by John Marco
A sense of failure gripped her. She sank deeper into the bath bubbles, until her chin was almost submerged. The man massaging her took it as his cue to stop.
‘Shall I do your feet now, mistress?’ he asked as he towelled his hands dry. Jazana Carr smiled weakly. His name was Habran of Ganjor. He had smooth, dark skin and a handsome face. From the moment he had touched her Jazana had fallen in love with his skilled hands. That was three years ago, and he had stayed with her ever since, willingly following her into hellholes like Harn because she paid him well and because he truly seemed to enjoy indulging her. Jazana Carr had no slaves. She detested the institution because it was what men did to women and she would have none of it. But she could not help the way men enslaved themselves.
‘Yes, all right,’ she said, then raised one foot out of the water. Habran chose a lime green oil from his table of ornate bottles, rubbed the fragrant stuff between his hands, then went to work on his mistress’ foot, cradling each painted toe. The sensation made Jazana’s eyes flutter.
‘My lady is bothered,’ said Habran in his thick accent. He was something of a confidant to Jazana Carr, and always spoke freely. Rodrik and her other soldiers often said that Habran was more woman than man. Perhaps that was why she liked him so much. ‘You are queen now. I expected smiles. Why do you brood, my queen?’
As Habran worked the space between her toes, Jazana wondered how she should answer. There were so many things troubling her suddenly. ‘For years I have talked of this moment, Habran,’ she said. ‘Always I boasted of the things I would do, how I would free Norvor from Lorn and make it better. And now I have Norvor but Lorn is still alive, on the loose somewhere, and I have all his burdens to deal with.’
‘It was what you wanted, my lady,’ Habran reminded her. There was a touch of reproach in his tone.
‘I know, and don’t be insolent.’
Habran grinned. ‘There is something else bothering you, my lady.’
‘You are in my mind again? It’s amazing. You’re good at everything. Very well. Share your insight with me.’
‘The child. You wanted the baby girl.’
Habran did not stop working as he spoke, but his words made Jazana freeze. Flustered by his deduction, Jazana almost pulled her foot away.
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted.
It surprised her how much she had wanted Lorn’s child. At first it had just seemed like a good way to anger him, but then she had realised the truth — she wanted the child because she’d never had one. Although she had adopted dozens of children orphaned by the war, none of the offspring of her vanquished foes had been infants, and none of them had ever appreciated her kindness. They were bitter because they remembered their fathers and what she had done to them, and were incapable of returning her love. She had even killed some of the male children, those who had vowed to slay her someday. But Lorn’s child was different. At barely nine months old, she hadn’t had the ability to really know her father. She could have been raised by Jazana as her own, and that thought had comforted her. She was a woman who had taken countless men to her bed over the years, but none of her useless lovers had ever given her a child. She supposed she might be barren, but she preferred to blame her mates for her empty womb, all of whom were too impotent to impregnate her.
‘I am old,’ Jazana sighed. ‘And now I can never have a child of my own.’
‘But you are beautiful, my queen,’ said Habran.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, because she knew it was so. ‘But I am past the years of child-bearing. I think you are right, Habran. I think I wanted that baby for my own.’
‘Because you truly wanted her? Or because you merely thought having King Lorn’s daughter would legitimise your rule?’
This time Jazana Carr did pull back. ‘What a question!’ Angrily she sank her foot back into the tub, splashing water over the edge. The lutist momentarily stopped playing and flicked his eyes toward her. ‘Don’t look at me, you troll. Get out!’
Without a word the servant hurried out of the pavilion. Habran remained at the foot of the tub, quiescent. He was accustomed to Jazana Carr’s rages and so no longer feared them.
‘I do not need a brat to legitimise my rule,’ she snapped.
‘No, my queen.’
‘And I do not need the advice of a perfumed man-girl from Ganjor either!’
‘No, my queen. Shall I do your other foot now?’
‘No,’ said Jazana petulantly. ‘You’ve ruined my bath, Habran, and my mood. Go now, let me rest.’
‘In the bath? Wouldn’t you like your robe?’
‘Leave me alone, Habran.’
