“Zaradine Ana has been quick to notice much about the palace and to understand its ways. She appreciates the value of Pez’s humor. Yes, he is mad, but sometimes his very madness can bring a strange sort of clarity to those around him. Laughter is a great tonic.”
“I didn’t notice you laughing, Spur,” the Grand Vizier said, more slyly now.
“You were obviously not paying enough attention, Tariq. Pez was teaching me one of his nonsense songs. He is wonderful at taking my mind off the tedium of our journey.”
“Was it the song about the butterfly and the ass?” Ana interjected.
“No, though he did sing that one to me yesterday, Zaradine. Today it was actually the one about smashed pomegranates.”
“Oh yes, I know that one. It’s funny, even though it’s so silly.”
“Quite,” Lazar said, giving her a soft smile. “I do humor Pez, Grand Vizier, and it would be helpful if you would, too. He has his place and his part to play for the palace, but he is also fragile and I’d rather not deal with him in one of his strange moods if I can help it.”
“I shall do my best, Spur.”
Lazar nodded his thanks and hoped Ana would notice how he included her as he swept his gaze by her and back to Herezah. “Shall we go, Valide?” he said, knowing she would have felt a small stab of triumph at his sudden show of humility toward her. His good sense had overridden his anger and he had vowed during these hours of walking not to lose his temper with her again. She would find ways to punish Ana instead of him and besides he needed everyone calm and ready for the ordeal of the desert.
Jumo waited by the Valide’s camel with her handler. “This is Masha,” he said, “and we are assured she will not try any tricks.”
“Good,” Herezah replied, looking dubiously at the kneeling animal, who was chewing indifferently, awaiting her burden.
“We won’t ride like the Khalid, Valide,” Lazar said politely. “We will seat you at the back of the camel’s hump on top of a saddle that is laden with blankets.”
“You’re not trying to sell me on the idea that this is going to be comfortable, are you, Spur Lazar?” she replied, a little more like the sarcastic Herezah of old.
“I wouldn’t dare. But you will get used to her swinging gait quickly. My best advice is that you simply allow your body to drift with hers. Don’t fight it, just go with it and by this evening you will move in tandem with her.”
Herezah pointed. “That man—that tribal man over there—he is kneeling on his saddle.”
Lazar shook his head in some awe. “I know. It’s their way. They can go at full gallop like that and never lose their balance. I always swore I’d learn how to do that.”
“Is this why you suggested I wear the pants and robes of the desert, Lazar?” she said, a tease in her voice now.
“It is,” he joked in his deadpan way. “You will be more comfortable for riding and I promise you, Valide, you are far cooler in these robes than you would be in the formal wear to which you are accustomed.”
“I swear I wouldn’t be comfortable in this heat even if I were naked!”
Lazar noticed Jumo stifle a grin. Herezah was back to her flirtatious best.
She could hardly miss his grimace. “I was making a jest, Lazar. Have you ever understood the concept of smiling at somene’s jest, even just to be polite?”
“Yes, Valide. As you can see, I’m not very good at it.”
“Indeed.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and gave an appreciative smile at touching him. As she stepped close to the camel she seemed to lose her footing and Lazar had to step up close to steady her, his hands instinctively clasping her waist. Her hands more knowingly clasped around his neck. “Thank you,” she breathed. “These are certainly slippery creatures to climb aboard.”
Jumo gave Lazar a look of soft exasperation, for Masha had not so much as blinked whilst Herezah was attempting to mount her. Lazar pretended he did not notice Herezah’s ruse and allowed her hands to linger around his neck as he ensured that she was seated properly on the saddle.
“As I said,” he began, releasing himself from her embrace, “it’s not exactly comfortable, but you should not be too sore if you don’t resist the swaying.”
“I shall remember that,” Herezah said, and he knew she was not referring to his advice so much as his touch. “That’s the sort of tip we give new girls in the harem.” She pretended to stifle a playful smile.
