by Allan Cole
"Shut up!" he said.
Scani was shocked. "Don’t speak to your mother like that," she scolded.
Again, Palimak pointed, but his finger was at a lower level.
"Shut up!" he said again. He sounded angry.
"Hush, child!" Scani said. "Young lord or not, old Scani will peel your hide if you keep talking like that."
"Pay him no mind," Nerisa said. "He’s just trying to get attention. If we ignore him he’ll stop."
But Scani was upset. This was a blow to her skills as a nursemaid. "I don’t know where he got such language, My Lady!" she said. "Those are words I most certainly never use."
"Shut up!" Palimak broke in.
Then he wriggled and kicked so fiercely Scani was forced to lower him to the floor and let him go.
"Stop that, Palimak!" Scani cried.
But the child paid no attention. On his hands and knees, he skittered across the wet marble floor. He stopped at the edge of the bath.
His eyes glowed yellow as he regarded the bottle of bath oils.
"Shut up!" he demanded.
He slapped at the bottle, rocking it.
"Shut up, shut up, shuutt uppp!"
And then, to the shocked amazement of the two women, he gave the bottle such a blow that it slammed against the edge of the tub.
Glass shattered in every direction.
* * *
Iraj reeled back as the image exploded in his face.
"The little whore’s son!" he shouted.
Then he looked at the alembic, saw it was quite whole, and realized no harm was done.
He laughed mightily, slapping his thigh in glee. "It was almost as if the little bastard knew we were spying on his mother," he chortled.
His three new friends laughed with him.
"Tell me, Majesty," Kalasariz said, "wasn’t she as beautiful as you’ve heard."
Iraj glanced at the alembic again. His mouth suddenly went dry as he recalled the vision of Nerisa floating naked in her bath. He could almost taste her woman’s scent rising on the perfumed steam.
"Yes," he said, voice rough.
"Even I was moved, Majesty," Luka said. "And I’m a demon and have little appreciate for the female human form."
"She seemed a dish more fit for a king," Fari said, "than a man of such common breeding as Timura."
Iraj’s eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?" he asked.
"Suggesting? Why, nothing, Majesty," Fari said. "I was only commenting on the obvious."
"Lord Timura does claim to be His Majesty’s most ardent friend and supporter," Kalasariz said to the others.
"That’s certainly true," Luka said. "He’s told us all that often enough... When it suits his purpose."
"Perhaps it’s time you tested that friendship, Majesty," Kalasariz said.
"See how deep his feelings for you really are."
Protarus licked dry lips. His fingers rapped against the alembic’s stopper - thinking, rap, rap, thinking.
Then he nodded - hard. His decision was made.
"As I see it," he said, "Safar’s left me with no other choice."
* * *
"In the past," Safar said to Nerisa, "Iraj always listened to what I said. He didn’t necessarily take my advice, nor did I always act as he wanted, but there were no hard feelings over it. At least none he showed."
It was night and the two were curled up on Nerisa’s bed, the sleeping Palimak between them. The child had been restless since the incident in the bath the previous day, his sleep plagued with nightmares. At Safar’s urging Nerisa had brought the child into their bed and now he was sleeping peacefully, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.
"We don’t have to become man and wife, Safar," Nerisa said. "I’ll be your concubine, if you like. Or, since I’m a woman of means, you can be mine."
Safar smiled, but the smile didn’t linger long.
"There’s much more behind this than our nuptials," he said.
Nerisa nodded. He’d told her about the great lie Protarus was demanding of him, and the conspiracy he suspected was being hatched by Luka, Fari and Kalasariz.
"I was just making a silly jest," she said.
"For some reason," Safar said, "he’s taken a sharp turn off the road we were both traveling on. And I don’t know how to move him back."
Nerisa shivered. "I feel like a devil just perched on my grave," she said. "When I was girl on the streets of Walaria I always took that feeling as a warning sign. I don’t know how many times I bolted - for no reason other than that shivery feeling - then saw the thief catcher creeping down the alley."