The man from Ganjor left the pavilion, abandoning his oils and perfumes. Suddenly Jazana Carr was aware how empty her tent was, despite its fine furnishings. A brazier of coals stood not far from the copper tub, warming the space nearby. There were others like it throughout the tent. Outside, Jazana Carr heard the voices of her mercenary army as they prepared to march for Carlion in the morning. It would be a triumphant journey for them, and Jazana had given them permission to celebrate. Wines and beers were unkegged and musicians moved through the ranks. The smell of spitted birds hung heavily about the camp. Jazana had even allowed prostitutes to be brought in from nearby villages to entertain her men, who were hungry for the rut after weeks on the road. She didn’t like prostitutes or how men treated them, but it was one way of preventing rapes in the cities they conquered. The thought disgusted her. She shifted uncomfortably in the bathtub to stretch her back. Men had disappointed her all her life, from her father on down to her last lover, Thorin Glass. As she had so often over the past year, she wondered where Thorin was now.
No, she chastised herself. Don’t. Don’t pine for him or be weak. You are the queen!
She smiled, and her melancholy began to lift. She was queen. Not even Lorn could stop her now, wherever he was hiding. She began to relax again, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm bath, when she heard a sound at the entrance of her pavilion. The familiar throat-clearing told her it was Rodrik Varl, returned from Carlion. She opened her eyes, happy to see her bodyguard on the threshold, the tent flap closed behind him. With his customary twinkling eyes and jaunty feathered cap, she couldn’t tell if he was tired from his long journey. He grinned wolfishly.
‘My lady,’ he said with a bow, taking off his cap.
‘Rodrik, how long have you been staring at me?’
‘Just long enough to enjoy myself, my lady.’ Carefully he put the cap back on his red hair and strode into the pavilion. ‘The others are enjoying themselves, and after all I missed most of the merriment.’
He was a scoundrel but she couldn’t help adoring him. She always had, because he was loyal and protected her. She sat up. ‘Get a good look then, and tell me what you found in Carlion.’
Rodrik Varl turned away, fixing his eyes on the brazier. ‘Ah, now if you won’t have any modesty then I will have it for you, my lady.’
‘Tell me about Carlion.’
‘It’s as Gondoir said; Carlion has fallen and he’s taken full control. Prisoners have been taken but none of them are talking about Lorn. They don’t seem to know where he’s gone. He may be dead after all.’
‘He’s not dead,’ said Jazana. ‘Did you find the manservant?’
‘He’s outside. I thought you might like a chance to dress yourself before speaking to him.’ Varl continued averting his eyes. ‘I’ve already questioned him, but it’s as Gondoir said — if he knows anything, he’s keeping it to himself.’
Lord Gondoir was one of Duke Rihards’ men, a nobleman who had helped the duke take Carlion. Jazana had only met Gondoir once, while negotiating the dead duke’s treachery. After the fall of the city, Gondoir had sent word to her of Lorn’s disappearance. He had interrogated the prisoners, all of whom claimed to know nothing. But the interrogation had turned up someone who might know — Lorn’s manservant Uralak.
‘Bring him in. I want to speak to him,’ she said, then stepped out of the bat
htub. Immediately the cold air assailed her. Without being asked, Varl hurriedly retrieved her robe and helped her slither into it. She sat down in a plush chair near the brazier to warm herself.
‘What good will that do?’ Varl asked. ‘If he wouldn’t talk to Gondoir he won’t talk to a woman.’ The mercenary smiled. ‘No offence, my lady.’
‘Just bring him,’ said Jazana. There was a plate of sweetmeats next to her chair and warm tea in an exquisite porcelain pot. She snatched up one of the morsels, popped it between her ruby lips, then poured herself some tea. When she noticed Varl still standing there she said, ‘I’d offer you some but you have an errand to run. Off with you now. .’
