Raim. Had he made it back to Lazar? Or had the cave-in at the tunnel entrance wounded him? All she could remember was the fear as rocks came crashing down around her, the shock at seeing Raim hurtle through the sky off the tall cliff to be with her, the relief that he made it safely – and finally, the searing pain of Khareh’s blade through her chest. After that . . . she remembered nothing else but the yurt.
A flash of bright light interrupted her train of thought as the curtain into the yurt lifted. Wadi shielded her eyes and dropped her quill at the same time.
She recoiled as she recognized the silhouette of the man who entered: Khareh.
He slumped down on some scattered cushions opposite her. A shadow followed him inside, and took up his place at Khareh’s right-hand side.
‘Wadi, I can’t tell you what a day I’ve had.’ Khareh reached up and massaged his temples, before releasing a huge sigh. He then lifted his enormous jaguar-fang crown from his head and cast it aside, as if it were nothing. The crown rolled on the floor, until one of the fangs snagged on the carpet. ‘Being a khan is really tiring.’
‘You mean being a tyrant is.’
Khareh put a hand over his heart. ‘Wadi, you wound me.’
She rolled her eyes.
‘How are those letters going?’
‘Fine.’ Khareh’s request had baffled her. He had asked her to copy out letters that were to be sent to all the warlords in Darhan – most of whom likely couldn’t read. She might have risked putting in a line or two of warning, but Khareh had been clear about the consequences if she tried: she would be the one screaming in endless agony for a month.
Khareh’s eyes darted to his shadow.
‘Seriously?’ He said to the shadow. ‘He’s coming now?’ He paused. ‘Well, stop him. I don’t want to be disturbed.’
It disconcerted Wadi so much to know that the shadow Khareh was speaking to was the spirit of Raim. Part of Raim was in the room with them. Although she didn’t know if she had ever ‘met’ that particular part. She couldn’t imagine any side of the Raim she knew willingly helping Khareh achieve his plans.
The haunt hadn’t managed to relay the message fast enough, as the curtain moved again and from behind it appeared Garus’s pinched, wrinkled face, his head wrapped in an elaborate turban, his long robe made from fine silk and embroidered with luxurious golden thread.
Obviously he wasn’t missing Lazar one bit. There was no hint of the shabbiness Lazarites took a strange sort of pride in. He grew fatter every day that Wadi saw him, a second chin gradually filling out under his long beard, and occasionally he had the glassy-eyed look and hiccupping wobble of a man who was indulging too much in fermented mare’s milk, although today his gaze was clear.
‘My Khan, your great Eminence,’ he started, with his head bowed.
‘GET OUT!’ yelled Khareh from his position on the cushions. ‘I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted! Just give me a few minutes, you spawn of an oathbreaker.’
Wadi flinched from his anger, and so did Garus, who scurried from the yurt like a rat chased by a feral cat. Watching him, Wadi raised an eyebrow, despite herself. It was a small comfort that Khareh treated his closest advisers as badly as he did his prisoners.
‘Sorry about that,’ Khareh said. ‘I’m just so tired of his bleating.’ He rubbed his fingers against his temples. Wadi had to admit, he did look tired. Worn, even. Served him right. ‘At least the days of travelling should be over soon.’
Wadi sat up straighter at that, and Khareh noticed.
He smiled. ‘I know – it’s taking us for ever, isn’t it?’
She let her curiosity get the better of her. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re nearing Yelak. There is a walled city there – Samar – have you heard of it?’ Wadi shook her head, but Khareh continued anyway. ‘It’s a dirty place, not much bigger than Kharein, but the tribes of Yelak are strong. They are ruled by Mermaden, the warlord of Samar.’ Khareh cracked his knuckles, the sound turning Wadi’s stomach. ‘He refuses to pay me tribute, so I must pay him a visit. Moving an army this size is more of a challenge than I’d anticipated. But I suppose that’s what happens when you call all your promised warlords and their tribes to your side.’
‘World domination is tough?’ she said, injecting as much venom into her voice as possible.
