Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  He watched Lazar bend over and retch, giving back to the desert the small amount of meat that had been stolen from it a few days previous. And as he did so he heard Lazar swear that he would never eat any bird again. He would join Ana in her idiosyncrasy of not eating a creature that flies. His reason was different, of course, Pez realized—Lazar’s best friend had died chasing down the meat of the sky.

  Pez was breathless from the pain of Lazar’s words. They stung because for the most part they were true, but he refuted the accusation that he actually killed Jumo; he just hadn’t felt in a position to save him. It was too dangerous for him, for Ana, for Lazar even…for all of them who were connected with the rising of Iridor and the ultimate battle ahead. None understood how their very lives hung on a fragile thread of secrecy. He could almost hate Lazar in this moment for making him feel so responsible for Jumo’s demise.

  He had to force himself to take a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, there may be some truth in what you say, Lazar. But I didn’t withhold my magic to save myself. In this you are unjust, for my life as Iridor is forfeit. I made that most difficult choice without much more than a second in order to save your life and especially Ana’s. Over the centuries Maliz has chosen a variety of ways to destroy Lyana once he’s had her at his mercy. I thank my Goddess that I have never had to witness it but I have learned about it all the same. He once physically tore her limb from limb, until she lay scattered in pieces; another time he disemboweled her but kept her alive for an hour or more—and I can’t tell you what a slow, agonizing death that was for her. Jumo’s, if you’ll forgive me, was swift by comparison.”

  “Stop.”

  “Then there was the time he ate her. Roasted her alive over hot coals and carved her up to consume at his leisure. She took a long time to die that day, too, as I understand. My personal favorite, though, was learning how he slowly bled her to death. Each day he would drain some more. It took her many days of suffering, witnessing her own demise as he drank the blood he drained from her.”

  “I said stop,” Lazar commanded.

  “Another time—I think it’s the occasion Maliz enjoyed the most—he raped her over and over. And when he was spent, he forced other helpless individuals to line up and rape her until she died. Again she suffered with courage—it took her a day and half of endless rutting, her arms and legs pinned out by stakes in the ground, to capitulate.”

  “Stop, I said!” Lazar roared, knowing his shout could be heard for miles. Pez, against his own desires, but for the sake of appearances, began to do a jig, hoping that the audience from afar would assume his endless chatter and movement had so infuriated Lazar in his despair that he had reacted with anger. “Please, I beg you,” Lazar whispered.

  “You need to understand what we are dealing with here. He takes pleasure in injury, pain, suffering. He never lets her die easily—he prolongs her agony, enjoys her slow death. He will do this to Ana, and I know him so well, I believe he will keep you alive and make you watch. You see, I think our Grand Vizier has worked out your weakness, Lazar, and whether or not you believe that Ana is Lyana, is irrelevant—just as a simple woman she makes you vulnerable. He has seen this and he will make you pay the price for that helplessness. He will dream up something even more spectacular knowing he has an audience and you will share her every groan, her every plea to die, and he will do this to you purely for his own amusement. This is why I had to choose. There was no surety that I could have saved Jumo but there was a guarantee that I would not reveal myself and thus endanger Ana and yourself. Believe me, I have not lived easily with myself these past two days and nights. If it had only been my life to jeopardize, Lazar, I would have risked it gladly for Jumo, but there were too many lives at stake. The price was too high.”

  “Would the Lore have saved him?” Lazar demanded.

  Pez shook his head with a sense of hopelessness. “I cannot say. I could have tried, that’s all, and perhaps we would have won, but Maliz would have worked it out. Apart from sensing the magic, not just he but others would have had to wonder how we kept Jumo aloft long enough in the quicksand for the camels. There was too much risk.”

  Lazar hung his head. “We cannot bring him back.”

  “We cannot. I made a decision for the greater good. I stand by it. I’m sorry if you deem it wrong, but Ana is safe for the time being and soon I will prove to you why we have suffered this loss, why her life is so important to us.”

  “If she continues to survive.”

  “She will survive, I promise.” The certainty in the dwarf ’s voice made Lazar turn toward him sharply.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Instinct,” Pez said, too quickly, and Lazar heard the catch in this throat, as if Pez had realized he was wrong to have shared his thoughts openly. They had argued enough, though; there was no point in opening a fresh wound. “Will you forgive me?”

  “We cannot bring him back,” Lazar repeated.

  “That is not an answer to my question. We have been great friends over the years. We trust each other. I don’t want to lose that.”

  Lazar stared out toward the moon, which was shrouded by clouds this night and shivered against the chill. “Prove me wrong, Pez. That’s all I ask of you. I doubt Lyana, I doubt Iridor…prove me wrong and let my friend’s death count for something.”

  Pez nodded. “I will do that, my friend—may I still call you that?”

  “Of course, Pez, I—” Lazar’s sentence was cut off as he was knocked sideways by a powerful shove.

  HE FELT PRESSURE AT the top of his arm, and in the darkness of night he couldn’t see much, but when he clutched at where he felt the sensation, he was aware of pain and of a sticky wetness on his palm, and impossible, though it seemed, an arrow sticking out of his arm.

