Goddess (36 page)

‘What about the Zar?’

Lazar shook his head. ‘I’m not sure how to help him. I fear he will kill Ana. I’m beginning to believe that’s why he came with us into the desert. He is seeking revenge. I cannot permit him to harm her or the child.’

Ashar nodded again. ‘Will you allow Arafanz to kill your Zar, then?’

Lazar looked lost. ‘No. He is the Zar and I must still consider his protection. Although the child now takes precedence.’ He sighed. ‘I swore an oath to protect the Zar. I cannot break that oath, will not break it.’

Ashar didn’t envy the Spur his choices. ‘I shall go,’ he said, moving towards the door. But before he could leave, they heard footsteps. Lazar just had time to raise his fingers to his lips before suddenly men blocked the doorway. As Ashar stood rooted in place, unsure of what to do, Lazar picked up the clay flagon, smashing it against the wall with a howl of rage.

‘Tell him to go to hell. I’ll drink not a drop unless it’s his blood,’ he raged at Ashar.

‘What’s going on?’ one of the men asked Ashar in Sharaic.

Lazar continued in the desert language. ‘I don’t want Arafanz’s pity or his water. Tell the boy to clear off,’ he yelled.

Ashar shrugged at his companions. ‘I was told to bring him water. Looks like he doesn’t want it.’

‘He won’t be needing it where he’s going,’ the Razaqin replied. ‘He’s been summoned to the ring.’

Ashar nodded. Glancing towards Lazar, he hoped that the Spur could see he would keep his end of the bargain although he could not imagine how Lazar would be able to keep his side of their pact. ‘I must get back to my post,’ he said dutifully. As he left, Lazar’s cell door was closed behind him. Ashar took his chance and crossed the corridor to his sister’s cell and quickly unlocked the door.

‘Stay here,’ he hissed under his breath. ‘Don’t move until I return and if anyone asks you know nothing about this unlocked door. They will likely not even notice.’ Ganya nodded. Closing the door, he ran down the corridor and up the stairs, passing the man returning to his post. ‘I left the keys on the hook,’ he said. ‘They’re taking the man away.’

‘I heard. He’s going to the ring. Can’t imagine he’ll survive it.’

Lazar realised that Ashar would need some time to either fetch Ganya or let her know what was going on, as well as to be seen to be entering
Boaz’s room and going about his duties, so he distracted the three Razaqin who had been sent to fetch him by shouting obscenities at them. He knew they likely didn’t understand and frankly didn’t care if they did. Finally he feigned exhaustion, collapsing. When one pulled him back to his knees he put his hands together in supplication and using gestures made them accept that he needed to say his prayers.

The Razaqin nodded and Lazar took as long as he possibly could to push them in a period of silence that they granted him to genuinely send a plea to Lyana to guide him this day and spare his life just long enough for him to save Ana’s and that of their son. He also begged Lyana to guide him regarding Boaz and what he should do. He wished Iridor would enter his mind; Iridor would help him to sort out the confusion he was feeling.

The men hauled him to his feet and pushed him out of the cell door, bundled him down the corridor and up the rocky steps he recalled from earlier that day. After that he lost track of their path and had no choice but to follow the leader until he found himself being moved into what felt like an arena. It felt cool, was presumably deep in the belly of the fortress especially as he could no longer hear the roar of the Samazen, and it was lit only by torches flaming around the walls.

The Razaqin had gathered. His quick estimate told him there were at least two hundred men
present. A small army indeed. The large chamber was eerily quiet as he was led in. Arafanz obviously enjoyed absolute control for no-one spoke, not even a murmur.

He was pushed into the ring, his robes ripped from him, leaving him standing in only trousers and boots. The silence was heavy, and meant to humiliate, but he refused to buckle under the searing gazes of the fanatical group of men. Instead he hung his head and closed his eyes. He needed to gather his wits and all of his strength for whatever opportunity might present itself. He would not go meekly but he would gladly die if in doing so he could find a way to get Ana out. Lazar did not expect to live beyond this day but he had to be sure that his son did.

Ashar checked on Ana, who was pacing.

‘It helps in between the pains,’ she explained breathlessly. ‘One has just finished.’

‘How close are they?’

‘Not close enough yet from what I know of childbirth. The baby is still hours away. It is not unbearable but I can’t do much except focus on coping with the pain when it comes.’

