Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Yes, indeed. But I really can’t put the Valide and the Spur together. This is a shock.”

  “A shock, yes, but perhaps not an unwelcome one, Highness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Maliz shrugged softly. “I shouldn’t be presumptuous.”

  “Tariq, you have promised me honesty. That is why I have permitted you far more access to the Zar and his thoughts than my father ever allowed. I’d suggest you don’t become coy with me now.”

  “Forgive me, Highness. That is not my intention but I wonder sometimes whether my candor is too forward.”

  “Not at all. Say what is on your mind.”

  Maliz nodded. “I’m sure I’m not the only person in the palace to privately believe that the Spur has held a deep admiration for Zaradine Ana.” He saw Boaz open his mouth but hurried on, determined now to craft this delicate path he had promised the Valide he would lead her son down. “And I am the first to lay my hand against my heart and assure you that the Spur acted with only the greatest courtesy and duty toward your wife on our ill-fated trip. He kept a distance from all in the royal party but fought so courageously for us all when it mattered that I am surprised he lives to fight another day.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Boaz commented.

  “Indeed, Highness. And his very choice when a terrible scenario was laid out before him was the choice of a man utterly loyal to his duty. In this the Spur was above any criticism. And so, as much as anyone believes he holds a bright torch for the young woman who is now your Absolute Favorite and Zaradine, I also believe it is based on a loyalty. He discovered her, he purchased her, he brought her to the palace and even took her punishment rather than see the young woman flogged for her indiscretion.” The Zar nodded but was frowning, obviously unsure where Maliz was heading. “The point is, Highness, it seems the Spur’s ardor has always been directed elsewhere and yet his dutiful behavior toward your new wife has often been misconstrued. Perhaps in an effort to conceal his true feelings toward your mother, he has allowed others to continue believing he has feelings for the Zaradine.”

  “I’m fairly certain Lazar doesn’t care what others think.”

  Maliz smirked behind his beard. “Every man has his level, my Zar. Some, like the Spur, have a greater tolerance for gossip and innuendo.”

  “And all of this boils down to the fact that you believe I should be quietly grateful that the head soldier of our realm is secretly making love to the Valide, and when this secret finds its way out via the Grand Master Eunuch–as it surely will—that I place no importance on it and thus give him no weapon to use against myself, my mother, or the Spur.”

  Maliz realized that once again he had underestimated the young man who ruled Percheron. “Precisely, my Zar. If we are to curb Salmeo’s influence, we must do so using his own cunning ways.”

  Boaz sighed. “I can’t imagine why we’ve wasted so much time discussing this. I have crucial state business on my mind, Tariq, and this sort of petty palace stuff holds no interest.”

  “I understand, Majesty, but again it is my role to keep you fully informed. I could not know that you would take such a pragmatic view–the Valide is your mother, after all.”

  “She has no reprisals to fear from me.”

  “That’s excellent, Highness. I believe she wishes to speak with you today. She asked me if you were available for a meeting. Perhaps Bin could set it up, although I understand that you must be very busy with your preparations and it may be easier after the Spur and the dwarf have left. When do they leave, incidentally?”

  “Later today.”

  Time was short. “I shall take up no more of your time, Highness. Thank you for allowing me to have this private conversation.”

  Maliz quickly sent a handwritten message to the Valide informing her that he had kept his side of the bargain and that her son had barely twitched an eyebrow during their discussion. He suggested that she be humble but not too prickly about the liaison. Be forthright, Majesty, he wrote. He will be surprised by this approach and realize that you are not asking his permission so much as treating him with the respect he deserves. The Grand Vizier ended his communication with a warning that the Spur and the dwarf were leaving after midday and that she should meet with the Zar immediately.

  After the Elim runner had been sent to the harem, Maliz went in search of the dwarf. He found him in his chambers, humming to himself. Maliz knew he had arrived silently but still Pez had spun around, shocked. Could the dwarf sense people?

  “The donkeys are flying high today,” Pez wailed, jumping up and down.

  “Calm down, Pez. How are you?”

