Snare (57 page)

Hearing his real name, hearing the voice of the man he’d once honoured above all others, seeing Jezro Khan alive after thinking him dead for ten long years – Zayn realized that he was perilously close to weeping. His thumbs hooked in his belt, Jezro waited, still smiling.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Jezro went on. ‘Which is a strange thing to say to a man who wants to kill you, but it’s true. You and Warkannan, you were the only real friends I ever had, you know.
No one else could ever forget my damned rank and how profitable knowing me might be one day. That’s before we all learned what a murderous little turd my brother was, of course.’

Zayn felt himself trembling. It started in the hand holding the long knife, then travelled up his arm and caught the rest of him, made him quiver like trees after an earthquake. Jezro said nothing more, merely watched him solemn-eyed. With the foulest oath he could summon Zayn sheathed the knife. Jezro sighed in sharp relief.

‘No,’ Zayn said. ‘I can’t kill you.’

‘I’m glad to see the Chosen don’t own your soul.’

At that Zayn felt tears rise, threatening to shame him. He turned half-away, heard the gravel crackle as Jezro limped over, felt the khan’s hand on his shoulder.

‘You’ve come just in time,’ Jezro said. ‘It’s fate, Benumar, it’s got to be. Idres, you, me – I always felt that the three of us had a destiny together.’ He paused for a soft laugh. ‘Not that I know what it is yet, but I know there’s got to be one.’

Zayn started to speak, but the tears choked him. He took one step away and covered his face with his hands, but he could feel his shoulders shaking. Jezro walked round in front of him.

‘Idres told me about the talents,’ Jezro went on. ‘You must have been in hell, hiding all of that for all those years.’

Zayn dropped his hands and looked at him through a blur of tears. He could barely breathe from the effort of holding back tears, could not think, could not speak.

‘What did they do to you, Benumar?’ Jezro’s voice hissed with rage. ‘What did the bastards do to you to make you join them?’

‘Nothing.’ Zayn found words at last. ‘They just told me I wasn’t alone any more.’

The tears spilled and ran, shaming him, but he had no power to stop them. He heard his voice crack as if it belonged to a stranger, then sobbed, could not stop sobbing, fell to his knees and wept. He heard Jezro moving, heard the gravel crackle as the khan knelt with him, then felt arms around him, pulling him tight.

‘Ah God, I’m sorry.’ Zayn barely managed to force out the words. ‘Forgive me.’

‘It’s all right.’ Jezro sounded near to tears himself. ‘It’s all right.’

More footsteps, and light brightening around them – Zayn tipped his head back and saw Warkannan walking up, carrying a lantern
in one hand. The shame of it, that Idres would see him weep – but he could only gulp for air and sob. As he knelt on the gravel, in his mind he was kneeling on cold black and white tiles and hearing a voice urge his death. I never wept then, he thought. What’s wrong with me now? Warkannan set the lantern on the table, then knelt with them, sitting back on his heels as if he were readying himself for evening prayer in a mosque. Zayn gasped, choked, felt his chest aching, but the tears eased and at last let him be.

In the pool of light from Warkannan’s lantern they knelt, looking back and forth at one another. Zayn had the distinct feeling that he was still in the Mistlands, seeing Idres and Jezro only in a vision, but when he looked around, he saw the rose bushes of Dookis Marya’s garden, quivering in the night wind. I never would have seen those in the Mistlands. This must be real. Jezro reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it over. Zayn wiped his face and blew his nose – it had been running like a child’s, he realized, but he felt too much shame over the tears themselves to care about details.

‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ Warkannan said. ‘Men have to do these things, you know, every now and then.’

‘A perfect Idres remark,’ Jezro said. ‘They never end.’

Zayn managed to smile. He wadded up the handkerchief and shoved it unthinkingly into his trouser pocket. ‘One thing, though. I’m not Zahir Benumar. Benumar’s dead. He’s the man who would have killed you. My name is Zayn Hassan.’

‘All right,’ Jezro said. ‘Idres?’

‘Fine with me,’ Warkannan said. ‘I might forget occasionally, so just remind me, will you?’

Zayn nodded. Although he could breathe again, his throat ached like fire. Jezro stood up, bending over to rub his twisted right leg. ‘Can’t kneel for very long,’ he remarked, ‘thanks to my brother’s loving treatment.’ He straightened up, glanced at the house, and stiffened. ‘Shaitan! What’s wrong, Kaz?’

