Goddess (19 page)

Lazar thought of Pez, prayed he would find them somehow. ‘We head west, then. I have some ideas too,’ he lied, praying Pez would make contact soon. ‘Come, Jumo,’ he said, liking the sound of his friend’s name rolling off his tongue again. The falcon gave a brief, soft whistling sound and Lazar felt an instant bond.

They left their horses with the Khalid in exchange for camels and would exchange the beasts back for the horses upon their return. Salim and Lazar never discussed ownership of the horses should the Percherese not re-emerge from the desert, as if to talk of it might be a bad omen.

Herezah awoke with a start and a hammering heart. She had dreamed of herself laughing with King Falza, who looked very similar to Lazar. He had been enchanted by her witty retorts and gracious attention. She had impressed him with her hospitality and charmed him with her tinkling laugh and engaging personality. He had just leaned across to his general—although who knows what that fellow was doing in her dreams—to discuss the withdrawal of the Galinsean fleet and Herezah was imagining her son returning to a peaceful city because of her ingenuity, when the door burst open. In stomped a squattish, paunchy woman of indeterminate age but definitely well past her prime, with washed-out brown hair piled on her head and held in place by a clip studded with gems. The woman’s face was powdered, adding to her pale, floury appearance, but her skin was oily and she wore a light sheen about her forehead and nose.

‘Angeline!’ Falza exclaimed.

The wife? Herezah had smiled for the woman reminded her of mounds of rathas before frying, an
entire pyramid of them rolled together to form one huge wobbly ball of ratha.

The Queen of Galinsea had yelled at her husband in guttural Galinsean, of which Herezah was only able to understand a small amount. She made out the word that meant to lie and something about livestock. Perhaps it was the word ‘pig’? She couldn’t be sure. Falza was on his feet, yelling straight back at her in Percherese—which was curious but helpful—and then Pez cartwheeled into the room and urinated on the ratha mound’s silks. The dream turned decidedly dark at this point as the Queen of Galinsea had withdrawn a bow and arrow, of all the ridiculous weapons, and carefully taken aim.

‘No!’ the king had yelled.

‘Not you, my darling,’ the queen had said quietly, also in perfect Percherese. ‘You are too precious to our realm. But I can’t let you jeopardise our plans,’ and she had swung the bow to point squarely at Herezah and let loose with her killer arrow, catching the Valide in the throat.

Herezah exploded into consciousness, breathing raggedly, hardly daring to believe that it had only been a nightmare. Gradually her breathing evened out. The dream had lost much of its clarity and she’d already begun to forget the fear, telling herself it was just a silly dream as Elza came bustling and curtseying into the chamber.

‘Good morning, Valide. Are you well?’ the servant asked, throwing open shutters.

‘Distracted,’ Herezah replied. ‘Where is my tea?’

‘The lemon infusion was too sour, Valide. I have sent it back and ordered a pot of pomegranate tea instead,’ Elza offered, and Herezah could see the woman cringing, awaiting the inevitable tirade. But she couldn’t be bothered with trivia any more.

‘Get me my silk wrap.’

Elza threw it around the Valide’s shoulders as Herezah stepped into soft slippers. ‘Pack up my chamber, Elza. We’re moving.’

The servant could not hide her astonishment. ‘Where to, Valide?’

‘Crown Valide, please, Elza. You are the person who takes care of my most intimate needs and you must set the tone for the other slaves.’

‘Yes, Crown Valide, forgive me.’

‘We’re moving into the palace proper. I don’t plan to take audiences with visitors having to run from the harem every hour of the day!’

‘No, Crown Valide, but has Grand Master Salmeo given his, er, his permission?’ Elza stammered.

‘His permission?’ Herezah said, her voice sharp enough to cut ice. ‘Elza, have you any notion of what my new status means?’

‘Yes, Crown Valide.’