  “My nose hurts. I feel sick. I want to be sick,” he groaned, and began to retch.

  “Ah, not on me, I hope. Stay calm, dwarf,” Maliz said, wondering if Pez, whose eyes were rolling back in his head, could hear him.

  But apparently he could. “Don’t touch me!” the dwarf began shrieking repeatedly.

  Maliz ignored the dwarf, looked behind him to ensure they were alone and quickly covered the distance between himself and Pez. The dwarf was cornered, but he opened up his lungs and began unashamedly screaming. Maliz knew the Elim would be here in moments. He just had to lay a hand against the dwarf. He reached forward and Pez grabbed his hand and bit it hard. Maliz squealed and withdrew hurriedly, but the next moment he pretended with one hand to reach for the dwarf ’s shoulder, and whilst Pez swatted and kicked and prepared to bite again, Maliz used his other hand to swiftly grab the little man’s neck…and squeeze.

  Pez screamed louder than Maliz thought possible; he felt sure his ears would be left bleeding and his hearing impaired by the shrill sound. As he had anticipated, the strong arms of two recently arrived Elim were suddenly pulling him back.

  “Grand Vizier!” one exclaimed. “What has happened?”

  The other was bent, soothing Pez, who refused to stop his caterwauling.

  Maliz shook his head, hoping to rid himself of the terrible ringing in his ears, before indignantly shaking himself free of the Elim’s grip. “He collapsed, you fool. I was seeing if there was anything I could do.”

  “He hurt me!” Pez wailed. “He keeps trying to hurt me.”

  “Is there any truth to what Pez claims, Grand Vizier?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I take offense at that question!” Maliz pointed at Pez. “I was passing by when I saw him lying on the ground.”

  “Passing?”

  “What is your name?”

  “Amooz, Grand Vizier.”

  “Well, Amooz…” Maliz bristled. “I’m not in the habit of explaining my movements to the palace servants.”

  “I understand, Grand Vizier, please forgive me. Pez takes some time to calm when he becomes worked up like this. Perhaps you would be kind enough to let us handle him now. Thank you for trying to help. He is contrary at the best of times and only newly returned to the palace; we fully expect him to be disoriented for a number of weeks to come.”

  Maliz straighted his robe in a further show of ire at being manhandled. “Next time I see him writhing in agony, I’ll leave him to his struggles, shall I?” He did not give the Elim an opportunity to respond, but turned on his heel and stormed out, his mind reeling at the magic he had felt simmering in the palace’s jester. Whether he was Iridor or not, Maliz had not had time to test. But it mattered not. Pez–mad or not–was dangerous and Maliz would no longer take any chances about whether or not the dwarf was Lyana’s messenger. The dwarf had to be dealt with swiftly.

  Pez allowed himself to be gradually soothed and taken to one of the Zar’s private gardens. The Elim left him there, unsure of what else to do for the dwarf, although Pez heard Amooz say as they left that he would be sending a message through the palace hierarchy about today’s incident.

  Whatever recriminations might come, they would come too late, Pez knew. The Grand Vizier had taken him by surprise and seized his chance; he had laid his hand on Pez and the little man couldn’t be sure what concl
usions had been drawn. He had done his utmost to cloak his powers whilst trickling some shepherding magic directly at Maliz in the hope that the counterattack might unexpectedly sidetrack the demon. Pez could not fully conceal his magic–not from the touch of the demon–but he hoped something he’d done had baffled Maliz. It’s all that he had standing between him and death, for he could outwit Zarab’s disciple for only so long. If the Grand Vizier finally decided that Pez was Iridor, he could have the dwarf killed in a multitude of ways, from a seeming accident around the palace to shameless murder at the hands of an accomplice.

  Pez wept at his own stupidity for leaving himself vulnerable. How could he have left himself so open, especially now, when the hour of their greatest battle was virtually upon them? Naturally news of his safe return would grab attention from those who had a vested interest in his well-being–either positive or negative. He should have known Maliz would come looking, unable to believe the dwarf could survive the ferocity of the desert. Pez was furious with himself. Had he endangered them all? Was it too late to find Ana, to secure Lyana’s rising? He dearly wished that Ellyana would pay a visit, but she was more elusive than ever.