Lazar kept his expression deliberately blank in response and turned to check that the other royal guests were on their camels. He could hardly fail to see the look of injury that Ana threw at him. Clearly, she hadn’t failed to notice Herezah’s pantomime.
“Come,” Jumo said, well able to read the undercurrent swirling around them. “The sun has no patience.”
29
The first seven days passed in a monotonous routine as everyone settled into rising before dawn and walking for a few hours until the sun noticed them and threw down her fury. They would then ride for another four hours, hardly wasting words, focused on nothing other than the sway of their camels and making it through the next hour when the skins of water would be handed around. The camels did not drink any water during this time but Lazar knew from Salim’s urgings that on this eighth day they must make it to a well or the animals would simply stop. Everyone, including the royals, had given up eating until the cool of the evening—no one even bothered with the morning flatbread anymore.
Salim complained that if his men had been allowed to bring a saluki, the dog could have coursed for the desert hare and they might have enjoyed fresh meat. Fortunately he had shared this gripe only with Lazar, who kept it to himself. He didn’t need anyone fantasizing about fresh roasted meat when all they had was thin dried strips of goat that had been packed at the palace.
Still, it, together with the flatbread they cooked each evening, oil, dried fruits, and nuts kept them alive. He knew everyone’s stomach was grinding as they began to adjust to this lean new diet and soon he imagined the gauntness that struck all desert travelers would begin to appear amongst the ranks of this party. His body was already wasted enough and he was sensible enough to take Jumo’s advice seriously that he should eat more.
“We can always kill one of the camels in the future.” Jumo had urged at the outset.
Salim had come up with a solution this morning when they had woken groggily to the screech of several falcons swooping above.
“If we could catch ourselves a bird, he could hunt hare and bustard, just as easily as a saluki.”
“How?” Lazar asked, intrigued.
“If we find the well today, we will have to rest the caravan and take that time to hunt a bird.”
Lazar nodded, more out of fascination at the idea of trapping and taming a falcon than out of agreement. “This well—you’re sure it’s about two hours from here?”
Salim shook his head. “There is no surety in the Empty, my friend.”
“Then—”
“But we have knowledge that a well should be two hours due west of here,” Salim finished.
Lazar accepted this—what else could he do but get the caravan moving in its westerly direction and hope the Khalid’s “knowledge,” as Salim put it, was true?
An unspoken truce had fashioned itself around the Spur and the Valide, and most in the party, including the Elim, were feeling less tension on the journey as a result. Lazar didn’t trust Herezah’s easy manner, of course—he had known her long enough to appreciate the masterful pragmatism she could demonstrate when cornered. Herezah had no doubt taken stock, realized that she had no supporters amongst this company, and decided that locking horns with the only person who was obliged to protect her was sheer madness. Lazar knew the Elim were entrusted with her care and safety, but she had punished them long enough that he was sure if it came to a choice between saving Ana or the Valide, they would choose the girl. The Spur was different. He was bound by oath allegiance to his Zar, her son. He was not so sure which
way he would go if forced to make that same choice.
HEREZAH’S GOOD SENSE HAD prevailed during this last week and she had bitten back her own fury, swallowed her pride, and allowed this uneasy peace between herself and the Spur to build. It certainly made for a less tempestuous time and she noticed that Lazar was dropping back from the head of the caravan more frequently now to talk with the royal party. He seemed ever so slightly more relaxed—that is, she thought grimly, if a stern expression and distinct lack of humor could be considered relaxed.
She noticed he paid Ana no special attention and seemed to enjoy the Grand Vizier’s company, although once again, how did one tell if Lazar was enjoying anything? He certainly talked more to Tariq than to either of the two women. Ana was saying little enough anyway. The girl had become all but mute these past few days, withdrawing entirely into herself.
“What is wrong with you, child?” Herezah finally inquired. “Why don’t you speak?”
“Forgive me, Valide. I have kept to myself because I haven’t been feeling well.”
