Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  “They’re definitely here?” Herezah’s eyes gleamed; she was determined to eat well tomorrow evening.

  Jumo answered. “Yes, we have seen them and they are relatively plentiful in this region.”

  “Sweet dreams, all, then,” the Grand Vizier said, rising and stretching. “Come, Zaradine, let me escort you to your tent.”

  Lazar scowled, but he covered his expression quickly and offered to walk Herezah back to the tent. With an expression of surprised delight she took his arm. Nevertheless he kept his eyes facing rigidly forward on the back of the Grand Vizier, who now put his arm around Ana’s small figure as they strolled back to the accommodation.

  SHAHIN WAS BEAUTIFUL, LAZAR decided, and so proud as she rode on the arm of Salim.

  “She is tame now,” Salim told him. “She will always enjoy a man as her companion now.”

  “Is she not attached to just one man? You?”

  “Only to begin with. We sell our birds all the time, and so long as they are treated well, they will cleave to a new owner. But this one is special. There is an intensity to this falcon I have not seen in a long time. And she learns so fast. She is valuable.”

  “So you will not be selling her?”

  “Never.”

  Jumo and one of the Khalid riders arrived excited.

  “They’re just over the rise—at least four of them,” Jumo said.

  Lazar actually smiled. He had never seen Jumo so animated and could understand that his friend was reliving a boyhood memory with this hunt. He wondered why they had never hunted with birds before, the two of them. Perhaps they’d do so when they returned to Percheron.

  “If we had dogs it would be easier. Dogs and falcons are invincible when they work together,” Salim moaned.

  Lazar hadn’t realized that the salukis and shahin would normally work in partnership. “Can she kill enough for us?”

  “Oh yes, but the bustard is a fearsome prey. It fights hard to its death and it also squirts an oily muck at its predator. It will take many days before we can fully clean a falcon of the mess on her feathers. That’s why we usually use dogs and more than one bird.”

  “How many can Shahin take alone?”

  Salim shrugged. “A good one can probably kill up to eight or nine, but she will take six or seven on the wing to half that on the ground.”

  “So we have to get the bustards moving?”

  “Yes, my friend, that’s your job.”

  And so with guidance from the other Khalid men, Lazar and Jumo, with Pez flapping his arms and hobbling alongside mimicking the bustards, flushed the fat desert birds from their hollows in the sand.

  It was several hours of mighty battles for Shahin. Sometimes the fight with her prey would rage over forty yards. Salim was right; the bustard was a warrior. Oil was splotched darkly over the golden ground in its attempts to thwart its attacker. But Shahin was wily and had obviously hunted this prey on many occasions when she was wild, for she nimbly avoided being coated. She was not so successful in avoiding blows from its wings, and on her third kill was stunned by one of these blows. Salim finished off the dying bustard, breaking its neck, for he was worried about his falcon. She came around, though, and within a short while was taking her fourth bustard, attacking initially on the wing and then killing it fully on the sands.

  “A beautiful sight,” Jumo murmured as they watched the two birds tussle in the air and then plummet behind a particularly large dune.

  “Ah, if we had the dogs, this would be so much easier.” Salim sighed.

  “I’ll get it…and her,” Jumo said in high excitement, sprinting off toward the dune.

  “Have you ever seen him like that?” Pez asked, out of earshot of the others, as he looked at Lazar’s uncharacteristically open and grinning expression.

  “Not in all the time I’ve known him,” Lazar said, scratching his head. “We’re definitely going to do this again, Jumo and I. We shall train our own birds and hunt regularly once this is all done.”

  “And grow old together—you make a fine pair,” Pez said, with only a hint of sarcasm.

  “You know what I mean. This is fun. Jumo and I spend so much time in our dutiful pursuits for the throne that we forget to stop sometimes and just do things like this.” Lazar waved at where Jumo was just scrambling over the dune, his arms cartwheeling as he reached the summit. “Simple sport, utterly carefree.” He laughed as his friend turned and waved before disappearing at a full run down the other side.