"Gundara has been howling danger since I left the palace," Safar said. "He advises me to flee."
"Then let’s do it," Nerisa said, suddenly fierce. "Leave everything behind us and flee immediately. We won’t lack for money. I have gold cached all over Esmir."
"I can’t," Safar said.
Nerisa peered at him. Then, "I suppose it’d be pretty difficult giving up being Grand Wazier," she said. "It’s hard to imagine having so much power."
"That means nothing to me, Nerisa," Safar said. "It was never anything I wanted, much less sought. Why, my fondest boyhood dream was to succeed my father some day as the greatest potter in all Kyrania."
"Then let’s go to Kyrania," Nerisa said. "You talked about it so much in Walaria that it seemed a paradise to me. We’ll go together. I’ll be your wife, a simple village woman, with Palimak on my hip and his sister growing in my belly."
Her eyes glistened. "That was always my fondest dream, Safar," she said. "So why don’t we both make those dreams come true?"
He took her hand and said, "I wish I could, but the Fates have decreed otherwise."
And then he told her the tale of two women - one a vision in Alisarrian’s cave, the other a living woman, Methydia, a powerful witch and visionary in her own right.
When he was done he said, "Both insisted Iraj and I must travel the same path together. And at the end of that road is the answer I seek. The answer to the riddle of Hadin."
"Well, I’m no witch," Nerisa said, "and I’m certainly no vision in a cave. But it’s plain to me Protarus has strayed off that path. You said it yourself. You said he’d taken a sharp turn and you didn’t know how to get him back on the same road again.
"Did you ever think that maybe the road has ended? For the two of you, I mean? And you must go on, leaving Protarus behind in whatever madness he makes for himself?"
"Yes," Safar said, almost a whisper. "I’d thought of that."
Then he said, "But Iraj isn’t mad. He’s only king, which is a kind of madness in itself, I suppose. I remember I told him that a long time ago."
"Still," Nerisa. Then firmer, "Still!"
Safar thought a moment, then said, "I’ll try one more time. We’re supposed to meet again tomorrow. I owe him that one last chance."
"You don’t owe him anything," Nerisa said. "It’s the other way around, Safar. I wish you could see that."
Safar shrugged. "I can’t help how I feel."
He looked down at Palimak, then back at her, brow furrowed with worry.
"What disturbs me most of all," he said, "is that both of you are in danger because of me. If Iraj acts badly he’ll come after you as well as me.
"I think you should leave first thing in the morning."
Nerisa, a sensible woman, agreed. She had the responsibility of Palimak after all.
"There’s a village at the crossroads about twenty miles outside of Zanzair," she said. "I’ll have Abubensu get a carriage ready. I can tell him I’m considering an investment in the area, which isn’t far from the truth. It looks to be a promising place."
"I know the village," Safar said. "If all goes well I’ll send a message for you to return. And if doesn’t, I’ll meet you there."
"One of my caravans - bound for Caspan - will be crossing the desert in a day or so," Nerisa said. "We can go with it."
Palimak stirred. His eyes came open, a golden glo
w in the dim light.
Suddenly he screwed up his face and started crying.
Nerisa comforted him. "Everything’s okay, little one," she cooed. "Mother’s here.
"She won’t let anyone hurt you."
* * *
Outside the mansion, Leiria crouched in the shadows watching the house.
She heard a flutter of sound and her head snapped around to mark it.
It was a raven on the prowl, big wings spread to catch the evening air. The raven circled the mansion grounds, then it turned and flew off toward the palace.
It soared higher and higher until it disappeared in the red glare of the Demon Moon.
Leiria’s eyes returned to the house. Deep inside she heard the child cry.
She thought she’d never heard such a lonely sound.
* * *
Chapter Twenty Seven
Escape From Zanzair
Iraj paced the royal chamber like a captive lion, golden hair flowing from under his crown like a mane, beard jutting forward like a lion’s snout; his eyes were narrowed, lips stretched back over his teeth as if in a snarl.
Safar stood in the center of the chamber watching him pace, feeling the anger build.