He nodded, moved closer. ‘Is my leader here?’

‘No,’ she said, dabbing at her forehead. ‘He was briefly here to check on me but he has left. I don’t know where.’

‘I do. He has gone to deal with Spur Lazar.’

Her head snapped back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They came for him when I was there.’

‘You’ve seen him?’

‘Yes, spoken to him. He insists that I get you out.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t go anywhere. What about him?’

Ashar shrugged. ‘He made me promise that I would have a camel readied for you and for the other prisoner.’

‘The woman?’

‘Her name is Ganya, Miss Ana. She is my sister.’

Ana steadied herself, leaning against Arafanz’s bed, her face surprised. ‘You’re sure? You’ve spoken with her?’

He nodded. ‘I recognised her almost immediately. The dead must wait, although I swear I will make Arafanz pay in blood for my father’s death. You must come with me now. I have to get you both to the camels.’

‘Ashar, get your sister and get out of here. I cannot come. It is not only because I will slow you up but because Arafanz is coming back to fetch me. I suspect he wants me to see my lover and my husband being killed.’

‘He will not hurt you or the baby.’

‘I know. It doesn’t matter. If he kills Spur Lazar I will die anyway. I shall take my own life. He and the Spur ultimately want the same thing, which is the faith of Lyana returned to Percheron. But Arafanz chooses death and destruction to achieve
it. Lazar will not allow him to kill the Zar if he can help it.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that, Miss Ana. Do you remember where the camels are sheltered?’

‘Yes. They are put in with the goats when there’s a storm.’

‘Good. Whatever happens, I will have a camel readied there for you. Whether you are with me, with the Spur or just alone, get there.’

‘The Samazen—’

‘Spur Lazar says we are to take our chances with the sandstorm. I know the story, Miss Ana. You’ve survived it once before. You can again.’

She smiled softly at him. ‘Your faith is vast, Ashar. I hope Lyana keeps you safe.’

‘And you, Miss Ana. I must go now. I have instructions to see to the needs of the Zar.’

‘Will you try and help him get away, too?’

‘That is not part of my plan, no.’

‘You must, Ashar. He is the Zar of Percheron. You must not condemn him to death.’

Ashar gave a gesture of helplessness. ‘He is not my king, Miss Ana. And he is ordained by Zarab, whom I don’t recognise. Your son is the only Zar who has my loyalty.’

She reached for Ashar. ‘I am pleased that you are going to save yourself and your sister and I am grateful to you for trying to aid Spur Lazar, but I beg you, Ashar, please do whatever you can for Boaz. He is not a bad person. He does not hate Lyana as Arafanz would have you believe.
He doesn’t know her; he was not raised in the faith. But I know him. He would like all that she represents, all she can teach him. Give him a chance. Please. Take him with you and Ganya—keep him and Lazar apart.’ They heard footsteps. ‘They’re coming for me,’ she said, suddenly frightened. ‘Go, take care of yourself,’ she added, pushing him away.

‘Find your way to the camels, Miss Ana,’ he begged before turning and slipping out of the chamber.

He ran as fast as he could to the lower level to do his d uty with Zar Boaz, as Arafanz had requested. His leader would take exquisite pleasure in publicly slaying the Zar for his followers but for Ana’s sake Ashar intended to pay the young ruler appropriate respect, no matter if his life was already forfeit.

As he knocked on the door before entering he decided he was no longer Razaqin, for he was already betraying Arafanz. No, first and foremost he was Khalid and as reinforcement of that decision he intended to let the Percherese ruler know that the desert people loved Lyana more than any Zar. Ashar suddenly felt himself burning with a new passion. He was the son of a tribal chief, he was no fanatical spiritualist and suddenly all he wanted was revenge for his family’s name and to return to his tribe. He looked at the angry face of the man who was probably around the same age as he was. ‘Zar Boaz, my name is Ashar of the Khalid. I am here to see to your needs.’

‘I need nothing but vengeance. Can you offer me that, Ashar of the Khalid?’

‘I suspect you will not have time for reprisals, Zar Boaz. They will be coming for you next. They have already fetched Spur Lazar and your wife, the Zaradine.’

‘What do they intend to do?’ Boaz asked.