Varl grimaced and left the pavilion. When he was gone the Diamond Queen laughed delightedly. They had been together many years, and had always teased each other. She suspected Rodrik loved her, but that didn’t change anything. He was a mercenary at heart and loyal to money, and she could never return his affection. He was simply too valuable to her. Varl returned a few minutes later, this time with two more Norvan mercenaries and an old man dangling by the arms between them. His face had been horribly contused. His swollen eyes looked at Jazana as he was dumped on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. Jazana Carr sipped her tea as she regarded the man. He hardly seemed a threat, and she wondered how necessary his bindings were.
‘Your name is Uralak?’
The old man got to his feet. ‘Uralak of Carlion,’ he said proudly. ‘And you’ll get nothing from me, Bitch-Queen.’
Varl poised to strike him, but Jazana held up a hand. She asked the man, ‘You served King Lorn?’
‘I did, and I did so gladly. He was a great king.’
Jazana laughed. ‘He was a tyrant and a coward. He fled Carlion in secret and left you to die. That should bother you, but you’re too stupid to realise it.’ She rested the teacup in her lap. ‘Rodrik tells me you’ve already been interrogated. So far you haven’t told us anything useful.’
‘Nor will I,’ spat Uralak.
‘And the other prisoners, they had nothing useful to say either. But they were more than willing to point a finger at you, to tell us that you were closer to Lorn than anyone else in Carlion. So not only are you protecting a king that left you to die, but now you’re protecting other dogs like yourself who were all too eager to turn you over to me just to save their pathetic skins.’
Jazana studied the man, waiting for her words to penetrate. Uralak dropped his gaze to the floor. She could tell she had stung him.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she hastened to add. ‘There’s nothing for you to fear. I didn’t bring you here to execute you.’
‘I won’t tell you where King Lorn is, because I don’t know,’ said the old man. ‘And if I did, I would never say.’
‘I believe you,’ said Jazana. With her dainty hands she put the cup and saucer down on the table and rose to stand before Uralak, ignoring the way her robe fell open. For a moment Uralak’s eyes lingered on her. He forced himself to look away.
‘Whore,’ he muttered. ‘Norvor will never accept you as queen.’
‘Oh, but they will. And you’re going to help me, Uralak. That’s why I brought you here.’
The manservant looked at her. ‘What?’
Jazana Carr stepped up to him, unafraid because his hands were tied, and put her face close enough to his so that their breaths comingled. ‘I am a woman, Uralak, and that frightens you. That’s why you condemn me. But I’m going to change that. I’m going to show this ancient wasteland what I can do, and men like you are going to have to sit back and watch, because there’s nothing you can do to stop me. That’s how you’re going to help me, Uralak. By bearing witness to my greatness.’
Uralak began to shudder. Jazana could see the rage cresting in him. Rodrik Varl took one step closer, ready to protect his queen. Still Jazana was unafraid.
‘Go forth, Uralak. Go back to Carlion if you like. Tell them that the Diamond Queen is coming, and that their lives will never be the same.’
‘They will hate you,’ said Uralak. ‘As I hate you.’
‘They will love me, because I will free them and feed them and take them to my bosom, and I will show the women of Carlion that they have worth, and any man that speaks against me will die. I could punish you, Uralak, but I will not. I could snap your spine on a rack or let you linger on a noose until you die, but I think I have a far worse torture for you. You will be my herald.’ Turning away, Jazana sat herself down again. With a dismissive wave she said, ‘Take him away. Give him a mount and send him south again.’
Rodrik Varl seemed stunned. ‘That’s it? After all I did to bring him here?’
‘He doesn’t know where Lorn is, and he doesn’t even care that he’s been betrayed. If you tortured him night and day he’d never change. Do as I say and let him ride away. Uralak, I don’t care where you go. As long as you live, you will have to watch and endure me, and you will see that you are wrong.’
‘I would rather die,’ said Uralak. ‘Take me back to Carlion or execute me here. I don’t care which, but I don’t want to live in your Norvor, Bitch-Queen.’
‘But you will live,’ said Jazana. ‘You will live and suffer my rule, and perhaps someday you will learn. Now get out of my sight, you shrivelled reptile.’ She snapped her long fingers at Varl’s two men, saying, ‘Take him away.’
The two mercenaries did so at once, dragging Uralak from the pavilion. Rodrik Varl remained behind. His ruddy face told Jazana how disappointed he was, but she tried to ignore it.