‘Then you should know I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, save that of the Zar himself—and he is not here. I rule in his stead. I will not be imprisoned in the harem and I owe no
fealty to Salmeo outside of its walls. Even inside them I believe a Zar by proxy or a Crown Valide, however you choose to think of me, has far more status.’ Herezah wasn’t convinced that the servant agreed with her on this last point; she looked doubtful despite the polite curtsey. ‘So get things organised. We move out this morning—I think the Peacock Suite will suit me. Now go away and make the arrangements. I shall dress myself, but have the Zar’s private secretary meet me in the salon just outside the harem immediately.’

Elza’s anxiety was plain on her face but she disappeared to her duties as she was bid. Herezah quickly dressed herself in some day clothes and hooked a thick veil across her face. Bin wouldn’t even be able to tell it was her, if not for her voice. She hurried to the appointed chamber and soon enough the Elim who had escorted her announced the secretary had arrived.

Bin bowed low. Herezah was familiar enough with him to feel relatively at ease, although this new one-to-one situation would test this comfort.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly,’ Herezah began, deciding this was one fellow she needed on her side and politeness and appreciation towards him would go a long way.

‘It is my role now, Crown Valide, to serve you.’

She inclined her head. ‘Bin, I wish to set up a meeting with the Galinseans. I presume my son has briefed you that this was something he wished.’

‘He did. Do you have a plan for how you would like this to unfold, Crown Valide?’ He noticed her frown and continued. ‘Do you prefer me to make arrangements for you to visit the Isles of Plenty, or that we request that someone from the Galinsean hierarchy visit the Palace first? Or perhaps you have some other ideas?’

‘The Zar cautioned that we are not in a position to make demands of the Galinseans,’ Herezah replied. ‘But then again I am not inclined to set off across the bay aboard a ship.’ She looked again to him for his guidance.

‘It is not my place, Crown Valide, to tell you how you should behave—’

‘No, but I am asking for your advice, Bin. In the absence of my son, the Spur and, I suppose, the Grand Vizier, it is up to you and me to make these decisions. I could consult some of the more senior dignitaries around the palace but the Zars of Percheron have always prided themelves on resolving political issues within these very walls. I don’t wish to dilute my son’s powers by seeking their aid.’

‘The more input, the more muddied those matters become, you mean, Crown Valide?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And next they’ll be offering advice you have not requested,’ he added.

‘Quite,’ she said, pleased that she was dealing with someone with a sharp intelligence. Bin had always seemed so young to her. He was barely
older than Boaz and she had been worried by her son’s choice of someone so young in such an important role, but now she was seeing the wisdom of Boaz’s selection.

‘The way I would recommend, then, Majesty,’ Bin began, for the first time addressing her by the title that most pleased her, ‘is that we suggest a meeting of the royals on neutral territory.’

‘Ah.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Where would you suggest?’

‘Outside the Bay of Percheron in the close-by waters of the Faranel. They belong to neither Galinsea nor Percheron but are easily accessed by both royals from their present locales. You would only have a day’s travel at most, Highness, and the Galinseans would face a similar journey. Galinsea would be permitted one ship, yourself the same. We would need to talk with Ghassal regarding the meeting specifics, on which vessel it would take place and so on. Ghassal has specialist lieutenants who are in charge of our fleet, Highness, and they would advise us best in this matter.’

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Bin. Can I leave it up to you to pursue this matter? I would like to set up this meeting for the next couple of days.’

His eyes widened. ‘Then I must move quickly, Majesty. Is there anything else for the time being that I can help with?’

She was about to say no but nodded instead. ‘I am moving into the Peacock Suite and will take
all messages there from now on. Please organise a salon where I can receive visitors who relate to state matters.’ He nodded. ‘I no longer want the escort of the Elim. I do not belong to the harem for the time being. I wish you to set up a guard from the mutes.’

She watched the secretary’s nostrils flare briefly, but to his credit, Bin simply nodded. ‘Of course, Crown Valide. I’m sure the Zar would want all resources put to work for you.’