‘What would you have me do? If you’re so smart in the ways of ruling, smarter than any of my advisers, smarter than me, tell me what I should do? I’ve spent my whole life training for this, learning how to rule and how to keep the peace, even if my wretched uncle had been planning to strip me of my right to the khanate.’ He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. ‘So, tell me, you, who are just an ignorant desert savage, you think you know more than me?’
‘I know that you’ll never inspire true loyalty if you just go around killing everyone!’
‘Oh really? My uncle’s method of diplomacy worked really well, didn’t it? Do you know how many times neighbouring tribes attacked us during his reign? At least once a month, sometimes back-to-back, without a moment for our people to rest. Each time required soldiers and horses and resources that Darhan just doesn’t have to beat them back. If we amassed as a single people, united under one knot, do you know how much stronger we would be?’
‘Your uncle united more knots in a single rule than all of his predecessors put together.’
‘But not enough, and he was losing them.’ Khareh approached Wadi then, his cloak sweeping the floor. ‘And there’s another threat. Have you heard of the Golden Khan?’
She held her ground, trying not to recoil from his presence. She didn’t want to give him the pleasure of her fear. ‘The myth of the true leader of Darhan.’
‘The myth, yes. What does it say?’
Wadi swallowed hard. ‘It says that the Golden Khan stands as leader over all of Darhan, with a golden carpet laid at his feet.’
‘The golden carpet, that’s right. The Sola desert. If a khan has the desert under his rule, he is the one true leader of not just Darhan, but of all the lands of this world – with Kharein at its centre. But did you know that there’s another myth – the myth of the Golden King?’ He grimaced at the last word, as if it was foreign in his mouth.
Wadi shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to know of it. It’s a legend from the South. The Golden King is the king who rules with a crown of gold on his head. You can guess what that is, right?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘The desert.’
‘Exactly. And the legend goes that he will control all the land and people of the world too, but his centre is in Aqben. Now, when I was just a prince, I thought that we were completely cut off from the South. But now, as Khan, I know that isn’t true. There are still some – especially in the Baril – who maintain a line of communication there. News and messages pass barely once a year, if we’re lucky, but my uncle couldn’t have cared less about what was going on over the other side of the great desert. But I care a great deal. Because I know for a fact that the Southern King has grand ambitions, and he is strong. He has an army with thousands more men than mine, armed to the hilt, better disciplined, more experienced. He has an army designed to conquer. He believes himself to be the Golden King.
‘But while I am Khan, I will never let him conquer Darhan and threaten my people.’
Wadi laughed bitterly. ‘The Golden King, the Golden Khan . . . call yourselves what you will, but it’s all just words. I might be an ignorant desert rat, but it means that I know one thing: No one controls the desert. To believe that it is possible to march an army across it is suicide. Other khans have attempted it, long before your time, and they failed.’
‘If it’s possible that he has figured out a way, I cannot risk it. Do you understand my frustration now? The South has so much more knowledge than us, simply because they actually have a way to share knowledge. It’s not just the elite who can read and write. They value their engineers and their men of letters. They ha
ve disgusting habits too – they not only treat the land like a slave, but they have actual slaves, who serve them. You might think I am evil, but I do not have slaves.
‘Which is why I will gather all of Darhan under my knot, and then I will head to Lazar. I will crush the Southern King’s army before it has a chance of reaching Darhan’s borders.’ As he spoke, he leaned over and picked up his ludicrous crown, placing it back on his head.
A sick feeling returned to Wadi’s stomach as she remembered how quick the Lazarites had been to return to Darhan once they thought Khareh might be a ruler who would forgive them. And how he had treated them in return. ‘What do you want with Lazar? You hate oath-breakers. You’ve said that yourself. I’ve seen how you hate them. And besides, you have to get to Lazar first. The Alashan will fight, and they are the blood and soul of the desert.’
Khareh rubbed his chin and stared at Wadi. ‘Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. I have my own theories about the Alashan.’
Wadi opened her mouth to protest, but Khareh continued. ‘Besides, you are forgetting about my spirit-army. I learned there is a use for oathbreakers, after all. I have an army of shadows that requires no food, no water – what is the desert to them? This is what sets me apart, Wadi. This is what makes me the Golden Khan. I am a sage. The only true sage in Darhan!’