Ashar enjoyed seeing the fear flit across the young ruler’s face. ‘Why, execute you, of course. What else did you think Arafanz and his Razaqin wanted?’

Boaz’s expression changed. He frowned, cocked his head to one side. ‘But not you, Ashar? Come in and tell me what it is that
you
want.’

Lazar had kept his face lowered. He had cocooned himself in his own silence, not meaning to but using some of the time to think over his life from the death of Shara and how his domineering parents had shaped that life and why he found himself now in this hopeless situation. He thought about Pez and how helpless Iridor, despite demigod status, was going to be against all these men. He thought about the magic that Beloch and Ezram insisted he possessed, the magic that he neither knew how to call upon, nor what it meant. He wished it could help him now, give him a glimpse towards escape, but he knew this was a useless pathway to follow and was relieved when he heard the soft murmur that dragged his mind away from his musings. He looked up to see Ana being escorted into the arena. She looked pale but she walked unaided and defiant. Always defiant.

Their gazes met and locked, and he understood that if his life amounted to anything it must be to save his unborn child. This boy was heir to two thrones. He might be the only chance they all had
of averting war between Percheron and Galinsea. If Lazar could give his father a new heir, a new beginning, it might ease the grudge between the two of them. This boy was the rightful next King of Galinsea born of a Percherese mother, a royal no less. It mattered not that Ana was a slave. She was Percherese and she was accorded regal status. And as if they shared one mind, he could sense Ana felt the same way. She had never cared much for her life but he suspected she cared very much for the boy—the proof of their love. Even if both of them died this day, their son would live for them, a testimony to their union.

He wanted the boy to live. He would call him Lucien, for the man Lazar once had been, the man he had turned his back on. His son would live up to his name and claim his rightful place on the Galinsean throne. He would use Arafan z’s strategy; if a boy king could be taught to change a nation’s faith, then that same boy king could be guided to change the way a nation thought. Young Luc could sweep aside all the acrimony between the two nations and bring peace to the region with the right guidance.

It was a plan that lifted his heavy heart and even made him smile across the sea of staring eyes. And she smiled back, both oblivious to and uncaring of who watched.

Arafanz broke the spell between them, his voice suddenly cutting across the soft murmurs.

‘Come, Ana, my dear, take your seat beside me.
We shall not keep you long—I am sympathetic to your predicament.’

Lazar watched her hold her belly as she lowered herself into her seat, ignoring Arafanz’s helping hand, her eyes refusing to break their lock on his own. He gave a soft nod of encouragement, ignoring the tear that escaped and rolled down her sweet face. His attention was caught by a young man who walked up to stand beside her chair—Ashar. Lazar detected the near imperceptible nod of the young man’s head. He felt a small surge of hope—the camels were readied.

‘Ah, have you been with our royal?’ Arafanz asked him.

‘Yes, Master. He wishes to speak with you.’

‘The time for talk is over. But tell me, why is your hair filled with sand?’ Arafanz quizzed.

Lazar felt his gut twist but Ashar reacted quickly and calmly. ‘I have not seen the Samazen ever in such force, Master, I made the mistake of looking outdoors.’

‘And paying a price, I see. That must have hurt.’

Ashar touched at his cheeks, burned from the whipping sand. ‘I learned a lesson.’

‘Good. That is what makes a mistake worth the pain.’

Ashar nodded. ‘Yes, Master.’

Arafanz looked towards a man at the entrance. ‘Is he here?’

The man bowed an assent.

‘Excellent. We are ready, then. Lazar, I suspect you don’t plan to die without a fight, so let’s give you one.’ He gave a signal and what looked to Lazar to be a score or more of men leapt into the ring. With a terrifying ringing sound they dragged ferocious curved blades from scabbards at their hips.

Lazar backed away. He knew there was no escape but he moved instinctively.

‘I plan to make this a little more balanced than it looks, Lazar. My men will attack in pairs only. For each man you cut down, another will replace him. There are presently twenty men in the ring with you. I seem to remember taunting you with the same number of men the last time we met. Except duty got in the way, then, didn’t it? Such a shame—it would have made a spectacle. So let’s give you the same scenario. Twenty men against you. Kill them all and I will spare someone you care about.’

Lazar turned around to face the man who taunted him. ‘You have no intention of killing Ana—so don’t toy with me, rebel.’

