A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  For promised joy.

  Burns, To a Mouse

  *no thy lane: = not alone

  **a-gley: = awry (Ed.)

  FOUR

  Several ways

  1

  As always, Inos took longer than anyone else aboard to find her sea legs, but by the time Star of Delight had called in at Brogogo and then rounded the Corner of Zark into the Summer Seas, she was well enough to sit up and start taking stock of her companions.

  Kar, of course, had stayed behind to hold off the jackals. Who came next on Azak’s loyalty list?

  Zana’s presence was less surprising than it first seemed. A sultan could hardly take his wife traveling without some female companionship, and if there was any woman in the world whom Azak trusted, it was the older half sister who had reared him. He had spoken of her briefly once or twice in the desert, and those had been the only glimpses he had ever revealed to Inos of his youth or childhood. He would probably have been willing to die for the old woman, and most certainly willing to kill for her. From Inos’s own point of view, although Zana was not Kade, she was as acceptable a lady’s companion as anyone who could have been found in the court, even granting that Zana’s own loyalty would put Azak’s well-being ahead of anyone else’s by several leagues.

  Apart from Azak himself, there were nineteen men in the party. Only one of them she recognized as a prince, and that was the massive and aging Gutturaz. He, too, seemed a surprising choice, but any brother of Azak’s who managed to reach middle age must have demonstrated both a gift for survival and a rare lack of ambition.

  The other eighteen were youngish family men, a bloodcurdling collection behind their red whiskers. But facial hair was not worn in the Impire; without comment, Azak shaved off his beard at Torkag, and every one of his followers was clean shaven before Star of Delight sailed on the next tide. Somehow their ruddy faces looked even more deadly than before.

  And there was Azak himself, who shared her kennel-size cabin. Of course they had shared a tent for months in the desert, but Kade had always been there, also. Then, too, he had been occupied much of the time in being first lionslayer, usually coming to bed after Inos had been magicked asleep by the mage and often departing before she awoke in the morning. And they had never been both there in daylight.

  Two days out of Torkag, Star of Delight was becalmed. The sun blazed overhead, the sails hung still as icicles, and there was nothing to do but fall down and melt. With men all over the deck, Inos retired to her cabin. So did Azak.

  They each had a narrow bunk, on opposite walls, but hardly a cubit apart. She lay under a sheet. He had stripped down to a cloth she would have described as being on the narrow side of skimpy. Perhaps he was letting her satisfy her maidenly curiosity about the male physique. Perhaps he was bragging, although Azak never really bragged about anything — he merely stated the obvious. Or perhaps he was trying to make the best of an impossible situation, staying as close as possible to normal married behavior.

  He was too long for the bunk and almost too wide for it, a shiny copper giant, everything a girl could dream of. Poor Azak! The scorpion had been scotched but the sting remained in the wound. And the hideous burns on her face still hurt. They were oozing now — she might never smile again. Azak’s lifelong infallibility seemed to falter when Inos was around.

  He felt her scrutiny and turned his head lazily. “My love?”

  “Azak?”

  “Hot, isn’t it?” He went back to staring at the ceiling.

  She had never heard him utter fatuous chit-chat before.

  After a moment she whispered, “I will say it when I can. It will mean more if you know it is honestly meant.”

  He studied the overhead. “Were it not for the curse, I would have you babbling it by now — and meaning it.”

  “I am sure you would. I wish you could.” Did she? Did she really? My love. My darling. Beloved. Lover.

  Why not? Many a woman in Pandemia had learned how to love the husband fate had dealt her. Why should she be different? Very few would have such a husband to love.

  Trust in love!

  Footsteps sounded over her head. The ship barely rocked, and the usual creaking, squeaking noises were depressingly absent. Even the gulls were silent.

  She thought of Rap, pacing a cell back in Arakkaran. Honest, well-meaning, blundering Rap. Azak might be persuaded to write … No, give him a little longer to heal his pride. He was not truly vindictive, Azak. He might be deadly, but he usually had a logical purpose in what he did — apart from his insane jealousy, of course. After the disaster of the wedding-night kiss, he had blamed himself for not thinking of the danger; a lesser man would have blamed her, or the Gods, or even Rap …

  It was too hot to talk. It hurt too much to be silent. “Azak?”

  “Mmm?”