  He thought about how Ellyana had manipulated him. From the moment they had met, she had seduced him with her words, cajoled him into doing precisely what she needed. She had still been controlling him as recently as the disastrous trip into the desert. That awful demand–he had never understood its cruelty and knew now he was never meant to. And where was Lyana? She had not even told him who Lyana was for this battle and Pez admitted openly to himself now, for the first time, how much that hurt him. They had always traveled so closely, he and Lyana could tap into each other’s thoughts, but in this cycle Lyana was keeping him in the dark, keeping them all guessing about one another. He was convinced that the new Zaradine had her part to play; he just wasn’t sure what her part was, and sadly, as much as he wanted to believe that Ana was the Goddess, too many signs were saying she was not. He bent forward, cupped his head with his hands, and let the tears flow freely. They couldn’t lose. Not again. Not this time. He had never felt this lonely or abandoned in all of his memories either as the dwarf or as Iridor.

  “Pez?”

  He jumped. “Highness! And how high can you jump?” He yelled his nonsense out of habit.

  “I was told you may still be here. What happened?” Pez looked around furtively. “I’ve come alone,” Boaz assured him.

  Pez motioned for the Zar to close the door, which he did. “Are you sure no one is there?” Boaz shook his head, frowning. Pez sighed softly. “The Grand Vizier attacked me.”

  “Attacked? Are you sure?”

  Pez grimaced. “Well, he grabbed me by the neck and pinned me down. How else would you describe it?”

  Boaz’s frown deepened. “I did hear from the Elim that you were found struggling beneath him but I can’t imagine why someone so phlegmatic as Tariq would assault you.”

  “Ah, you are of course referring to the new Tariq, not the one who served your father? That Tariq was rather easily excited.”

  “And this one?” Boaz asked.

  “Is, apart from outward looks, an entirely different being…don’t you think?”

  Boaz’s mouth twisted wryly. “He’s certainly akin to the vestren.”

  “Except that even though the snake adapts its color to suit its surrounds, it remains a vestren.”

  Boaz looked faintly amused. “And Tariq?”

  “Is quite simply changed. He is not adapting to a new role, Highness. He is not the man we all once knew.”

  Boaz sighed. “Where is this going, Pez? What are you saying?”

  This was a dangerous question to be asked. Pez preferred honesty with the Zar…and Boaz deserved it, but how in Lyana’s name could he convince the young royal that a demon had possessed the Grand Vizier’s body? He had to try, though, because Maliz’s attack today changed everything. Now Pez desperately needed his Zar’s protection. He began carefully. “You have witnessed the Lore at work, Majesty.”

  Boaz frowned, confused. “Yes.”

  “So you have no choice but to believe magic exists.”

  “I still shake my head at that incident on the night of Ana’s choosing, Pez. I don’t understand it at all.”

  Pez nodded patiently. “Nevertheless, you’ve felt its touch upon you, and not just once, but again when you drew upon my powers during the execution of Horz.”

  Boaz nodded and Pez could see how uncomfortable this discussion made the young Zar. “You believe, don’t you, Boaz?”

  “Against all my upbringing and will, yes, I believe in magic,” he said sombrely. “I could hardly refute it after being at its mercy.”

  “Then would you believe me if I told you that I thought an impostor roamed the Stone Palace?”

  Boaz’s head flicked up, his eyes wide with astonishment. “What sort of impostor?”

  “One using magic.”

  “Against you?”

  Pez shook his head, his stare intent, his expression serious. “Against all of us.”

  “I’m lost,” Boaz said, opening his palms. “Who is this impostor?”

  Pez held his breath. Then risked it. “He is Tariq.”

  Boaz stared at his friend, aghast.

  At least he isn’t laughing or dismissing me, Pez thought as he watched the young royal try to digest what had just been thrown at him. He took his time, the intensity of his stare not lessening. Pez held his gaze firmly.

