The Lions of Al-Rassan (25 page)

The woman had courage, there was no denying it. “You are guardian here in Ragosa of the only two loyal children of King Almalik,” she said, with no hesitation now. “It is my formal petition that you take that city in the god’s name and place there as king his son, Abadi ibn Almalik. And that you lend to him all such aid and support as you may during the time of his minority.”

It was said, then. Openly. An invitation to take Cartada, and the cloak of right under which to do it.

Jehane, listening with fierce attention, looked beyond the woman in crimson and black and saw that Alvar had managed to obtain admittance here. She turned again to the king.

But it was the chancellor who now spoke, for the first time, the deep voice measured and grave. “I would know, if I might, is this also the thought and desire of the steward you bring with you?”

Looking quickly back to Zabira, Jehane realized that the woman did not know the answer to that question; that she had played a card of her own, and was waiting on what would follow.

She played the next, necessary card. “He is not my steward,” Zabira said. “You will know, I believe, who this man is. He has been gracious enough to escort me here, a woman without defenders or any recourse at home. I will not dare presume to speak for Ammar ibn Khairan, my lord chancellor, my lord king. No one alive would do that.”

“Then perhaps the man who appears before us in the false garb of a steward might presume to speak for himself?” King Badir betrayed the slightest tension in his voice now. It wasn’t surprising, Jehane thought. The woman had raised the stakes of the game extraordinarily high.

Ammar ibn Khairan, whom she had kissed—amazingly—in her father’s study, turned his gaze to the king of Ragosa. There was a measure of respect to be seen in him, but no real deference. For the first time Jehane realized just how difficult a man this one could be, if he chose. He had also, she reminded herself again, killed a khalif and now a king.

He said, “Most gracious king, I find myself in a troubling circumstance. I have just heard words of open treason to my own kingdom of Cartada. My course ought to be clear, but I am doubly constrained.”

“Why? And why doubly?” King Badir asked, sounding vexed.

Ibn Khairan shrugged gracefully. And waited. As if the issue was a test, not for him, but for the assembled court of Ragosa in that garden.

And it was Mazur the chancellor who said, “He ought to kill her, but will not attack a woman, and he may not draw a weapon in your presence.” There was irritation in his voice. “In fact you ought not to even
have
a weapon here.”

“This is true,” ibn Khairan said mildly. “Your guards were . . . courteous. Perhaps too much so.”

“Perhaps they saw no reason to fear a man of your . . . repute,” the chancellor murmured silkily.

A dagger of sorts there, Jehane thought, chasing nuances as quickly as she could. Ibn Khairan’s reputation encompassed many things, and it included a new dimension as of this morning’s news. He could not, on the face of things, be said to be a harmless man. Perhaps especially not for kings.

Ammar smiled, as if savoring the innuendo. “It has been long,” he said, with apparent inconsequentiality, “since I have had the privilege of exchanging words with the estimable chancellor of Ragosa. Whatever our jealous wadjis might say, he remains a credit to his people and the great king he serves. In my most humble view.”

At which point the king mentioned appeared to lose patience. “You were asked a question,” Badir said bluntly, and those assembled in that garden were made sharply aware that whatever poise or subtlety might be here on display, only one man ruled. “You have not answered it.”

“Ah. Yes,” said Ammar ibn Khairan. “That question.” He clasped his hands loosely before him. Alvar de Pellino, watching closely, found himself wondering where the hidden weapon was. If there was one. Ibn Khairan said, “The lady Zabira, I will confess, has surprised me. Not for the first time, mind you.” Alvar saw the woman glance away at the flowing water.

“I was of the impression, innocently, that she wished to be escorted here to see her children,” said the man garbed as her steward, “and because there was no haven for her in Cartada. Being of a regrettably short-sighted nature I thought no further on these matters.”

“These are games,” said the king of Ragosa. “We may or may not have time for them later. You are the least short-sighted man in this peninsula.”

