A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  “Inosolan!” His voice was suddenly harsh. “You honor me greatly—but I can’t!”

  Can’t what? Inos lifted her head to look at him. He had not moved. Then she read in his eyes what he was thinking. Horrified, she sat up and hugged her knees tightly, stammering as she sought words. Of course he had assumed …

  They were completely alone on this warm sand, with nothing but distant fishing boats to overlook them, and certainly none of the palace staff would interrupt. She felt her face blaze hotter than the desert sands. Blatant provocation! “Come on!” she had said—her idea, her invitation! She had led him here and then started babbling about wives and concubines. He was the ultimate arrogant male, so of course he would think she had meant—

  Inos, what have you started?

  The last ruddy blush of the sunset showed his face, yet the expression on it looked more like fury than passion.

  “I thought women gossiped more,” Azak said. “There is another curse on me. Everyone must know of it. Has no one told you?”

  Inos swallowed and could find no words. She shook her head in frightened silence. No more games! she had vowed, and here she was, playing in the sand with a barbarian killer. She had forgotten politics, put them aside to relax, but Azak would never relax. Even procreation was politics to a royal stallion.

  “I cannot touch a woman.”

  “What? But—”

  “It is one of Rasha’s torments. I would burn you like hot iron. A mare, a falcon, a bitch, any female animal, but not a woman.”

  The humiliation on his face was an agony, but he was keeping his eyes on hers, steady as nailheads. “I tried to have one of my women comb my hair. It scorched her fingers. From the oldest crone in the kingdom to my tiniest daughter, if her flesh touches mine, she will be blistered and burned.”

  With one exception, of course?

  “Your Majesty! That’s—I have never heard of anything so cruel.”

  “Nor I. But she will never break me!”

  Aghast, Inos hugged her knees tighter, then hid her face on them. She was appalled at the sorceress’ vindictiveness, but even more appalled at her own sense of relief, and at the narrowness of her escape. This was not the Impire, and she no longer had Kade hiding behind every bush. Idiot! Her heart was still pounding as she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. “I assure you, that was not what I had in mind, your Majesty. But I deplore such evil sorcery. It is foul and wicked, and I despise the sorceress for it.”

  He frowned at her, as if puzzled.

  The swift desert twilight was fading into night. She had finally achieved what she had been seeking for weeks, a private chat with Azak. She tried to collect her wits.

  “Let us talk about Rasha now.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Of course, she may be spying on us. Or she may wait until we return tomorrow and then just ask, but at least no one else can hear. Speak, Queen Inosolan!” He turned around and made himself comfortable, sitting slightly downhill from her and leaning back to face the sea, elbows against the slope.

  She began to talk and he kept cutting her off, saying he knew that, as if every word she or Kade had spoken in the palace had been repeated to him, the whole Krasnegar story. But when she came to the meeting with Olybino, Azak fell silent, staring out at the waves, motionless as a tree until she had finished.

  Even then, he seemed to speak to the sea and the huge bright moon. “I have never seen a goblin. Are they as bad as gnomes?”

  “I don’t know gnomes.”

  He stretched out and rolled over to lie on his belly and look up at her. “You seek another choice, but if you are forced to that one, will you marry a goblin to win back your kingdom?”

  That question had haunted her for two nights now. “If it came to that, the choice would not likely be mine to make.”

  He grunted. “Good! Never answer hypothetical questions. What do you want me to do?”

  “Help me!”

  “Why?”

  He had not asked How! Inos felt an upsurge of hope. This big, deadly young man might have a trick or two she had not thought of.

  “Because: My enemy’s enemy is my friend.”

  “Not necessarily! Who are your enemies? Both Rasha and the warlock were willing to put you on your throne. It’s not their objective you dislike, it’s their price.”

  “No! They were not going to put me on my throne. They were willing to send me home, but not as a queen, not a real queen.”

  Azak bought troops of young girls and ordered them shipped to the palace like livestock. He would not view her problem as she did.