  Pez touched his arm. “Keep that promise. It is very good for your disposition, too,” he said, winking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.”

  Lazar’s smile faded. “You know, Pez, I’ve never felt quite as carefree as I do at this moment. I know it’s not true but right now I feel as though I have no responsibilities, no duty to anyone, no politics or diplomacy to consider…nothing but freedom and enjoying being amongst a companionable group. I feel closer to Salim in this short time we’ve known each other than I have to anyone in Percheron in almost two decades, save yourself and Jumo.”

  “That’s because you let Salim in. You’re so controlled all the time, Lazar. So deliberately distant that no one can be your friend. You only like the rare underdogs. You let me in because I was a freak and allowed you to discover my secret; and you let Jumo in because he was different, not one of the Percherese. Salim is Khalid—that makes him different, exotic, and, of course, he speaks another language, so that makes him entirely inaccessible to the rest of the party except yourself and Jumo. And then there’s Ana—”

  “Don’t, Pez. It’s hard enough. I need no reminding.”

  The dwarf sighed. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your light mood. Without the Vizier around, thank Lyana he felt obliged to keep Ana company, we can all be carefree,” and he began to mimic soaring like Shahin. “I’m going to find Jumo and our wonderful falcon,” he called behind his back, flapping his arms and struggling up the sand dune.

  The other men were already excitedly running up the dune to catch Jumo, with Pez in hot pursuit, pretending to chase them down as Shahin had done her latest kill. Lazar paused alone in the sands to savor this moment of pleasure.

  He heard a shout go up in the distance—it was Pez, he thought—and assumed the celebrations were in full swing. They would be eating bustard tonight and perhaps Ana might brighten as well. Lazar ran up the dune, his long legs sinking into the soft golden sand, and he was still inwardly grinning when he reached the top. There he was faced with a sight more chilling than he could ever have imagined.

  His mood evaporated in an instant as he stared death coldly in the face.

  31

  Back at the camp Ana was vomiting. She had eaten little for her first meal of the day but even that tiny amount was now staining the sands well beyond the royal tent.

  “Well, if her womb has quickened—and it sounds promising—we may have begun securing your son’s throne, Valide.” Maliz secretly wished he’d gone with the hunting party but he hadn’t been able to resist Ana’s pleas when, frightened by her worsening state, she had begged him to stay.

  “I suppose I should be pleased.” Herezah sighed, fanning herself to stir the hot air beneath their canopy. “I just wish it wasn’t hers.”

  “Why do you hate her so? She is good for your son.”

  “No, she’s not, Tariq. He is besotted with her. Boaz needs more wives if he is to truly secure his throne.”

  “And you think he won’t because of Ana.”

  “Boaz has developed such a fascination for this girl that I don’t notice him taking any interest in any of the other beautiful young women we have assembled for him. This is dangerous.”

  Maliz understood more than Herezah wanted him to. He accepted her reasoning, knew what she said was right, but he also knew Herezah’s main concern was how much power might be given to Ana if she remained Boaz’s only mate. It was not so far beyond the realm of imagination that she could rise to be not only Zaradine and Absolute Favorite b
ut also potentially Valide within ten moons.

  “Dangerous for whom, Valide?”

  “For all of us, Grand Vizier. Surely you’re not naive enough to believe that one woman for the Zar is how the new regime will shape itself. It is wrong. Joreb will curse his choice of successor.”

  “Joreb chose well, Valide. He chose well with his Favorite and he chose well with her son.”

  Herezah eyed the Grand Vizier and felt momentarily lost for words. “You know, Tariq, you could have said those same words to me two years ago and I would simply have sneered at you for the sniveling, self-important, and oily character that you once were. Now I take them as the compliment you intended.”

  “I’m glad of this. It is sincerely meant, Valide, but then I speak only the truth.”

  “You never did before.”

  “Before what?” he asked, amused.

  “Before Joreb died, before Boaz took the throne and you went through some sort of change, emerging from your chrysalis, to give us this new sober, intelligent, charismatic Vizier.”