“I am honored by your words, my lord king. Unworthy as I am, I can only repeat that I did not expect to hear what I heard just now. At the moment my position is delicate. You must appreciate that. I am still sworn to allegiance to the kingdom of Cartada.” His blue eyes flashed. “If I speak with some care, perhaps that might be indulged by a king as august and wise as Badir of Ragosa.”

It occurred to Jehane just about then that ibn Khairan might easily be killed here today. There was a silence. The king glared, and shifted impatiently on his bench.

“I see. You have already been exiled by the new king of Cartada. Immediately after you did his killing for him. How extremely clever of the young man.” It was Mazur again, and not a question.

Badir glanced at his chancellor and then back to ibn Khairan; his expression had changed.

Of course,
Jehane thought. That had to be it. Why else was the prince’s advisor and confidant here with Zabira instead of controlling the transfer of power in Cartada? She felt like a fool for missing the point. She hadn’t been alone, though. Throughout the garden Jehane saw men—and the handful of women—nodding their heads.

“Alas, the chancellor in his wisdom speaks the sad truth. I am exiled, yes. For my many vices.” Ibn Khairan’s voice was calm. “There appears some hope of my being pardoned, after I purge myself of sundry unspeakable iniquities.” He smiled, and a moment later, quite unexpectedly, one man’s laughter was heard, the sound startling amid the tension of the garden.

The king and his chancellor and Ammar ibn Khairan all turned to stare at Rodrigo Belmonte, who was still laughing.

“The king of Ragosa,” Rodrigo said, greatly amused, “had best be careful, or every exile in the peninsula will be beating a path to his palace doors.” Ibn Khairan, Jehane noticed, was no longer smiling as he looked at him.

Rodrigo chuckled again, highly amused. “If I may be forgiven, perhaps a soldier may help cut a path through the difficulty here?” He waited for the king to nod, before going on. “The lord ibn Khairan appears in a situation oddly akin to my own. He stands here exiled but with no offered allegiance to supersede the one he owes Cartada. In the absence of such an offer, he cannot possibly endorse or even honorably be asked to comment upon what the lady Zabira has suggested. Indeed, he ought properly to kill her with the blade taped to the inside of his left arm. Make him,” said Rodrigo Belmonte, “an offer.”

A rigid stillness followed this. The day seemed almost too bright now, as if the sunlight were at odds with the gravity of what was happening here below.

“Shall I become a mercenary?” Ibn Khairan was still gazing at the Jaddite captain, as if oblivious to those on the isle now. Again Jehane felt that odd, uncanny chill.

“We are a lowly folk, I concede. But there are lower sorts.” Rodrigo was still amused, or he appeared to be.

Ibn Khairan was not. He said carefully, “I had nothing to do with the Day of the Moat.” Jehane caught her breath.

“Of course you didn’t,” said Rodrigo Belmonte. “That’s why you killed the king.”

“That’s why I
had
to kill the king,” said ibn Khairan, grave in his black robe. Another murmur of sound rose and fell away.

It was the chancellor’s turn to sound irritated. Deliberately breaking the mood, Mazur said, “And are we to offer a position here to a man who slays whenever his pride is wounded?”

Jehane realized, with an unexpected flicker of amusement, that he was irked because Rodrigo had pieced together this part of the puzzle first.
On the subject of wounded pride,
she thought . . .

“Not whenever,” said ibn Khairan quietly. “Once in my life, and with regret, and for something very large.”

“Ah!” said the chancellor sardonically, “with
regret.
Well, that changes everything.”

For the first time Jehane saw ibn Khairan betray an unguarded reaction. She watched his blue gaze go cold before he lowered his eyes from ben Avren’s face. Drawing a breath, he unclasped his hands and let them fall to his sides. She saw that he wasn’t wearing his rings. He looked up again at the chancellor, saying nothing, waiting. Very much, Jehane thought, like someone braced for what further blows might be leveled against him.

No blows fell, verbal or otherwise. Instead, it was the king who spoke again, his equanimity restored. “If we should agree with our Valledan friend, what could you offer us?”