"I could command it," Iraj said. "I could require you to make the casting."
"Yes, you could," Safar said.
"Would you obey?"
Safar breathed in deeply. Then let it out. "No."
"Even if the penalties were most severe?"
"Even so."
"I could strip you of your title and fortune," Iraj said.
"I understand that."
"I could even take your life," Iraj said. "Are you so set in your refusal that you’d risk it?"
"Let me answer this way," Safar said. "If you were in my boots and felt your honor was at stake, how would you answer such a threat?"
Iraj paused. "I didn’t threaten," he said. "I was only pointing out a fact."
"Still," Safar said, "how would you answer?"
"It’s not the same. I am Iraj Protarus!"
"And I am Safar Timura!"
It was not an answer sculpted to please. Iraj glared at Safar, who stood there calmly, manner mild, but will just as strong. The king broke first, spooked by the strange glow in Safar’s eyes.
He resumed his pacing, saying, "I’m told you think you are more popular than I am."
Safar lifted an eyebrow. "I’d brand that a lie," he said, "but it’s too stupid a charge to deserve the name."
Iraj whirled. "What? Now you dare to insult me?"
"I don’t dare anything," Safar said. "But if you believe such a claim, it’s no insult, but the truth."
Iraj’s fury suddenly turned to anguish. Tears welled up. "Why do you insist on defying me, Safar?" he cried. "We are friends. No, more than friends. More even than blood oath brothers. I swear that I love you more than my mother, more than my father, more than any son born to me."
"I can only answer that with another question," Safar said. "If you love me, why are you pressing so hard to make me violate a thing I hold most sacred?"
The anguish reverted to fury. "Because I am your king!" Iraj thundered. "And I find it necessary to ask this of you for the greater good of Esmir!"
Safar said nothing - there was no reply to make.
Iraj’s manner returned to normal. He shook his head, as if saddened. "And still you refuse," he said.
"I do," Safar answered.
"What if I made this a matter of friendship?" Iraj asked. "You pleaded with me not to before. But we do have a blood bond between us. We swore we would give the other anything that was asked - freely and without hesitation.
"If I asked out of friendship, would you comply?"
"Whatever I did," Safar said, "it’d be the end of our friendship. If I agreed, it would my last act as your friend. If I refused, you’d consider our bond broken. Either way it would be over.
"Are you willing to risk that, Iraj?"
Protarus laughed bitterly. "It would be the only thing in my life I haven’t risked," he said.
"Family? Hah! I killed my uncle. And slew his wives and his children too so they wouldn’t sprout into enemies.
"The honor of my clan? Yes, I risked that from the very beginning. For if I had ever stumbled and fallen, the name Protarus would have been shamed for all history.
"Fortune? Bah! I am like you in that, Safar. I know I tell little lies to myself now that I am king and can have anything I want. It’s habit, like drinking too deeply and too often. But I risked one fortune after another on the road to Zanzair. Every palace I looted I risked in the next toss of the dice to win another.
"Life itself? No one would deny that I’ve proved my willingness to cast it down as the price of a challenge. Why, I’ve nearly thrown it away many times just for the thrill of it."
Safar suddenly remembered Iraj’s headlong race down the Kyranian mountainside to confront the demon raiders. It seemed like such a pure act at the time. The act of a storied hero. And for what? To save a merchant’s caravan? A caravan carrying not a soul Iraj knew or cared about. And there was not an innocent among them - not a babe, not a maid, mother, granny, or man who if you met them would wring pity from your heart.
Then he remembered his own mad dash in Iraj’s wake. He saw it clear. Saw the snow crusted boulders leaping up in his path. Saw the demons with fangs and talons and terrible swords. Saw their steeds who fought like great cats. And he felt it. Felt the fear icing his veins. Felt the demon magic crackling with power he never knew was possible. Felt the anger when he saw Astarias being dragged through the snow by her long black tresses. Felt the cold, distant satisfaction of his first kill.