‘And because I do not understand the special sign language that you and my son use with such ease to communicate with the mutes, I wish you to instruct them that no-one from the harem is admitted to see me merely on the basis that I am one of its members. Until the Zar of Percheron returns I am his representative in all matters and in stature. It would not be fitting for me to be receiving any instructions from Grand Master Eunuch Salmeo, for instance,’ she said carefully.

Bin didn’t blink. ‘Of course. That is how it should be.’

She smiled behind her veil. ‘Thank you, Bin. Perhaps you could get a message to the harem for me as you leave?’

He was already bowing, having heard the polite dismissal. ‘I would be happy to do so.’

‘In that case ask Salmeo to visit me in the Peacock Suite at Fifth Bell.’

The secretary nodded. ‘It will be done, Crown
Valide,’ he assured, departing quietly. Herezah knew her orders were in good hands.

Alone once more, the new Crown Valide remembered her nightmare and experienced a vague notion of residual fear but the situation and details of the dream had all but vanished. That would explain why she absently moved her hand to her throat, but the meaning of the gesture was lost on her. She dismissed her faint dread as being nothing more than nervousness of what lay ahead and busied herself in preparation to charm a king.

This was their first full day on camels and the memories rushed back to Maliz. There were moments, like now, when he regretted his interest in Boaz. Perhaps he should have chosen some other bright young thing to inhabit for the next cycle but then, he reminded himself, Boaz did offer marvellous status and wealth and access to women. Of course, there was always Lazar, but somehow Maliz didn’t think even he could persuade Lazar to invite him into his body. As it was, he realised that Boaz would have to be coerced. He wouldn’t be tricked as easily as Tariq but Maliz was sure there would be a weakness that could be exploited. He just had to find it…and fast.

There was no weakness, as far as he could tell, in the wretchedly arrogant Spur. He was increasingly convinced that the Spur was not just a follower of Lyana but an important disciple. He
had long ago decided that Lazar was connected with Lyana’s struggle, but now he believed this prince, masquerading as a soldier, was intrinsic to this cycle. He had no idea what the Spur’s role might be, though; there had never been this person in any previous battles. It was frustrating because there was no magic of Lyana within Lazar—Maliz had touched him to be certain—and yet Maliz could not let the thought go. Right now Lazar remained useful but his time would come too.

He cast a glance the Galinsean’s way, noted how proud the Spur looked atop his camel as he whispered sweet words to the falcon perched silently on his arm.

Yes, indeed. His time would come.

Lazar felt the weight of the Grand Vizier’s gaze fall upon him but he did not glance his way. It was obvious Maliz was measuring him, wondering what Lazar knew. And Lazar had only himself to blame for this fresh interest; he had baited the demon with innuendo. Well, the demon needed him for now. As long as he was leading them towards Ana, and in turn another step closer to Lyana, Lazar knew he was safe. After that, he was expendable and it was likely that Maliz would act upon that fact.

He stroked Jumo, already feeling as though the two of them belonged together, and wondered how in Lyana’s name, he was going to find Ana.

Boaz was having similar private thoughts, although his were more sinister.

He was not wondering how they would find Ana, so much as when. He held no doubt that somehow Lazar would lead them to the Zaradine. And when he got to this fortress they spoke of and finally confronted the man who had stolen his wife, he would take great personal pleasure in killing him.

And then he would kill Zaradine Ana, but take no pleasure in it.

Iridor flew. He was not ready to consider himself entirely Iridor, even though he had to accept that from hereon the owl shape was all that was left to him. There would be no more cartwheeling in palace corridors or belching at opportune moments to achieve the personally amusing silence his bad behaviour could provoke. There would be no more accidentally-on-purpose treading on toes or screeching so loudly that he could terrify the Elim Guard. Pez the dwarf no longer existed, other than in his mind.

No body would ever float to the top of the bay and alert the palace to his fate. Neither would it, as Maliz had planned, sink too deep or be pulled out to sea. There was no body; it had disappeared in the single instant that he had transformed into Iridor. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he had lifted himself free of the water and, despite soggy feathers, had flown far enough to dry out on a rock. Later he had flown to Star Island, amazed that his bird form had suffered no ill effects from his trauma, even though Pez’s body had taken such punishment.