  “True.” He stirred sand with his finger, seemingly thinking. “And my enemies? Rasha, certainly. Should the warlock of the east enslave her and make her a—what was the word, votary?—then that might rid me of her. But the warden of the east can never be my friend, because he is occult preserver of the legions, and the Impire must be about due to invade us again. They are a generation behind their usual schedule. War growls in the long grass. I told you.”

  After a moment he added, “We do not share the same enemies, you and I.”

  She fought the tightening tentacles of his logic. “They are certainly not my friends, those two! They want to use me as a token, a coin!”

  Azak leaned his chin on one hand and gazed up at her, studying her face in the moon’s light, his own face shadowed. “In any market, the coins outnumber the traders. You object?”

  “Of course I object! Rasha promised to help me, and now seeks to use me for her own ends.” She would not add any remarks about helpless women, but she had never felt more helpless.

  “Help usually has a price.”

  “I was hoping for advice, not aphorisms.”

  “They are more dependable. You want to escape? And go where? Back to your kingdom? Assuming you can elude the sorceress, it will take you at least a year to cross Pandemia, being realistic. And you will have to hire an army—and ships, also, as you say the land route is closed. Have you any money?”

  Inos had already thought about this, the brute-force solution. “I have rich relatives within the Impire, but I know the Impire doesn’t allow private armies. And who could I ever hire to fight an army of jotnar?”

  Azak grunted thoughtfully. “Other jotnar? So you would head north to Nordland, to hire your mercenaries?”

  And ten to one she would at once be raped, robbed, and find herself cooking fish in some thrall’s hovel for the rest of her days. Jotnar would not follow a female leader anyway, and how would she get rid of them afterward?

  “Nordland doesn’t seem a very practical solution,” she said.

  “Fighting cholera with typhoid? No. So where do you go?”

  She had expected answers, not questions, but she could see that he was clearing out the undergrowth. There might be nothing left when he had finished, of course.

  “Hub?” she suggested.

  Azak grunted again. “All roads lead to Hub! But the journey will take months. It will be very dangerous, a hard, long journey. You may finish up somewhere else, in much worse straits than you are now. You might yet wish you had settled for a green husband. They are green, aren’t they?”

  “Sort of. I know it would be long and hard. Is it possible?”

  “The imperor will certainly marry you off to an imp in short order.” He hadn’t answered the question.

  “Any imp would be better than a goblin! Well, almost any imp.”

  For a moment she thought a smile rippled Azak’s ribbon of beard. He bent his head and began sifting the hot sand through his fingers. Seabirds cried; waves broke and tumbled. He seemed to have run out of questions.

  “I thought I would appeal to the wardens,” she said. “Rasha used magic against the Imperial troops in Krasnegar, and that’s a violation of the Protocol.”

  “But East is the offended party, and East already knows about it. He doesn’t need you to remind him of it. Or mention it to the others. He may prefer to keep them uninformed.”


  When she was about to speak, Azak added, “And she did it to rescue you. You will seem very ungrateful.”

  Manners were unimportant in politics—he was taunting her. “She’s cast spells on you! That’s more meddling in politics.”

  She saw his eyes flash in the shadow as he glanced briefly up at her. “But not your business.”

  “If the Four are as split as Rasha says—”

  “You can trust nothing the bitch said, nor the warlock either. Historically the wardens squabble like cats in a sack, but there is no way we can know what the current rivalries and alliances are.”

  The conversation was not proving very helpful. “So advise me! Is it possible for me to escape from Rasha?”

  “It is always possible to try. Even sorceresses must sleep. At least this one does.” He did not look at Inos as he said that, just trailed sand through fingers twice the size of hers. She felt a stir of hope.

  “And you will aid me?”

  “Why should I? It would annoy the harlot, and I suffer enough at her hands already.”

  “Because I am the enemy of your enemy.”

  “You can’t harm her. It’s a pretty problem, but immaterial to me. Why should I risk further hostility from the slut? I see no advantage in aiding you.”