Zabira of Cartada, nearly forgotten in all this, turned and looked back at the man who had come here as her steward. Her dark, carefully accentuated eyes were quite unreadable. Another fringe of cloud trailed past the sun and then away, taking the light and giving it back.

“Myself,” said Ammar ibn Khairan.

In that exquisite garden no one’s gaze was anywhere but upon him. The arrogance was dazzling, but the man had been known, for fifteen years and more, not only as a diplomat and a strategist, but as a military commander and the purest swordsman in Al-Rassan.

“That will be sufficient,” said King Badir, visibly diverted now. “We offer you service in our court and armed companies for a term of one year. On your honor, you will not take or offer service elsewhere in that time without our leave. We shall allow our advisors to propose and discuss terms. Do you accept?”

An answering smile came, the one Jehane remembered from her father’s chamber.

“I do,” said ibn Khairan. “I find I rather like the idea of being bought. And the terms will be easy.” The smile deepened. “Exactly those you have offered our Valledan friend.”

“Ser Rodrigo came here with one hundred and fifty horsemen!” said Mazur ben Avren, with the just indignation of a man tasked with monitoring purse strings in difficult times.

“Even so,” said ibn Khairan, with an indifferent shrug. Rodrigo Belmonte, Jehane saw, was smiling. The other captains were not. A palpable ripple of anger moved through them.

One man stepped forward. A blond giant from Karch. “Let them fight,” he said, in thickly accented Asharic. “He says he is worth so much. Let us see it. Good soldiers here are paid much less. Let Belmonte and this man try swords for proof.”

Jehane saw the idea spark and kindle through the garden. The novelty, the hint of danger. The testing. The king looked at the Karcher soldier speculatively.

“I think not.”

Jehane bet Ishak would always remember that moment. How three voices chimed together, as in trained harmony, the same words in the same moment.

“We cannot afford to risk such men in idle games,” said ben Avren the chancellor, first of the three to continue.

Rodrigo Belmonte and Ammar ibn Khairan, each of whom had also spoken those words, remained silent, staring at each other again. Rodrigo was no longer smiling.

Mazur stopped. The stillness stretched. Even the captain from Karch looked from one to the other and took a step backwards, muttering under his breath.

“I think,” said ibn Khairan finally, so softly Jehane had to lean forward to hear, “that if this man and I ever cross swords, it will not be for anyone’s diversion, or to determine yearly wages. Forgive me, but I will decline this suggestion.”

King Badir looked as if he would say something, but then, glancing over at his chancellor, he did not.

“I do have a thought,” Rodrigo murmured. “Though I have no doubt at all that the lord ibn Khairan is worth whatever the king of Ragosa chooses to offer him, I can appreciate why some of our companions might wish to see his mettle. I should be honored to fight beside him for the king’s pleasure against our friend from Karch and any four men he would like to have join him in the lists this afternoon.”

“No!” said Mazur.

“Done,”
said King Badir of Ragosa. The chancellor checked himself with an effort. The king went on, “I should enjoy such a display. So would the people of my city. Let them applaud the valiant men who defend their liberty. But as to the contract, I accept your terms, ibn Khairan. The same wages for both my exiled captains. That amuses me, in truth.”

He did look pleased, as if having discerned a path through the thicket of nuances that had been woven in the garden. “My lord ibn Khairan, it is past time to begin earning your fee. We shall require your presence immediately to consider certain matters raised here this morning. You will do battle for our pleasure this afternoon. We shall then require something further.” He smiled with anticipation. “A verse to be offered after the banquet we will have prepared in the lady Zabira’s honor and your own tonight. I have agreed to your terms, frankly, because I am also acquiring a poet.”

Ibn Khairan had been looking at Rodrigo at the beginning of this, but by the end the king had his steady, courteous regard. “I am honored to be of service in any capacity at all, my lord king. Have you a preferred subject for tonight?”

“I do, with the king’s gracious permission,” said Mazur ben Avren, one index finger stroking his beard. He paused for effect. “A lament for the slain king of Cartada.”