side of the pool, out of earshot.

  Kallia considered. “Hassan is so much like his father that I’d assumed they were close allies. But perhaps they are too much alike.”

  “Perhaps. But even if they get along, the bulk of Hassan’s guards and slaves are doubtless spies. They might even now be bribing their way through the palace.”

  “Generally, I prefer the simple explanation,” Kallia said. “And that would be that the sultan is enamored of you. But these are unusual circumstances. What was that you said about winning the sultan’s trust?”

  “I won’t marry Mufashe, but I can certainly pretend that I’ll marry him. Send me in a caravan—a luxurious caravan, as I have no intention of crossing the desert in squalor—and I’ll arrive in Marrabat as if this is my intention. If the situation grows difficult, I’ll see to it that he changes his mind and sends me away.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I can turn off my charms as easily as I turn them on. You leave that detail to me. In the meantime, negotiate any treaties you’d like with the sultan and his son, and I’ll turn the marriage toward your other sister. That will buy time.”