  “Pez,” he began, incredulous, now wavering on his knees.

  “I am gone to fetch your sword,” the dwarf said. “Get that arrow from you. We are under attack.”

  Lazar ignored the pain, growled as he broke the arrow as far down the shaft as he could, and got himself quickly to his knees to scan the surrounding dunes. I can’t see anything, he thought anxiously, praying that Pez would change into Iridor and make a reconnaissance flight to locate the enemy with his sharp owl night sight.

  He waited for what felt an interminable length of time, his frustration increasing with each passing second. Finally he heard scrabbling nearby and tensed, prepared to throw himself down the dune. Without a weapon he was useless to his group and completely vulnerable.

  “It’s me,” sounded a familiar voice. Pez crawled up on his belly, two swords somehow in tow. “Don’t ask me how I did that.”

  Lazar took the swords and automatically weighted both, swinging them in the air. “Tell me.”

  “A small army, you could say. There is no indication who they are or why they’ve attacked us. The Elim are making a good fight of it, but they are dying. There is no rallying point—they need you. It’s each man for himself, though all are fighting to keep the royal tent unbreached.”

  “Salim?”

  “The Khalid have fled, I think, although they could be dead. I didn’t have time to check.”

  “Stay out of sight. You’re no use to us in the fray and I’d rather you kept alive.”

  “I’ll watch and keep you briefed.”

  “Don’t risk too much?”

  “This time I can save many lives with my magic—I am obliged to take the risk because you and Ana are involved. I hope Maliz is too occupied to be sensing Iridor.”

  “Thank you,” Lazar said, and although it hadn’t been mentioned, Pez knew that was thanks for the time with Ana. As he watched the Spur run nimbly and silently down the dune, he felt a momentary guilt that he hadn’t asked after Lazar’s arm, but then Lazar didn’t seem to care much anyway that blood was flowing down to his wrist; thank goodness the arrowhead was still buried, preventing the open wound from spouting too much blood at this stage. He also needed to think about how Laza
r was suddenly talking to him through a mind link. This was new and assured him that Lazar was involved in Lyana’s struggle. Pez cast a silent prayer to Lyana to protect Ana and Lazar and then he changed into Iridor to try to scout for a particular member of the Elim, one he hoped would not lose his life here this night.

  LAZAR HIT THE BOTTOM of the dune at a full run and with such force that his sheer momentum, together with wheeling swords, killed five men before they even realized they were being attacked. He was shocked at how many men were in their camp and he had no idea who was foe or friend in the dark; he had to hope anyone from their own group would scream quickly or somehow recognize him before he dealt a killing blow.

  After a momentary pause to take in the stupefying scene—many of the Elim were already dead, only a few were courageously fighting on, holding the royal tent secure—he settled himself in to the serious business of maiming. Lazar had never been a fan of slaughter. He held true to his creed that the single most important task in any battle is not to kill but to disable your enemies so that they can no longer kill you. He was only one man but he had the twin benefits of surprise and coming from the rear, which he used to best advantage now as he set about his subtle art of slashing through Achilles tendons, hacking off sword arms, chopping at knees or hands. Fighting with two swords was his specialty—it was a Galinsean skill, and he had been one of his nation’s leading talents. Since he was old enough to support his own weight, his father had thrust a practice sword into each hand, and so Lucien had learned from a tender age to wield a sword equally well with either hand. As he grew older he understood and mastered the art of separating himself mentally into two fighting sides, each working independently of the other. It was no mean skill.

  If any had been capable of taking time away from his own fight to watch him now, he would have been awed as Lazar dispatched twenty-five men, single-handedly, in what seemed merely moments. In fact someone was observing him. A man on a camel, shrouded in black, so like a shadow that if not for the beast, Lazar would not have seen him.

  THE MAN IN BLACK robes silently applauded. He’d never seen such a magnificent display of ferocity. Such single-mindedness, such devotion to the cause. This fighter was a man to admire.

  A rough count told him thirty of his men now lay mortally wounded or incapacitated. He worried not for any of them. Their lives had been given years ago; this was the culmination of their faith, when they proved their devotion. On the warrior’s side, they were down to one brave Elim, holding off several of the watcher’s men, but he could not last, for there was a line of others ready to take any of his enemies’ place as soon as they fell.

  Perhaps these two were worth saving.

  “Shaba!” The command was heard and the fighters, all shrouded in dark robes, only their eyes visible, obeyed that instruction and immediately froze.

  SALAZIN, BLEEDING FROM SEVERAL slashes, was breathing hard and looked to Lazar now for his lead. Lazar had barely broken a sweat but none of the intensity of his fighting rage had left him. He had eyes only for the leader on the camel. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The man responded in perfect Percherese. “I think I’m your savior.”

  Lazar ignored the facetious response. “Why have you attacked us?”

  “Why not? You enter my land without permission, steal my fowl—although I understand a debt was paid, as is right, and—”

  “Your land? This is desert!”

  “My desert,” the stranger replied, unruffled. “The Empty belongs to me.”