He looked at Iraj and for the first time truly understood the man he’d been following for all these years. With that knowledge came a small understanding of himself. It arrived with a pang of disappointment. Like Iraj, he’d been a creature of events. A creature who’d cried holy purpose when there was only self at heart. Made himself a man who stretched his head above others, falsely ennobled by the vision of Hadin.
For the first time since this confrontation had first roused itself, Safar wavered. What did it matter? In a world of lies, what was one more? Magic was no holy thing. He was no priest with a godly cause. He had no temple, no altar. And the gods themselves were silent on the matter. Why not do as Iraj asked and declare an Era Of Great Blessings? He could say it, then work like the devils from the Hells to make it so.
Then it came to him to do otherwise might destroy the man he’d called friend. A man who had only one thing left to risk in the chest that made him human - Iraj’s claim of friendship with Safar.
He almost said it, almost relented, almost opened his lips to speak.
But Iraj said, "And finally, there’s friendship. My love for you. That I haven’t risked. Am I willing? I can’t say. The first question I have to ask myself before I do, is if that friendship, that love, is returned? Is it real?
"Or have you been playing me false all these years?"
"You know I haven’t," Safar said.
"Do I?" Iraj asked, an awful smile growing on his face. "Do I now?"
"Of course, you do," Safar said. "So we’re arguing. We’ve argued before. We’ll argue again. We’re different men, so we hold different opinions. But they are merely differences between friends."
"I tested you once long ago," Iraj said. "If you recall, you didn’t do well at that test."
Safar shrugged. "I was a boy in lust," he said. "It meant nothing."
"I also said someday I might test you again," Iraj went on. "I think that day has finally come."
"You mean the casting?" Safar asked. "You want me to lie to prove my friendship?"
He was about to say, very well, then, I’ll do it. But Iraj shook his head, cutting him off.
"No," he said. "You claim that as a matter of honor. I won’t ask you to soil it. A man of equal honor would never require such a thing of his friend."
The statement
caught Safar by surprise. Was it over? Had he succeeded?
"So here is the test, Safar Timura. The man who claims to be my friend. It’s a small test. One that should give you no trouble."
"And that is?" Safar asked, alarm rushing back.
"I gave you a woman once," Iraj said. "A virgin I greatly desired for myself. Astarias.
"And now I ask the same of you, although she is no virgin and is therefore the lesser gift."
Iraj looked deep into Safar’s shocked eyes.
"Give me Lady Fatinah," he said. "I want her for myself."
"How can you ask that?" Safar said, dumbfounded. "You know she is to be my wife."
Iraj shrugged. "You can have her back when I’m done with her," he said. "And still marry her if you like. There’s no shame in following a king in his pleasure.
"You liked Leiria well enough. Now that I think of it, that’s two women I’ve given you. Two, Safar!
"I ask only one in return."
"This is foolish, Iraj!" Safar cried. "Even if I would consider such a thing - which I wouldn’t - she’s not mine to give. She belongs to herself."
"I imagine Astarias and Leiria felt the same way," Iraj said. "But that didn’t stop you."
Struck to the quick, Safar struggled for an answer. Before he could, Iraj drew an object from his pocket.
"Here," he said, "I’ll even sweeten the bargain, although why this should be a bargain is beyond me. Our oath was to give freely, no questions asked."
Iraj dropped the object into Safar’s open hand. He glanced down and saw a small golden amulet. A wondrously formed horse dangling from a glittering chain.
"Coralean gave me that a long ago," Iraj said. "It was my reward for saving his caravan. You remember, don’t you? You received a magical dagger at the same time."
Safar remembered very well. That same dagger, whose image was Nerisa’s crest, was tucked in his belt.
"Coralean said someday I would see the perfect horse. A warrior’s dream of a horse. And all I had to do was give this amulet to its owner and he would not be able to refuse me.
"Well, I never found that horse, Safar. But never mind, I’m sure it’s there."
He clasped Safar’s numb hand around the amulet.
"This is yours now, my friend. I give it to you for the woman. Why, it isn’t even an equal exchange.