  The Zar spoke in a hushed tone when he finally addressed Pez. “You think the Grand Vizier is wielding a magic and that he is not the Tariq we have known for all these years.” It was not a question but a bald statement.

  Pez nodded, too scared to say anything. He knew how much he was asking for the Zar to go along with this notion.

  “How did you reach this conclusion?”

  “The same way you might, Majesty. He is behaving so differently it’s not possible he is the same man. Consider his physical state–the change is remarkable, even the stoop has gone, and that’s not physically possible for a man headed toward his eighth decade. How about the way he looks? Where is the forked beard hung with gems? Where are the bejeweled sandals? The ostentatious garments? And consider his approach to life. He is no longer the grasping, sycophantic, excitable courtier but suddenly a rational, sober, even modest counselor.” Pez’s voice took a tone of plea. “Perhaps in isolation none of these things matter, but together they surely prompt questions. Boaz, he is the man you once detested more than Salmeo. Now he is the first person you turn to for advice–and no, Majesty, this not jealousy speaking. This is fact.” He returned to his former, more grim tone. “Consider the way his mind works. He was once shallow, an order taker, frightened of his own shadow. Now he leads. Now he thinks for himself, for you! Now he walks with the air of a man who to all intents and purposes feels invincible.”

  Boaz stopped him with a hand in the air. “Pez, listen to yourself! Do you know how far-fetched this sounds?”

  The dwarf nodded. “I am only sorry I haven’t had the courage to share my fears with you before today. But I didn’t think you’d listen. I’m not even sure you can accept this now.”

  “Who else have you shared this with?”

  “Only Lazar.”

  “And surely Lazar laughed in your face?”

  “Quite the contrary, Majesty.”

  “He believes this?” Boaz asked, unable to hide his dismay.

  Pez knew he had gone far enough with this conversation. Boaz would tolerate only so much. “He is deeply suspicious of the Grand Vizier.”

  “And still he saved his life,” Boaz said, his tone disdainful.

  Pez shrugged. “Lazar is honor bound, Majesty. He would leave no man of Percheron to die in the desert, no man of any nation, in fact.”

  “And what do you expect me to do with this outrageous information?” Boaz demanded, anger erupting now.

  “I ask only that you keep it in mind, Highness. Don’t di
smiss my claim that the Grand Vizier meant me harm.”

  “But tell me, why would he want to harm you?”

  Pez wanted to tell Boaz everything–about the death of Zafira, the rising of Iridor, Lyana’s battle–but instead he said merely, “He suspects that I am not the fool I appear to be.”

  “And he would be right! Are his suspicions enough to condemn him as a magical impostor? You are suggesting, are you not, that someone else walks in Tariq’s body?” Pez could only nod. Boaz sighed, exasperated. “Pez, I am facing war with Galinsea. I don’t know what I’m doing. I never lived through war alongside my father, so I have no experience to draw upon. It is taking every ounce of my resilience to stay brave in the face of this threat, in the loss of my wife, in the role as Zar. Please don’t heap any more onto my shoulders.”

  Pez nodded apologetically and meant it. “Protect me, Boaz, that’s all I ask. Keep the Grand Vizier from me. Perhaps use the Elim’s complaint to forbid him from being near to me…just for a while, until this all blows over.”

  Boaz nodded. “I shall do that for you, Pez, but I think going into the desert again will achieve the distance you request. Are you sure about this trip?”

  “Absolutely. I know exactly where Arafanz headed from our camp. It’s all we have,” Pez lied.

  “How will you ever find the trail.”

  “Lazar will find it.”

  “You are very faithful to Ana.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The Zar shrugged. “It’s right that you are but your friendship with Ana, and, indeed, with Lazar, seem on a level with the friendship you and I share.”

  Pez looked at the Zar, astonished. “And that bothers you, Highness?”

  “I just wonder sometimes…” Boaz hesitated, but Pez sensed the Zar felt himself to be in too deep to withdraw the statement.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I’m wondering if a terrible choice were upon you, who you would choose.”