  “Charismatic?” he echoed, and smiled seductively.

  “I swear you’re a different man, Tariq. You didn’t buy some special magic, did you, along with that magical potion you told me of that keeps you suddenly young and virile?”

  “Virile?” Now he sounded disbelieving.

  “Don’t be coy, I see you looking at women now.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Surrounded by such beauty.”

  “Tariq, I have known you all of my life and not once have you looked at me in the way you look at me now. I see how you look at Ana, I see how you appreciate all women from slave to dignitaries’ wives whenever they’re permitted to attend formal functions. It is perfectly normal, I agree, it’s just that before Joreb died, you were all but sexless.”

  Maliz clapped his hands and openly laughed. “Let’s just say I hid it well, Valide. There was no room for my true personality at the palace under Joreb. The sycophant suited him.”

  “He hated you.”

  “But I suited you, always ready to play the willing servant,” he added, seemingly unfazed by her candidness.

  “What changed you?”

  “Boaz can benefit from me being honest.”

  She felt he was speaking in riddles, giving her no clear answers, but pressed on. “What are your intentions with Boaz?”

  He became more serious, intense. “You have nothing to fear from me, Valide. Be assured of this. My interests lie elsewhere than in power and money. I do not want to be the puppeteer, simply a reliable adviser.”

  “Then you truly have changed,” she said, genuinely surprised. “Your whole life with Joreb was spent in petty power struggles with Salmeo, gaining little ground or respect for yourself out of any situation.”

  “Yes, and I didn’t enjoy it, Valide, but I served a purpose and I served Joreb loyally through it all.”

  She acknowledged the truth of what he said with a nod. “And now?”

  “Still happy to serve.”

  “Without seeking power or reward?”

  “Reward comes in all shapes and sizes and all colors, Valide.” Again the shaded answer, she thought. “With Boaz as Zar, we all have the opportunity to help him shape Percheron into the single most powerful realm of the region. We are easily the richest but now we need to add strength with ships, and our army. We must learn to secure our boundaries at the desert and we now have an opportunity to forge a formal peace with Galinsea that might secure the Percherese from that threat for centuries. And we will all benefit in the ways we desire, I’m sure.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It can be if people like yourself stop chasing your own little plans and simply support the Zar. You want for nothing as Valide and I know Boaz admires you tremendously—would appreciate your input frequently—but you trouble him with your desire to use him toward your own ends. If you don’t mind me being frank, Valide, you should have no ends of your own. You are a woman. You cannot rule…not ever. But you can have a different sort of power if you’ll only relent. Give up your own mission—whatever that was or is—and give yourself over entirely to Boaz’s needs. I think you’ll be surprised at how much he will reward you for that kind of support.”

  Herezah tapped her front teeth with a fingernail that no longer shone as she liked.

  Maliz continued. “Your association with Salmeo—and the depths to which it has stooped,” he added, knowing she understood his meaning without him verbalizing it, “will not serve you well in the long run. Salmeo is dangerous and he himself stands on shaky ground. He has taken incredible risks because he probably believes he has your protection. I’m sure you know that Boaz has no time for him and is ever suspicious of him. If he could have accused the Grand Master Eunuch properly for the attempt on the Spur’s life, Salmeo would no longer be drawing breath.”

  “It was proven as Horz. The man admitted it,” Herezah replied.

  “And you know that Horz being a murderer is as likely as me becoming a young man again.” He smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. He had already decided that when this battle with Lyana was done and he had destroyed her once again, he would be choosing the body of a young man to inhabit, no matter what the cost to his energies. He was weary of creeping around in the bodies of old men and women, living in squalor to await the next cycle. No, this time he planned to enjoy the time of peace in luxury with a body that allowed him the freedom to take full advantage of such decadence. He was going to especially enjoy the pleasures of women.