Zayn looked around. Warkannan’s nephew was standing in the open doorway, and Zayn had never seen anyone so furious, not even his father in one of his blind rages. Arkazo was shaking with it, stammering as he stepped out into the garden. Warkannan leapt to his feet and started towards him.

‘What’s wrong?’ Arkazo spat out each word. ‘What’s wrong? He
killed the best friend I ever had, and you’re acting like he’s your long-lost soul mate.’

Zayn suddenly remembered the young Kazrak in the Mistlands. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but he was trying to kill me. I didn’t have any choice.’

‘I don’t give a shit.’ Arkazo took one step forward. ‘You bastard, you –’ His hand flicked to his belt and came away with a hunting knife.

Warkannan moved, one smooth long stride that brought him face to face with Arkazo, moved fast and grabbed his wrist. Arkazo screamed in sheer wordless rage, but Warkannan had the knife. Arkazo screamed again, shaking, then turned and rushed back into the house. Warkannan flipped the knife to land point down in the gravel where Jezro could reach it.

‘You’d better take charge of that,’ Warkannan said. ‘And I’d better take charge of my nephew.’

As he ran into the house, Warkannan saw Arkazo dashing into the hall that led to his guest room. He pounded down the hall after him just as Arkazo disappeared into it, but he reached the door before Arkazo could lock it. He grabbed the handle and twisted. It fought him – apparently Arkazo was holding it on the other side.

‘Kaz, let me in,’ Warkannan said. ‘Please? You’ve got to let me in so we can talk. Please.’

Silence, but when Warkannan tried the handle again, it turned freely. He stepped in and shut the door behind him. Arkazo was standing by the window, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes wide, his mouth a twist of fury. For a long moment Warkannan merely stood and looked at him. Eventually Arkazo turned away. He grasped the windowsill in both hands and stared out.

‘I’m sorry,’ Warkannan said. ‘But you have to admit that when Zahir killed Tareev, we were all trying to kill him.’

‘I don’t care.’ Arkazo’s voice still shook. ‘He’s one of the Chosen. Why don’t you just kill him?’

‘Because we knew him before he joined the Chosen. Because we both think we should have done something then. We always knew that something was eating Benumar from the inside. We should have tried to find out what.’

‘So? You didn’t make him join the Chosen.’

‘No, that’s true.’

Arkazo started to speak, then choked it back. Warkannan could see over his shoulder to the lawn outside, where a bevy of nightdancers were leaping into the air, chasing the wingbuhs drawn to the lighted windows.

‘I thought you might feel differently,’ Warkannan said, ‘after that business with the fake priests. You told me then that –’

‘That I didn’t want my revenge that way. I still wanted the revenge.’ Arkazo spun around. ‘And now you tell me I’m supposed to like the man?’

‘Of course not! To be honest, I don’t know what to do. It’s not like you can just leave and ride home. But I can’t let you kill him. He knows things we need to know.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like who belongs to the Chosen, and where their headquarters are.’ Warkannan paused for effect. ‘You can see how valuable that is.’

Arkazo nodded, staring down at the floor. ‘Did the khan know about Tareev?’

‘Not by name. I’ll tell him.’

‘Will it matter?’

Warkannan hesitated, but he knew he had to be honest. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not really.’

Arkazo’s head snapped up, and his eyes went wide with rage. He laid a hand on the empty sheath at his belt, then winced and let his arm hang at his side.

‘I’m sorry,’ Warkannan repeated, ‘but the simple fact is that Tareev would have killed Zayn if he’d got the chance. That’s what makes all the difference, Kaz. Can’t you see that? Suppose we were in a court of law. It was self-defence.’

‘We’re not in court.’ But his voice had lost some of its certainty.

‘Well, actually, we are a court in a way – you and me, judging the situation.’

‘And you’re asking me to forgive him.’

‘No, I’m asking you to tolerate him. That’s all. You can be as angry as you want. Snub him, never speak to him, refuse him common courtesy – I don’t care. He won’t either. Don’t you think he knows how you feel?’

‘I don’t give a shit if he does or not.’

‘Understandable. But there’s one thing that the cavalry teaches a man, and that’s how to work with anyone he needs to work with – someone he hates, someone he despises, someone who despises him. You need to learn that, too.’

‘Oh? Well, I’m not in –’ Arkazo stopped in mid-sentence.

Warkannan allowed himself a grim smile. ‘You see it, don’t you? If Jezro goes back with us, you’ll be one of his officers.’