  In that case, Inos saw no advantage in further polite conversation. What would move Azak? Not conscience. Honor? This was politics, not a parlor game, so nerve was what was needed. She didn’t feel very brave, but she had begun to feel angry.

  “Further hostility?” she snapped. “How much hostility will you endure before you try to fight back? She’s already gelded you, you say. What else do you want?”

  His teeth flashed like daggers at that, but she rushed ahead regardless.

  “So the Sultan of Arakkaran is gigolo for a dockside harlot? You called her that. She denies you your title—what new outrage will she think up next? You come when she whistles. You reward your women with smiles. How many sons are they bearing now, your Majesty? What will the other princes say when they stop bearing altogether, your Majesty? Or is that already obvious? You prance around on your fancy horses all day and whore for the sorceress all night. What sort of a sultan are you? What sort of a man, to endure such treatment without even trying to put an end to it? How can you—”

  Azak rose to his knees. She stopped then, aghast at what she had said, wondering if he’d have her flogged.

  Silence.

  No one in the kingdom could speak to him like that. She felt her palms wet. Every nerve screamed at her to say “Sorry!”

  She didn’t.

  He looked down at her, his face in shadow; but when he spoke, his voice was unchanged. “If you can have your kingdom only by marrying a goblin, will you?”

  The same hypothetical question again—and obviously this time she must not seek to escape it.

  Answer no and she didn’t care enough. Answer yes and she was a whore like him. She would never outwit this man. Her face was visible to him, awash in moonlight. She must speak the truth—what was the truth?

  “You told me a kingdom is not buildings or scenery. If I can help my people by marrying a goblin, then I will do it.”

  “And if it helps your people for you to stay away forever?”

  The words froze in her mouth, but she spoke them. “Then I stay away forever.”

  Azak reached down and hooked his fingers like claws in the silver sand. He stared at the backs of his hands. A wave fell. Another. Inos discovered she was holding her breath and couldn’t any longer. Two more waves …

  “In very old treaties,” Azak said, without looking up, “there was always an item called the ‘Appeal Clause.’ It shows up in any treaty the Impire ever made with anyone, including Arakkaran or its allies of the day. Until about the Twelfth Dynasty. After that it seems to have been dropped. Forgotten, or just found inconvenient. Or unnecessary, maybe. But it’s never been revoked that I know of. In that clause, the Impire promises to maintain the Right of Appeal.”

  He paused, but she did not ask, knowing it would come. This was the sort of expert advice she had been hoping for.

  “Appeal by any state or ruler against illicit use of magic. You see, Emine’s Protocol was supposedly designed to defend all peoples, all Pandemia. Not just the Impire. In theory, the Impire was going to do everyone a favor by suppressing the political use of magic. Even then, the Impire was the largest mundane power, so that was a very convenient altruism. But it did raise the question of whether the Four serve the Impire, or the Impire serves the Four. That’s why for centuries the imperors have maintained that any ruler with a sorcery problem may appeal to the wardens. There isn’t anyone else to appeal to, of course, since they’ve driven all lesser sorcerers into the bushes. Nowadays it may be nothing but a handy fiction; but if it still works, then you have an open-and-shut case.”

  “I do?”

  “Rasha kidnapped a queen. That’s meddling in politics.”

  Of course! Brilliant! Inos clapped her hands and almost wished she could spot a very warm kiss on this big djinn. Quite the best-educated barbarian she had ever met!

  Except … “But of course we don’t know what verdict they will come to,” she said.

  “No. You have no guarantee at all. But it is a little like Zartha’s ox, this morning.” He sensed her incomprehension. “I don’t give a turd for a peasant’s ox. My gold bought respect.”

  “You mean the Four don’t care for Krasnegar …”

  “Arbitrary rule frightens people. Power tempered with justice is well loved.” He shrugged. “It is a gamble, but I would much sooner trust the Four together, and in public, than any one of them alone, in private.”