But there was no more time for sorrow. Ellyana had ordered him to leave his grief in the Faranel’s depths and to emerge from the water a new individual. It must have sounded appropriate to Ellyana but to Iridor the words were hollow, all but meaningless. How do you leave yourself behind? How do you suddenly stop sadness? It is not a tap to be twisted on or off at will. But it was Lyana’s will that he return from certain death in the form of the owl—he had no choice if he wanted to live, wanted to go on fighting in her name. And though he had chosen life in front of Ellyana, privately he had chosen revenge. He wanted to see Maliz not so much suffering—as he had made Pez suffer—but destroyed.

He had to find Lazar and knew the Spur would be heading west into the desert. They would have met up with their camels and probably with the Khalid by now. He estimated the royal caravan would have been travelling for a full day and would be approaching the second night. It was important he reach Lazar through this night for he needed to direct them on the fastest route to the cleverly disguised fortress. Arafanz had not sited himself that far from Percheron in fact; certainly deep enough into the desert that his presence drew no stray visitors, but his fortress was cunningly positioned away from the traditional slaving and trading routes, though still within easy striking distance of the city. No wonder the leader of the assassins felt so confident of his own success.

Iridor flew harder, ignoring fatigue, hunger, fear. Lazar needed to know that it was time to veer north into the area known as the Empty Quarter.

It took Iridor the rest of that day, resting a few hours in the hottest hours of the next, then flying through the early evening and night, before he first spotted the dark, snaking shape of the plodding camels. From the height he was travelling, they were at first a dark smudge on the relentlessly burning yellow landscape. As he flew slightly lower and got closer, Iridor could recognise the Khalid. He was sure it would be Salim and his men again. The Khalid didn’t care to travel without hawks or falcons but Iridor knew the hunting birds would be hooded for the night, so he dropped as low as he dared, skimming just above the desert sand, hoping none of the men would see him. He could feel the heat of the earth searing into his belly. It was summer heat of the sort to invite the Samazen to come and play in the desert. He would remain at a distance from the men whilst daylight lasted and hope to see Lazar after dark.

He had been too frightened to use any sort of mindspeak. It didn’t matter that Maliz was nowhere near; his experience at nearly being exposed had scared him from reaching out with the Lore.

By the time dusk arrived, fires were going, decent food was being prepared—they obviously still had fresh meat at this stage—and Iridor could
hear the low voices of men carrying across the darkening silence. He flew soundlessly to alight atop a low dune, remaining in the shadows.

Now he just had to remain patient and pick his moment. The Spur was sitting quietly, removed slightly from the rest of the group, as was his way. There were seven other men and most had their backs to Pez. They were all dressed so plainly, with blankets around their shoulders to keep out the desert chill, that he could not tell which was Boaz. He hoped Lazar wasn’t taking such a large party towards the fortress. Arafanz would know of it long before they came within view of the cunningly concealed structure.

Lazar, it’s me, I’m here
. He spoke across the sand directly into the Spur’s mind.

There was silence from Lazar although he suddenly looked agitated, Iridor noted. Worse, one of the group suddenly stood up and a commotion ensued.

‘What was that for?’ It was Boaz’s voice that he heard.

Lazar!
Iridor tried again.

The man who had been hopping around—and now Pez could see had dropped his mug of quishtar—had his head cocked slightly to one side and was scanning the dunes as if looking for him.

In surprise Iridor dropped his body low and flat. He heard Lazar’s voice, uncharacteristically loud. ‘What are you doing, Tariq?’

Tariq! So Maliz was here. In his haste and the trauma of his near death he had forgotten Lazar’s warning. Iridor felt a tingle of fear pass from his body through to his wingtips.

‘What is it?’ he heard Boaz’s irritated voice again, then he recognised Salim’s voice asking Lazar something in the desert language.