‘I do not refer to Ana. I refer to him,’ he said, pointing. Lazar swirled back to see Zar Boaz being led into the chamber. ‘We all want the Zar dead, possibly even Ana does too, now that she carries your child. The Zar is probably only here because he was looking for revenge. Poor fool. He thought he’d join you and do something heroic; now Percheron will lose its Zar.’

‘Not if I can help it, Arafanz,’ Lazar growled.

‘Aha,’ the rebel replied, delight in his tone, ‘that’s the spirit, Lazar. Kill all of these men before you and perhaps I’ll spare his life. Or perhaps I’ll let you choose. It may be that you pr efer to spare the life of Ganya of the Khalid—also one of your women, as I understand it. I gather you took comfort from the loneliness of the quiet nights in the desert inside Ganya’s sweet—’

‘Shut up, Arafanz,’ Lazar said, ignoring the look of pain that ghosted across Ana’s face. He wasn’t sure whether it was her contractions or his desert dalliance. If the latter, he knew he wouldn’t be permitted to explain the how or why of it to her.

‘Perhaps my treacherous wife should know of his affair with my mother, the Valide,’ Boaz yelled, joining the fray.

Lazar did now look at Ana fully. She deserved that much truth from him. He kept his face devoid of emotion but she had always seen through him; he was sure she could tell now that not only was Arafanz telling the truth but that Boaz was not lying either.

Arafanz made a show of surprise. ‘The Valide? Lazar has lain with the Zar’s mother? Oh, how daring of you, Spur, you have been busy.’

‘They are lovers,’ Boaz confirmed. ‘They have been for a while, I’m assured by my mother.’

‘That’s a lie! We have nev—’

‘Lazar, it seems one woman at a time is not enough. You see, Ana, my dear, this man is not
worthy of you. For all we know the Valide and the desert woman are both carrying his spawn.’

Lazar refused to dignify Arafanz’s taunts with any further defence. Instead, he simply turned his attention to Ana. He could not mistake the injury in her expression but he hoped she would trust him enough to know that the only woman he loved was her. Was it enough, though? Who was to say that Ana was not prey to the same jealousy and envy of many other women?

‘And so we once again come around to the same question, Lazar. Heart or duty?’

‘What do you want from me, Arafanz?’ Lazar hurled back, his anger fighting free at last.

‘Some entertainment for my men at the very least, Lazar. Will you do your duty and protect the Zar you are sworn to guard at the expense of your own life, or do you follow your heart and try to fight your way free towards Ana and your unborn child? Ana, of course, is under no threat, as you know, so I’ll give you a third choice—just to keep it interesting. I will let you go free. You will be followed for the rest of your life—not that you’ll be aware of it—and should you ever leave Percheron for the desert again you will be killed. Take the third option, Lazar, for your life and that of Ana and the child will be safe. One way or another my men will kill the Zar—you might as well let us do it now. But you have a choice to make.’ He turned to Ashar. ‘Take her to that chair on the dais.’

Lazar watched as Ana was helped to her feet and escorted to a seat not far from the opening they had been brought through. He could see her clearly on the raised dais if he turned his back on Boaz, who had just been shoved into the ring with him.

‘Now you can watch the woman you claim to love whilst you go about your business of killing. Be swift, Lazar, for Ana is in labour and you don’t want her suffering her next contraction here in front of all the men. She is due one quite soon from my calculations. Or do you choose to walk from here, Spur, a free, uninjured man? I will throw in the desert woman for your ongoing pleasure on the journey home.’ He laughed softly to himself, seemingly enjoying his own magnanimity.

‘Give me a weapon!’ Lazar roared and Arafanz openly laughed. He ignored him, turned to Boaz. ‘I can’t promise you anything, Highness, but stay behind me for as long as you can.’

‘You’re still going to try and save me?’ Boaz asked.

‘I gave a sworn oath. My life before yours.’

‘You are a constant surprise, Spur,’ Boaz said, curiously.

Lazar walked over to where a Razaqin had laid out the two swords they’d taken from him.

He picked them up and felt their weight. He had fought twelve men at once for Zar Joreb’s entertainment many years ago and he was a better swordsman now. With Lyana’s guiding
hand, he would slay the twenty and win the Zar’s freedom.

‘Ready?’ Arafanz asked politely.

‘I hope they’ve said their farewells.’