  Oh, he was a clever one, this sultan! Now that he had spelled it out, she understood the thinking. “Yes! Will you help me?”

  “I shall do better.” He held out an arm. The green cotton was silver in the moonlight. “Touch me.”

  “What?”

  “Gently, touch my sleeve. And be careful! Think of me as a hot stove.”

  She tapped his arm cautiously with a fingertip.

  “A little harder,” he said, and pulled the cloth taut.

  She tapped harder. Still nothing. She poked, and it was like poking a rock in there, and—ouch!

  She tucked her finger in her mouth and stared at him. There was a faint scorch mark on his sleeve, although he seemed to have felt nothing. She would have a blister. Gods! It hurt.

  “I was telling the truth.”

  “I never said—”

  “There is an old saying about the honesty of djinns. But you see you can trust me, at least in that way. You want to go to Hub. You have convinced me that I should go, also. I shall escort you, and we shall appeal to the Four together. We shall both demand justice.”

  “You! What of your kingdom?”

  “My kingdom?” he repeated harshly. “You said it yourself—the slut has gelded me. How long can a eunuch hold a kingdom in Zark?”

  She had won! “You are joking!”

  “I do not joke.”

  Won! Won! Won! “And what did I say to persuade you?”

  He scrambled to his feet, a huge black shape among the wind-stroked dunes, dark against the moonlight. “That you would stay away if your duty required it. That hurt. Duties can usually be recognized by pain.”

  “And your duty?”

  He laughed harshly. “To rescue my people from the rule of a woman, of course. Enjoy your swim now. I will send Zana.”

  Slave and sultan:

  With me along some Strip of Herbage strown

  That just divides the desert from the sown,

  Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,

  And pity Sultan Mahmud on his throne.

  Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§10, 1859)

  SIX

  Beset the road

  1

  A bath in warm surf was a new experience for Inos, but it soon impressed her as a facility much needed back h
ome in Krasnegar, where the Winter Ocean stayed homicidal all year long. She had partied on beaches often enough in her youth, with friends—with Rap, especially—but the sea had been no more than something to look at. Just this once, she would admit that Zark held the advantage.

  Occupied with learning how not to drown or be skinned against the sand, she could not dwell on the prospect of the coming escape, or what Kade would say, or how Azak thought he could arrange that miracle. Under the pumpkin moon, she romped and rolled like a kitten, barely conscious of time passing. Suddenly Zana’s tall blackness stood on the beach, waiting for her, and she was exhausted and almost numb with the pounding.

  “That was marvelous!” Inos said, toweling her tingling skin. “I wish I could carry the Spring Sea around in a bag, for use when needed.”

  Zana chuckled. “A large bag.”

  “Yes. But sea is much more fun to be in than on. I’m a rotten sailor.” There were two ways from Arakkaran to the Impire—west to Qoble, or north to the Morning Sea and the Winnipango River. Which way would Azak choose? And Inos had let slip a careless remark in front of Zana—she must guard her tongue.

  “I am sure your Majesty is a very capable traveler, well able to withstand the rigors of a long journey.”

  Inos had just wriggled into a clean robe. She sat down to wipe sand off her feet, and then Zana’s odd comment registered. “Oh?”

  The tall woman knelt to fumble in the bag she had brought. “I have some paper here, ma’am. You need to write to your aunt—that is, if you wish her to accompany you.”

  Drying ceased at the third toe. When in doubt, be stupid—that was one of Kade’s rules, although she would never have admitted it.

  “What?” Inos wished faces were easier to read in moonlight; Zana was smiling, but no more was visible; the dusky, wrinkled complexion was an enigma under the smile.

  “You do wish your aunt to go with you to Hub? That was what I told the Big Man. He argued against it, but I said you would insist. Was I wrong?”

  “No … No, of course not. I couldn’t abandon her.” Kade was a good sailor, and she had always yearned to visit Hub. “But … tonight?”