“What sort of unwell?” Tariq inquired gently. “Do you need more water? I can—”
“No, I’m not overly thirsty,” Ana replied. “I just feel slightly nauseous.”
Herezah shared a sly glance with the Grand Vizier and knew they were wondering the same thing—whether Ana might already be pregnant.
“Don’t worry on my account,” Ana continued. “I’m perfectly capable of the journey, just not in the mood for conversation.”
“That’s all right, Zaradine Ana,” Maliz said, touching her arm. “Just keep us informed. We’re here to protect you.”
Ana gave him a small smile of thanks from behind her veil and returned to her silence. They rode on for another hour until Jumo dropped back this time, smiling widely and with information that was obviously good news.
“We have found the well. We shall stop here for the rest of the day, water the camels, and replenish our own stores.”
“I thought these beasts didn’t require watering,” Herezah said.
Even Maliz laughed at her statement. “Do you mean ever, Valide?” he said, bowing to show he meant no disrespect, simply some levity. “Camels can go for long periods without water—in this case I think we’ve been traveling, what is it, seven full days?” Jumo nodded. “We will no doubt plot our journey by the availability of wells. The beasts need to drink for many hours to refresh themselves, but then they will be able to go another six days or so.”
Herezah didn’t reply but didn’t look abashed either. Camels were meaningless, smelly beasts of burden as far as she was concerned, and so long as one didn’t die beneath her, that was all she needed to know about them. “So we camp here?”
“Yes, Valide. The Spur, myself, and some of the Khalid are going hunting after the watering but the Elim will remain to guard you.”
“Hunting?” Herezah said, her eyebrows arching with surprise. “What?”
“Falcons,” Jumo replied, unable to conceal his excitement.
“Oh, I should like to see that,” the Grand Vizier said. “Include me in the party.”
“I shall let the Spur know your wish, Grand Vizier.”
THE ATMOSPHERE AROUND THE camp was almost festive as the tents went up far earlier than usual, and everyone could sense the Khalids’ relief that they had found the promised well. It had been unused for a long time and was half buried, but nothing that three men digging hard for an hour couldn’t unearth. Before long the water was surging again, goatskins were being replenished, and the camels were happily restoring themselves. Men’s laughter could be heard and conversation was flowing in tandem with the water.
Lazar sipped the bitter nectar from the earth and grinned for the first time in ages. “Sherem!” he said to Salim.
“Sherem!” the Khalid echoed, offering up good health to all.
Pez turned cartwheels for everyone and the Khalid laughed and clapped. They had already worked out that the dwarf was insane but it troubled them not; they seemed to like the little man who entertained them with his acrobatics and obvious problem with flatulence, which curiously enough affected him only when the royal party was near.
“And now we hunt the falcon,” Salim said to Lazar. “Come.”
Jumo had already mentioned to Lazar that the Vizier was keen to observe the hunt, and though Lazar had greeted this news with a grimace, he could hardly refuse, so the Grand Vizier, together with Lazar, Jumo, a babbling Pez, and four of the Khalid, set off, having taken their leave of the women and the rest of the party.
They moved slowly on foot, for the sun was scorching the sands this day. Nothing moved except them, not even a scorpion or snake. And then they heard it, the high-pitched shriek of the two falcons that had seemed to be following them the past few days.
Lazar mentioned this to Salim, who agreed. “These birds are patient. They wait, they watch, they are opportunists who never know when something might move that they can hunt and eat.”
“So what do we lure them with?”
Salim touched his nose in a knowing way. “Watch,” he said, and pointed to one of his men, who dragged from a sack at his waist a plump pigeon.
Everyone’s mouth went slack. “He’s had that with him the whole way?” Lazar asked incredulously.
Pez waddled up and stroked the pigeon’s head, licking his lips in an obscene way.
“Very lucky none of us discovered that stowaway until now,” the Vizier commented, for once agreeing with the dwarf. “I love roasted pigeon.”
“What now?” Lazar asked.