He peeped over the dune and saw Lazar stand and bark various orders. Iridor picked out the Zar, who had cast off his blanket in surprise at the Grand Vizier’s behaviour. He heard Lazar speak to Boaz briefly, as if he were a mere servant and not his Zar. To Salim he said something low and angry that Iridor couldn’t make out. But to the demon he spoke clearly, loud enough that his words carried to Iridor hiding in the dunes.

‘Tariq, are you all right?’

Finally Iridor locked his keen gaze on the Grand Vizier. He could feel Maliz’s tendrils of magic reaching out in an ever-widening arc. Iridor dragged in every ounce of his Lore, gathering it up into a tiny ball as best he could and burying it deep inside himself. Maliz must not, under any circumstances, know of his survival, let alone that Iridor was now present. He felt sickened that he had been so careless. He should have checked, should have waited and watched the group for longer. He couldn’t bear to look and dipped behind the dune again, listening intently.

‘Tariq!’ It was Lazar again, doing his best to distract the demon.

‘I’m sorry,’ Maliz said finally. ‘I thought…’

‘Fayiz, go help make a new brew,’ Lazar said, disgusted.

Iridor wondered who Fayiz was. He had to be one of their group, rather than Khalid, because Lazar was speaking Percherese.

‘Are you burned?’ Lazar asked, obviously to the Grand Vizier. Iridor hoped he was.

‘I thought I heard something,’ Maliz replied. Iridor knew better. The demon had more likely felt a rush of magic wash over him.

‘I heard nothing,’ Lazar replied, matter-of-factly.

‘I think we should do a search of the dunes.’

Lazar laughed. ‘And which of the twenty or so in the immediate vicinity did you mean?’

‘All of them,’ Maliz replied, and his tone was not respectful.

‘Tariq, believe me, the Khalid are more attuned to the sound of the desert than you could ever hope to be. Had something disturbed them, they would have reacted faster than you. Swords would already be drawn.’

‘I insist, Lazar.’

‘Out here, Grand Vizier, you insist on nothing. There is only all of you and there is me, your superior. Fayiz, hurry up with that quishtar,’ Lazar growled. ‘Now, I suggest you settle back down. I heard nothing, other than the sigh of the desert.’

Inwardly Iridor had to smile. There was nothing more biting than an angry Spur Lazar. He realised now that talking to his friend was going to be
impossible unless they met in person. He would have to be patient. In the meantime he would hunt. He needed nourishment, even if it was desert rat. Silently he flew away into the deep of the night.

Lazar’s heart was hammering. That had been close—too close. Maliz was drinking the fresh brew but Lazar could tell the demon was far from relaxed. He noted how he pretended to gaze at the flames of the fire but the dark, shrouded eyes were constantly scanning the dunes for any sign of the owner of the magic that had disturbed him.

As much as the manner in which Pez had announced his arrival had terrified Lazar, he could not escape the heartfelt sense of relief to hear his old friend’s voice in his head again. He wanted to shout his delight either aloud or across the strange mind-link but he dared not do either.

Pez would be sensibly watching from a safe vantage, he was sure. At some point Lazar would have to excuse himself, although he suspected the demon would now watch his every move. He’d need an excuse to disappear. He could claim he needed to relieve himself but that would not permit him long, and no-one would care or notice if the Grand Vizier followed, as he almost certainly would. No, he needed a far more compelling excuse to get away from the main group and be left to speak privately with Pez face to face.

Suddenly he realised that Boaz was talking to him; Lazar hadn’t been paying the Zar any attention. Was he imagining it, or was Boaz acting strangely? He knew the young man was excited to be away from the palace, and to be out alone amongst men was an additional treat. But something niggled at Lazar about the royal. He felt that Boaz was not being truthful with his Spur—this camaraderie and determination to hunt down Ana’s captor seemed false.