‘But you’re not the only true sage. There is Raim.’
‘Raimanan is weak and in hiding somewhere.’
‘But he’s not dead. And you need him alive.’
With a sigh, Khareh placed both his hands on the coarse wooden top of Wadi’s desk and leaned forward. ‘It would be easier if you would cooperate. I wish you would help me.’
Wadi wished for a weapon, but all she had was her quill. Her quill and an inkpot.
She snatched the inkpot from the desk and threw it at Khareh. He ducked to the side, avoiding the pot, but ending up with a diagonal spray of black ink across his cheek and his bright green tunic. The pot landed with a thud on the carpeted floor, spilling the remainder of its contents into the knotted rug in a thick, black pool.
Wadi gripped the edges of the desk as Khareh’s eyes met hers.
But surprisingly, his tone was calm. He wiped his cheek with the cuff of his tunic. ‘How long has it been since you have seen the sun?’
She couldn’t answer. Fear paralysed her.
‘Come on. I’ll cut your bonds. I have something to show you.’
5
WADI
Outside, there was chaos. Khareh picked his way through the camp, the mish-mash of tents and cooking fires, stopping every now and then to talk with one of his soldiers. Wadi couldn’t help but notice how they cowered in fear as he approached. They bowed their heads low, anxious to avoid any breach in etiquette.
Khareh spoke to them as if he hardly noticed their discomfort.
Now that Khareh was outside, Garus dared to approach him again. Wadi’s stomach turned as he came near. The years of degradation in Lazar seemed to cling to him as he crept up to Khareh’s side like a spider, his eyes constantly shifting from side to side. This was a man desperate for power. And when he couldn’t have power for himself, he latched on to those that did.
‘Garus, you may explain yourself now,’ said the prince-turned-khan. ‘What was so important that you felt the need to interrupt me?’
The old man bowed several times, and Khareh crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against the rich fabric of his tunic.
‘Khareh, Your exultant Highness,’ simpered Garus, ‘I fear I have bad news – two-fold.’
‘Ach, not near the soldiers.’ Khareh clasped Garus on the shoulder, and walked him to where Wadi was lingering, by the entrance of the yurt she had been held captive in. ‘What is it?’
‘With all respect, my khan, we have been moving too quickly. The majority of the caravan has fallen behind. They are a day’s march away.’
Khareh threw his hands up in frustration. ‘What is taking them so long? Do they not know the meaning of “keep up”? Not exactly a difficult command.’
‘Maybe they’re just tired,’ interjected Wadi.
Khareh looked at her sidelong, and Garus gripped his chest as if he was about to have a heart attack, but Khareh didn’t rise to Wadi’s antagonism. ‘You said there were two pieces of bad news. What’s the second?’
Garus tugged at his beard. ‘Well, my Khan, I’m afraid Mermaden has heard of your approach. He’s decided, as you predicted, not to sit behind the safety of his walls. Our scouts say he is sending an advance party to meet you. An advance party that is three times the size of our front battalion.’
‘Only three times? He underestimates me,’ Khareh joked, but he rubbed his chin in thought. ‘I don’t want to face him here. I want the city.’
Wadi studied Khareh’s face. He was looking at Garus, but not – he seemed to be staring beyond the man, through him. Wadi felt a frisson of excitement. Maybe, in the chaos of warfare, she would be able to escape – make a run for it.
She was confident in her ability to survive in Yelak. The land was green, rich and lush, which meant plenty of water – and water meant survival. The desert had prepared her for anything.
She almost jumped as Khareh’s expression changed, and for a dreaded moment, she thought he could read her mind. But as a grin spread over his face, it became very clear that he’d had an idea – Khareh was never so pleased as when he impressed himself with his own genius.
‘Round up all my generals. Inform them that tonight, every man in the camp will light a fire – every man, without exception. Use up all the firewood if we have to; no matter, we will have a city to raid tomorrow night. Spread them out. Let’s make Mermaden’s men think that while his scouts say we are a thousand, our camp seems enough for ten thousand. He won’t come near. Mark my words.’