  He had, in fact, already decided on his next victim. It was too irresistible now that he’d allowed himself to become so involved with the power struggles in the palace. Who better than Boaz? Then he could not only sleep with any number of the beautiful creatures in the harem but he could finally taste the delicacy that was Ana. He would be gentle with Boaz as he died. He genuinely liked the young man and rather pitied that he must perish, but he coveted the Zar’s body and his position more than he was affected by any reservation of conscience. His smile widened at the thought of giving lots of heirs to Percheron.

  “Fret not, Valide, I will promise you something.”

  “What is that?”

  “Many wives for your son and plenty of heirs—in fact I think I can promise you that Boaz will lie with virtually every woman in your precious harem. What’s more, I’ll even let you choose the heir.”

  “You will!” she echoed, incredulous.

  He chuckled, cleared his throat, feigning embarrassment. “What I meant to say is, I feel very sure that Boaz will be guided by you in his choice of heir.”

  “How can you guarantee me that?” she demanded, bafflement in her face.

  “Just trust me, Valide. You know Boaz already does. Throw your considerable intelligence and wiles behind your son. Forget everything else—join me, help me build his power base. We can make him the most invincible Zar that has ever ruled Percheron—and then everything you desire, save you actually ruling, will come to you.”

  “You want me to trust you?”

  He nodded. “Start with Ana,” he said. “She is probably carrying your grandchild. And she and that child begin your future.”

  Herezah hesitated but only briefly. “All right, Grand Vizier, you have my word. When this task is done, I shall give you my trust and we shall see how well you can keep a promise.”

  Maliz pulled a smile across Tariq’s face. This was all so easy.

  AS LAZAR CRESTED THE dune, he felt the blood drain from his veins. He was sure it was all pooling in his ankles, for his legs felt too heavy to move and his body felt suddenly clammy, despite the dry, intense heat.

  Below him a thick silence reigned. Men looked up at him with stunned expressions of helplessness and the one who looked the most desolate of all was Jumo, already sunk to his thighs but holding Shahin carefully aloft.

  “Quicksand?” Lazar croaked, incredulous.

  Everyone nodded sorrowfully, even though the question needed no an
swer, and then the silence became suffocating, as Lazar picked his way carefully to stand alongside Pez.

  Tingles of fear soared through his spine, stiffening his neck and drying out his mouth. Before Lazar could assess the situation or offer empty placations, Jumo spoke up.

  “Sorry, Master.” He shrugged, making Shahin ruffle her feathers. “I should never have struggled. They say you can float on quicksand if you don’t move too much. I forgot that advice in my panic.” He switched to Khalid. “I’m going to throw Shahin. She will come to you, won’t she, Salim?”

  The Khalid mumbled that she would and they watched as Jumo, ever practical, launched the falcon, sinking still further for his efforts. She flew directly to Salim’s outstretched arm and he stroked her, squeezing back his own emotion.

  “Salim,” Lazar barked, finding his voice. “What can we do?”

  “Nothing, Spur,” the Khalid murmured. “Your man is lost to us.”

  “Don’t say that! Do we have fabric?” he asked, pointing to the men’s waists, remembering the material they had fashioned canopies from. “Anything we can fashion a rope from?”

  “We brought nothing,” Salim said, pulling at his robe to convey to the Spur that they had only the clothes they stood in.

  “Then we use our clothes!” Lazar roared, pulling at his robes furiously. He was stripped to a loin cloth in moments.

  “Lazar! Lazar!” Jumo called frantically, desperate to still his friend, win his attention.

  Pez grabbed his arm. “Listen to him, Lazar.” Salim frowned, hearing the dwarf speak sense for the first time.

  Lazar stopped his frantic activity, turning ashen-faced to his companion of so long. Around him the Khalid murmured softly at seeing the Spur’s damaged back, but Lazar heard nothing. He looked into the sad face of Jumo, who now spoke to him in soothing tones.

  “It is too late, my friend. Look, I am already in past my waist. You cannot pull me out—unless we had the camels, of course,” he said, “but they are too far away. Instead of false hopes and your rushing off to fetch those beasts in vain, I’d rather go calmly now with your face the last I see before I go to my god.”