The rebel laughed delightedly and signalled the first pair of Razaqin to take their chances against Percheron’s famed Spur.

Ashar was feeling lightheaded. He had taken Ganya fresh water after his strange vist with Zar Boaz. The words of the young ruler had piqued his interest. He had been offered power and riches to help Zar Boaz escape, and although he had fled the room, he had heard the prisoner out, heard his promises and pledges. If he accepted the royal’s offer he could take Ganya back to their people. Safety was guaranteed, as was wealth. They would never want for camels or food or blankets again. The Zar had even mentioned trading. Ashar remembered how that had always been his father’s dream, to work as merchants between Percheron and its western neighbours. They had never had enough money at one time to buy the goods to sell, though; instead, they had been forced to live hand to mouth. With the Zar’s support, Ashar could fulfil his father’s dream and set up a Khalid trading route.

No-one had noticed the two pails he had brought into the arena as the other Razaqin were filing in. He wondered if this whole plan of his
and the Zar’s could work. He hadn’t been able to discuss it with the Spur or even Ganya. He’d just had time to throw some black robes on her and smuggle her out of the fortress, leaving her with the camels, where she was waiting for him now. No-one would miss her; everyone was in the arena and her guard would assume she was still secure in her prison. He wished he could somehow get a message to Lazar but it was too late. Arafanz had just signalled the first pair of Razaqin warriors to engage the Spur.

He held his breath as Lazar murmured something to the Zar, then raised both swords, initiating an explosion of jeering and cheering as the formerly silent audience suddenly started baying for blood.

‘Be brave, my Zar. As long as I’m breathing I won’t let them touch you.’

‘Don’t let me die, Spur!’ Boaz screeched.

It briefly occurred to Lazar that Boaz, although squeamish, had never lacked courage. His near hysterical response was suprising as was his recent use of Lazar’s title, which he normally reserved for formal situations. But Lazar didn’t have time to dwell on semantics. All he could do was to take a deep breath and raise his swords.

The audience, clearly thirsty for blood-letting, especially his, roared its approval as the first of the Razaqin approached.

Lazar didn’t move; he just watched. The footwork of the man on the left was heavy. He
would be slower, so Lazar knew he must focus first on the man on his right who was moving around in a wider arc. Arafanz had watched him fight before and had probably instructed his men accordingly. Still, he could take these two, he decided, faking a lunge to his right before spinning low and slashing at the fellow’s knees, allowing his movement to twist him all the way around to hack into the neck of his attacker on his left. He finished off the man on the right with a slash across his neck as well. There was no time to breathe. The next pair entered the arena. They were more cunning, took their time sizing him up. Others rushed to pull the dead away.

‘We’re all going to die,’ Boaz said from behind him. ‘How can you hold them off?’

‘It’s what I do,’ Lazar growled, waiting, watching.

‘You’re doing this for Ana, not for me! It all makes sense. Feigning loyalty to me and yet both of you traitors.’

‘This is not the time—’

‘She’ll never have her red blanket time with you again,’ Boaz spat.

And Lazar couldn’t respond; he instinctively took the hammering blow, crossing both swords above his head. He kicked the man at his left, heard the knee break. Good. Down but not out, so he skipped forward, out of the felled man’s reach, whilst he dealt with his partner, dispatching him in a whirl of glinting sword moves. He didn’t have time to return to the first man before a replacement
had already arrived, fast and accurate. The men were unmasked so he could look into their eyes.

This one’s eyes were dead, grimly determined with the desire to be the one to kill the Spur. Lazar realised that Arafanz had leeched his men’s ability to think for themselves and he began to wonder, now that he focused on the slightly glazed expression of his opponent, whether these men were drugged. It made sense. To make any rational person walk into unnecessary peril, one would need to trick them or remove their inhibitions. So their beloved leader must encourage them to drink before they fought and in that drink would be a potion to dull their sense of fear. Lazar stabbed the man, knew it was a fatal blow, ran quickly over to the man with the broken knee and with a vicious strike cut off the arm that was reaching for his blade. Lazar had barely a second to register the Razaqin’s incredulous look before Boaz was screaming at him to look behind him. Squatting instantly, Lazar spun in a fast killing arc, taking out both men at once, waist high, their abdomens splitting open like ripe fruit, spilling their contents.