‘Oh, great one, no one can doubt your genius.’ Garus bowed several times, so vigorously Wadi imagined he might come apart at the waist.
‘Quit your pandering, Garus, and just spread the word. Then tomorrow, I want three generals sent to ask Mermaden to back down and surrender. Maybe we can avoid this siege after all.’ Khareh turned to Wadi. ‘Do not let it be said that I don’t offer a fair chance first, before I crush my opponents.’
Wadi rolled her eyes.
Garus coughed. ‘Oh, Your Eminence, that reminds me. We have the, uh, new tribe to deal with. They have agreed to your terms.’
Khareh’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah, excellent!’ He gestured for Wadi to come closer, but she remained rooted to the spot. ‘I won’t have to take you to see my shadow-army after all – I can take it one step further!’
Dread lined Wadi’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll see,’ he said, his eyes widening. He snapped his fingers at Garus. ‘Let’s get moving then. I want their oaths before nightfall.’
Khareh spun on his heels and followed his rodent-like adviser. Wadi prayed that if she stood still, she would just be forgotten. She had no desire to witness whatever Khareh was about to do.
She had no such luck. Two of his burly guards came and stood either side of her, penning her between them, forcing her to move – or be moved.
She threw off the hand of one of the guards who dared to touch her, and willed her legs into action. The more you know, the more weaknesses you can find, she reminded herself. He will regret the trust he has placed in you.
As she walked further from her yurt prison, Wadi grasped the sheer size of the camp. Groups of soldiers loitered in every corner, huddled around fires, mending their arrows, or tending to their mounts. She walked quickly through them, self-conscious as their eyes slid over her strange clothing – she was still wearing the looser, more billowing clothes of the desert, rather than the leather-and-coarse-silk tunics of Darhan. They did not look at her with lust, but rather with wariness and unease.
Nevertheless, she was a child of Sola, the harshest master in the known world. She was not going to be afraid of a few lowly soldiers.
&
nbsp; She turned her attention to the forest beyond the camp, and what she saw there took her breath away. She couldn’t remember seeing such a place in her lifetime. Impossibly tall trees rose high in the sky, their trunks thin but straight as an arrow shaft. Their leaves, too, reminded Wadi of the plumes of an arrow, bristly rather than flat. The ground underfoot was trampled, but beneath the trees she could see it was covered with a rich carpet of moss and wild flowers.
Of course, the vast forest played its part for the army. The army used the trunks to tie up hammocks, for it was plenty warm enough to sleep outside, rather than cooped up in a stuffy tent. In that way, Wadi was lucky. The yurt she slept in was airy, erected in a large clearing. Khareh could have treated her a lot worse.
An ear-splitting crack filled the air and Wadi almost dropped to her knees in shock.
Khareh looked back over his shoulder. ‘They’re felling some of the trees deeper in the forest.’
As he spoke, Wadi heard the anxious shouts of men, and saw the treetops shake as one of their number came down. ‘They’re for my siege engines,’ Khareh continued. ‘Battering rams, catapults, that sort of thing. This forest is perfect for some of my new inventions. Not that I’ll need them if things go to plan.’ Khareh pouted, like a child denied his toys. ‘No matter. With the knowledge I’ll gain from Samar, I’ll be able to perfect all my weaponry.’
Wadi took a deep breath. Even though she knew Khareh would never abandon traditional weapons of warfare for his new shadow-army, seeing it coming to life in the forest around her was frightening. When Khareh’s attention was distracted, she turned around to one of her guards. ‘Why do you follow him? Why do you—’ but before the words could even leave her mouth, the soldier shook his head furiously and moved his hand to his sword hilt.
At first, she was confused. But then it became obvious. Although she was a prisoner, she was also being kept in Khareh’s inner circle; they thought she might be looking for a way to turn Khareh against them. She was a foreigner too – they could tell that by her accent, her mode of dress and the very colour of her skin. No, these soldiers would not talk to her. She was alone.
The Shadow’s Curse Page 3