Lazar had known Boaz all of the youngster’s life and Boaz was nothing if not a cautious and serious individual. He was measured in all that he did—that was part of his charm and part of the reason his father had chosen him. It also explained why he had risen so well to the challenge of ruling. He was well beyond his years in maturity and Lazar had never seen him behave any differently.

Boaz was a passionate person—he and Boaz would acknowledge that—but there seemed to be something different burning in him now. This coming to the desert to stalk Arafanz was odd. Lazar felt sure that if Boaz was forced to make a choice between the good of his realm and Ana, the young Zar would follow duty and choose Percheron. And the city was where the most senior royal should be—Boaz knew that—for he had the Spur to hunt Arafanz, to find his Zaradine. No. This was a curious decision. There was a certain zeal, but Lazar didn’t understand what was driving it. Boaz might be courageous but he was not a fighter and he was far
too sensible to put his position as Zar at risk. Boaz knew his role above all was to protect the status of the Zar. Without an heir, this was even more paramount and all this talk of finding his heir—a child who could be dead, could be killed on the journey home, could be a girl!—was not worth endangering the Zar. That was the Spur’s job. This whole situation was giving off a bad smell. Why had Herezah and the Grand Vizier encouraged Boaz to risk his life so carelessly?

He had to find a way to speak with Pez.

Salim innocently provided an answer, sidling over to the Spur. ‘You look far away in your thoughts, Lazar.’

‘Sorry. I’m thinking of what’s ahead of us, whether I’m taking us all to our deaths.’

‘It is out of your hands,’ the desert man said, his eyes raised to the skies. ‘You can only do what your heart and your head tell you from the knowledge you have.’

‘More desert wisdom?’ Lazar asked wryly.

Salim grinned. ‘This is our last night in safe Khalid territory.’

Lazar nodded. ‘I know. Your men will need to leave us tomorrow. Are you still sure you want to come? There’s no guarantee we’ll find him. In fact I’d say our chances are remote, and your own life is at risk. Think about the rest of your family, Salim.’

‘I am. My son means everything to us. We are incomplete without him. If I knew he was dead I would let him go, but I don’t know that and, until
I have proof, I must continue my search. Would you ever stop looking for Zaradine Ana if she were your daughter? In fact, whether or not she was your daughter, would you halt your search simply because it was impractical?’

Lazar shook his head, ashamed that he had not made the comparison himself or comprehended that anyone could feel the same depth of love for another person that he did.

‘You love her, Lazar, don’t you? But not as a daughter.’

Lazar nodded again, slowly, sadly this time. ‘Even though we speak a private language, you must never say that publicly. It would mean my death. Our love is forbidden and she is married to the Zar. Promise me you will never repeat it in this company.’

Salim looked at him, a bemused expression creasing his face. ‘The Vizier and a servant boy aspiring to being a soldier?’

‘Even to them, never speak of it again. Yes, I love her more than life.’

‘Then you do understand now why I must find my son.’ Lazar nodded. ‘But that is not what I am here to tell you. I sense tension in the camp between you and Tariq.’

‘You could say that. I don’t want him here, he’s a liability for all of us. Watch him, Salim. He’s unpredictable and I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I think he’s dangerous for us. Just look at his odd behaviour only moments ago.’

‘I think I know what he heard,’ Salim said, offering a low chuckle.

Lazar was sure his heart skipped a beat. ‘What do you know?’ he asked, worried afresh for Pez.

‘I know who is hiding in the dunes.’ Again the man smiled conspiratorially.

The Spur felt all his breath leave him. How could he know? ‘Salim, I—’

The desert man spoke over him in a rush of glee. ‘I thought we’d give you some real Khalid entertainment to wish you well and to bless our journey.’

Lazar held his tongue, surprised at what he was hearing. He frowned in query.

Salim continued, ‘A few of our women have come. They will provide some traditional dance and music as a welcome, but it is actually for you, Spur Lazar, rather than your companions. We want you to know that we hold you in high esteem. And our women want to wish you Lyana’s speed.’

He wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or touched. Salim sensed his confusion.