  “Where? What do you own in this wilderness,” Lazar asked, “that you are permitted to slaughter for it?”

  “That is my business.”

  “No warning, no messengers?”

  “You should not be here. You entered the region of my fortress and you—”

  “Fortress!” Lazar’s anger turned to cold rage. “For what have you killed these innocent travelers?” he yelled, incensed that only one of the Elim remained alive.

  “Trespass,” the shrouded one replied. In the burning torch-light, Lazar looked lost for a response. “And the fact that I hate the Percherese,” the man added. “I’m hoping your Zar is behind that tent flap. It would give me great pleasure to kill him, especially as I understand he is childless.”

  Lazar felt his blood turn to ice. Over his dead body only would this murderer take what stood behind that tent flap. “I am Lazar, Spur of Percheron, I—”

  “I know who you are. Bring out the royals,” the stranger commanded.

  Salazin, the remaining Elim, raised his sword. It was useless. Lazar made a gesture to the mute that in any language meant: stay your hand. They were hopelessly outnumbered; he would have to risk that this madman had no interest in lesser royals. It was a big risk—these were men, after all, and the people about to be presented were women. Fair game.

  Maliz, Herezah, and Ana were dragged out of the tent. Lazar looked to Herezah and shook his head slightly. He knew he could count on her to understand. More torches were lit so their enemies could see their captives more clearly.

  “Ah, no young Zar. Who are these people?”

  He addressed the royal party but Lazar answered. “Vizier Tariq is making a diplomatic journey to Galinsea. He brings with him his wife and daughter.” To her credit Herezah didn’t flinch, although Lazar knew what insult he had just given. He silently thanked her with his eyes for understanding and cooperating. She bowed her head, as did Ana.

  “I don’t know much about you, Tariq, but for some reason I thought the Percherese Grand Vizier was unmarried and childless.”

  Maliz bowed. “Sir, so did I.” Lazar felt his insides do a flip. So the coward finally emerges. “Until my beautiful Farim came to me.”

  “Farim?” the stranger queried.

  “My new wife.” Maliz gave a soft conspiratorial sigh. “I lay with this woman when I was a younger man. I did not know that my seed had quickened her womb and she had given birth to our beautiful Ana here. Farim came to me when Ana was turning fifteen and told me the truth. She needed help securing a good husband, a good life, for our daughter. She had never asked for my assistance before. I had forgotten about her entirely, in truth. But Farim is persuasive and far more handsome in these older years than the gangly young creature I recall having bedded. And Ana is a beauty; I could not resist her needs.”

  “How do you know that she is your child? You took the word of a woman you had not known for so many years.”

  Maliz shrugged. “Would you not if this pair were presented to you, sir? I am old, I am wealthy, I have nothing in my life. Farim and Ana have given me reason to wake up and bless my stars. Whether Ana is of my seed or not, it is irrelevant. These women are mine now.”

  “Very admirable,” the man said, his head to one side. “Bring the girl closer.”

  Lazar had silently reveled in the Grand Vizier’s supremely crafted lies but now his heart lurched as Ana moved to stand in front of the stranger. With no warning the man ripped away her veil.

  “You need never cover yourself for any man,” he growled. “Choose it only if you do so for your own modesty or faith.” He pulled her farther aside, lifting a warning finger to Lazar and to the Vizier.

  “Come, child.”

  “Where do you take her?” Lazar demanded, fear coursing through him.

  “I wish to speak privately with this girl who stares at me so defiantly.”

  Lazar could only watch helplessly as Ana was drawn away.

  HE WITHDREW ANA TO behind his camel and then closer to some dunes before he spoke directly to her. “Any other Percherese woman would have screamed, or covered her face with her hands if I’d done that to them.”

  “I am not any other Percherese woman, sir. I follow no man’s rules.”

  He removed his own face covering, but in the dark she could not make out his features. “If you follow no man, who do you follow?”

  “Only my god, sir.”

  “Zarab is not a worthy—”

&n
bsp; “I spit on Zarab, sir,” she said for his hearing only, and she felt rather than saw the tension she provoked within him. “I follow Lyana alone. And if that curses me in your eyes, I am not afraid of you.”

  He brought his hands together in a gesture akin to prayer, rested his fingertips against his mouth as he considered her. “Lyana. Do you believe she will come again?”

  “I believe she is rising, sir. She will be amongst us very shortly.”

  He gave a deep chuckle. “You intrigue me, Ana.”

  “And what of the others…my parents, the Spur?” She carefully omitted Pez, for she had not seen him. Hopefully he might raise some alarm, perhaps persuade the Khalid to rally and fight.

  “They do not intrigue me.”

  “You’re going to kill them?”

  He cocked his head to one side again. “The Spur is an extraordinary fighter. He certainly has a keen interest in you.”

  “What do you mean?” she stammered, caught off guard.

  It amused him. “I mean he has unwittingly revealed himself to me. Throughout the Grand Vizier’s monologue, the Spur’s eyes never left you.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered.

  “How would you know? Your head was bowed. He briefly gave attention to your mother but his concern is for you alone. Does he love you, Ana?”