‘I want to get dressed now,’ she said. ‘Go and find Faruna for me.’
‘Jazana, you wasted my time. I rode to Carlion to bring him back for you, and now you’re just going to release him?’
‘I needed to see him,’ Jazana explained. ‘I needed to see the loyalty in his eyes.’ She grew melancholy again. ‘He was so true, wasn’t he? I’ve never had devotion like that.’
Rodrik Varl hovered over her a moment, then fell to one knee. ‘I am devoted to you, Jazana. Never doubt that.’
His love was frightening sometimes. She took his hand. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. But you are one man, Rodrik, and now I have a nation to persuade. I am afraid old Uralak is right. I’m afraid they will never accept me.’
‘You will do it, my lady.’ Rodrik Varl bowed his red head. ‘They will love you as I love you.’
Jazana let him stay at her feet, not wanting to send him away. His presence comforted her, the way Thorin used to comfort her. But she did not share his optimism. Rodrik was a rare breed among Norvan men, willing to follow and respect a woman. She would not find such willingness in Carlion.
‘We leave tomorrow,’ she told him.
Rodrik Varl nodded, squeezed her hand, then rose. ‘Then I will make ready. Now dress yourself and come and be with the rest of us. The men want to see you.’
Jazana agreed. She waited until the girl Faruna arrived to help her dress, then went out among her men to celebrate the fall of King Lorn.
For the next day and a half, Jazana Carr’s army snaked its way south toward Carlion. Along the way they passed Rolga, where they rested and met with Count Onikil, the man who had taken control of the city after Rihards’ death. Onikil told the Diamond Queen that his city was quiet and that he had heard nothing of King Lorn’s whereabouts. Jazana Carr left Rolga satisfied that her new nation was taking shape. As she continued south, word reached her that Poolv and Vicvar had also quieted, and that the populations of those two strongholds were gradually adjusting to the idea of their new queen.
Still, Jazana brooded. Until she had the loyalty of Carlion, she could not be certain of her rule. The road to the capital was hard and treacherous, but she was accustomed to riding and so did not complain. She had always ridden her own horse, disdaining carriages as the purview of weaker women. Lost in her own thoughts, she took the lead as her mercenary cavalry crossed the bleak valleys of stone and stunted forests, her bodyguard Rodrik Varl always close. They were nea
rly a thousand strong, and providing for an army so large had cost Jazana dearly. More, the gifts they bore for Carlion on the backs of pack animals had also depleted her funds, but Jazana didn’t care. Her many diamond mines provided her with nearly inexhaustible riches, and now she had the taxes of Norvor’s barons to help pay her accounts. She only hoped the people of Carlion would be grateful for her gifts. She was bribing them, surely. But she had long ago learned that loyalty wasn’t earned — it was purchased.
Rodrik Varl, who had been talking to one of his companions, a jet-haired mercenary from Reec, noticed the pensive expression on his mistress’ face and abruptly broke off his conversation. He sidled his brown gelding up beside Jazana’s own splendid horse and smiled.
‘Ah, my lady, is it not a beautiful day to ride into your new capital?’
Jazana nodded. She had hardly noticed the day. ‘It is that. But Carlion won’t be my home, Rodrik.’
‘Mmm, I’d been wondering about that,’ said Rodrik. His grin vanished. ‘Eager to keep your promise, then?’
The promise was something Rodrik periodically mentioned. He drew great pleasure in needling her about her former love, Thorin Glass. She had vowed that she would kill his family someday, the one he had left behind in Liiria, and conquer that great country for her own. It was to be done as soon as she’d vanquished Lorn and claimed Norvor. Thinking about her bleak promise made Jazana uneasy. It was an ugly boast, but Thorin had broken her heart. And she had never reneged on her vow, but rather kept it deep inside her, quietly brewing, waiting for its day. When she didn’t answer, Rodrik prodded her again.
‘We have our own nation to quell first, Jazana,’ he reminded her. ‘It won’t be easy.’
‘Nor do I think it will be easy.’
‘But you will return to Hanging Man?’
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’