Arkazo nodded, his mouth slack in a kind of wonder.

‘Look,’ Warkannan went on. ‘This is one of the beauties of army discipline. The khan will order you to work with Benumar, I mean, with Hassan. You’ve got to follow his orders. It’s no disgrace to you, it doesn’t cheapen Tareev’s death, it doesn’t mean you’ve broken your pledge of vengeance. You simply cannot disobey the khan’s order.’

‘The beauties of it?’ Arkazo laughed, or at least, he made a sound that Warkannan assumed was a laugh. ‘What’s that the khan always says? A perfect Idres remark?’

Warkannan forced out a smile. Arkazo crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘I have to think about all of this,’ he whispered.

‘Yes, you do. I’ll leave you alone.’

‘Thanks.’

Warkannan turned and opened the door.

‘Uncle?’ Arkazo’s voice sounded thin, a little high.

‘Yes?’ Warkannan turned back.

‘I’m glad you took my knife away. Right there in front of the khan – I just couldn’t think.’

‘I know. It’s all right.’ Warkannan decided against telling him the truth, this time, that he’d been protecting him from Zayn, not the other way around. ‘You know something? No one will ever mention this again if you don’t bring it up.’

‘Thanks. I’ve got to think.’

‘Of course you do. Go ahead.’

Warkannan shut the door behind him and hurried down the hall. At the other end, Soutan was standing in the middle of the blue sitting room.

‘What’s wrong?’ Soutan said. ‘What is all this?’

‘I forgot how Kaz would see things,’ Warkannan said. ‘I made a mistake, a bad one. We should have told him when we got the idea, but for all I knew, Zahir – I mean Zayn – would never show
up or would try to kill Jezro or do some other damned desperate thing.’

‘Suppose he had? Tried to kill Jezro, I mean? What would you have done?’

‘Stepped in, of course.’

‘And killed him?’

‘I would have had to, wouldn’t I? You can’t stop a man who’s been trained like Zayn any other way. I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would have had to.’

‘You know, Captain, I don’t think I ever realized just how hard and cold you and Jezro can be.’ Soutan looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically. ‘I don’t think I ever realized just how brutal you are. You both have such civilized manners.’

Warkannan crossed his arms over his chest to control his fists. When Soutan deigned to look his way again, Warkannan noticed a thumbnail-sized flake of obsidian, or some substance much like it, pinned to Soutan’s shirt collar.

‘Or I should say, brutal to members of other species.’ Soutan seemed to be speaking into the flake.

‘What in hell do you mean by that?’

‘Well, Zayn’s obviously one of your own kind, and it was all quite touching, out there in the garden. But with ordinary H’mai, it’s different.’ Again the pause. ‘Are we prey, perhaps, in your eyes?’

‘What the –’

‘Oh never mind!’ Soutan turned away with a measured toss of his head. ‘I’m going to bed. It’s late, and I feel sick to my stomach.’ He strode away, heading down the hallway.

Warkannan stood staring after him for a puzzled few moments, long enough for him to see Soutan knock on Arkazo’s door and the door open to let him in. Was all that posturing for Kaz’s benefit? Warkannan thought. But he couldn’t have heard us, all the way out here. Suddenly he felt cold, wondering if perhaps Soutan, with all his talk of crystals and technology, had managed to send their conversation all the way to Arkazo’s ears. Had it not been for Zayn, he would have followed Soutan right then. As it was, he realized that Jezro might well need his help in dealing with a man who’d been broken down to his very soul.

Jezro had insisted that Zayn come inside to a parlour decorated in yellows and tans, as luxurious as any Zayn had ever seen in
Kazrajistan. Dirty as he was from the road, he hated to sit on the flowered furniture, and he would have knelt at Jezro’s feet like a shen if the khan had let him. Jezro however insisted he take an armchair, forced a glass of brandy into his hand, and sent a servant off to bring him food when he admitted he’d not eaten all day.

‘My horses,’ Zayn said. ‘I’ve got horses and gear I left at a farm.’

‘We’ll send someone after them, don’t worry.’

‘They’re at the farm to the north-west. The fenced pasture, the one that you can’t see from the farmhouse. I didn’t want them to starve if your bodyguards killed me.’

Jezro turned to a blond servant in a white shirt, who apparently understood Kazraki, because he nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving the door half-open. Distantly they could hear the sound of two men yelling in anger. In a few minutes the voices stopped. Warkannan strode in, poured himself brandy, and sat down nearby.