“We make a hide. Only one man can do this, so you will have to simply watch from a distance. It requires patience, so if any of you don’t think you can make it through an hour or more of absolute stillness beneath this sun, you should return to the camp now.”
Lazar nodded. “We understand.” He looked around at the party and translated. No one blinked. “I think everyone here wants to remain. We’ll need some shade, though.”
Three of the Khalid unraveled sand-colored fabric that had been tied around their waists.
“This is what we use,” Salim said as the lengths were given to the Percherese. “From the sky, if we remain still and upwind, the falcon will not know we are here.”
The Khalid showed the uninitiated how to set up their shade, even how to sit. And then the Percherese watched with great interest as the men of the desert set about digging a shallow hole into the sand to create the hide with yet more of the fabric on top. Once that was completed, Salim came over to remind his audience of the need for silence and stillness. As he climbed into the hole, Pez began to sing softly and Lazar quieted him with a gentle touch to the dwarf ’s shoulder.
“Why is he here?” Maliz asked, his tone still good-humored, and yet there was a sense of irritation beneath the inquiry.
“For the same reason you are, Grand Vizier.”
“He’s told you he wanted to witness this, did he?”
“In his way, yes. I have known Pez for almost two decades, as you have, and I understand him through his eccentricities.”
The Grand Vizier did not look convinced and was about to say so when he was interrupted.
“Hush,” Jumo murmured. “They are ready. Do you see, they have tied a length of all but invisible string to the leg of the pigeon, its other end to a stone. The falcons are still here, hovering, circling. They are peregrine—shahin—and highly prized.”
“Do they not use the hawk?” Maliz whispered, captivated by the unfolding scene.
“They prefer the shahin for their speed, courage, and tenacity. A shahin does not give up.”
“So why would they ever use a hawk? I’ve seen them used on the gravel plains.”
“My understanding,” Jumo whispered as Lazar wondered when Tariq had ever visited the gravel plains two hundred miles north of Percheron, “is that the hawk—or hurr, as the desert tribes call it—has better eyesight and is more suited to that region.”
Maliz nodde
d, satisfied, seemingly unaware of questions silently flying around him.
Lazar believed the demon had made his first real mistake in his effort to conceal his two identities. Lazar knew for a fact that Tariq had not done much traveling beyond the city’s borders and also that the Vizier—as he’d spent most of his life at the palace—would have sneered at anything connected with the desert.
“The Khalid will launch her now,” Jumo whispered.
“You know a great deal about this, my friend,” Lazar murmured. “I’m impressed.”
Jumo shrugged. “We hawked as youngsters but we were told stories about the desert tribes of the Great Waste and their shahin. I feel privileged to share this.”
Lazar smiled inwardly. Jumo suddenly looked like a boy again in his obvious excitement.
“Here she goes,” Jumo warned. And at his words, the pigeon was thrown aloft. With a great flapping of wings she steadied in the air and then began to ascend, the string unraveling behind her.
The falcons noticed her immediately, for a pigeon is hardly silent in its bustling effort to rise. One flew behind her, banked, and then dipped its wing, shaping itself into an arrow that would swoop through a killing arc. The men watched, enthralled, as the pigeon, still ascending and unaware of the danger, was hit at full force and killed in the air before both birds toppled back to the sands.
Salim cautiously appeared and stealthily made his way to the stone to which the string was still attached. Up ahead the bird of prey was tearing at feathers and flesh.
Jumo spoke softly as Pez, seemingly disinterested, unraveled a long thread from his robes, smiling at its endless length. “The falcon always faces upwind so it cannot pick up the scent of the man,” Jumo explained. “It is also gorging now, not paying as much attention to its surrounds as it might otherwise. It is vulnerable in these moments only. Watch.”
The string was ever so slowly reeled back in and the falcon came closer and closer until it was barely a stride away from where Salim was secreted in the hide. The hunting bird seemed to be so engrossed in its kill that it didn’t even sense the reaching arms and only realized it was caught when the Khalid began shouting and cheering.
Emissary Page 38