  “How do we travel? I mean, in the Impire? Am I to be Hathark again? And what name and station will you —”

  “I shall be Kar!” He chuckled at her surprise. “It is as good a name as any. My own might be recognized, as I am so memorable. We shall be sons of the Sultan of Shuggaran. The treacherous dog is something of an Imperial supporter, which may help.”

  “But … what about your appeal to the Four?”

  Azak frowned at the planks above him. “There will be no appeal to the wardens. We travel merely as young princes seeking knowledge. It is not a Zarkian custom, but the imps will see nothing odd about rich young men jaunting around the world.”

  Inos raised herself on one elbow to study him better. “If you wanted a harem girl, you should have brought a harem girl! I happen to have a brain, and now you have roused my curiosity.”

  He rolled his head again and flickered one of his rare smiles. “I haven’t beaten that out of you yet, have I? All right, my queen, just remember that none of the others know. Except Zana, of course. As far as my brother and the rabble are concerned at the moment, we are spying, and I brought you along to divert suspicion. You understand?”

  The smile had gone, and the red eyes were menacing.

  “Of course,” she said. He had been gelded, and no shame could ever be worse for him. His court might have guessed, but the matter would never be discussed.

  Azak nodded and sighed. “I must find a sorcerer, and no sorcerer except a warden ever dares reveal his existence. So I must seek out one of the Four, a warlock. The witch of the north is not … No, a warlock.”

  Why not Bright Water? Probably he could not bear the thought of begging for help from a woman. It would not help that the woman in question was supposedly three hundred years old.

  “Then who?” Inos asked. “Not Olybino, obviously.” East was the occult backer of the imperor’s legions.

  “Nor Lith’rian, obviously.”

  “Why not Lith’ … Oh, you mean because he sent Rap?” Despite the heat, she shivered then at Azak’s glare.

  “Exactly. That leaves Zinixo — obviously. He is only a youngster, they say. He should be sympathetic.”

  Poor Azak! There were no words to say. She wished she could grip one of those big hands and squeeze it. She lay back to avoid his gaze and considered. How maddening not to know more about these mysterious wardens!

  “And isn’t he supposed to be Olybino’s enemy?”

  “So the gossip says. When the legions make war, historically the other wardens tend to oppose East. East supports the army, and the imperor does, also, of course. That’s two out of the five, so the other three are inclined to balk. It isn’t much to go on, but it is all we have.”

  Inos wiped her streaming brow and adjusted the sticky sheet. They would all be cooked before they ever reached land again, and that would solve all their problems.

  “Azak,” she said cautiously, “why are you so reluctant to make a formal appeal to the Four? It would give you some sort of legal status on the journey — the Impire ought to grant you safe passage.”

  “No! With war coming, I dare not risk falling into East’s clutches. And what sort of a
rgument do I have now, with Rasha dead? She can’t meddle in politics now.” His voice had gone very harsh and forbidding.

  She persisted, gently. “A monarch needs heirs —”

  “No!”

  Pride? An appeal to the Four would be a much more public affair than a private audience with one of them.

  She let the silence hold for a moment, then said, “How about me? I have been abducted from my kingdom by sorcery. I still have cause to appeal. And you escort me …”

  He swung himself up, dropping his long legs to the floor, and humped over in a crouch as he reached for his clothes. He was inflamed with sudden anger. “I said ‘No!’”

  She turned her face away, guessing the rest.

  The Krasnegar matter was supposedly all settled now, or so they had been told. Azak would not risk unsettling it again. Finding a ruler for Arakkaran was easy — much too easy — whereas she might yet seem like a uniquely acceptable answer for Krasnegar.

  If the Four did give Inos back her kingdom, then they would expect her to rule it. Once Azak had promised to go and live there at her side. Obviously that promise was no longer relevant.

  There would be no appeal to the Four if he could help it.

  2

  A year ago he’d been content to be Thorie. Now he wanted to be called by his full name, Emthoro, and Shandie didn’t like that, because it had been Dad’s name. So they settled on Thorog, which was the name of the hero of a book Cousin-Thorog had been reading until Aunt Orosea had found it and taken it away. The Book-Thorog was always visiting ladies’ chambers, and Cousin-Thorog told Shandie about some of the things he had done to, for, and with the ladies and — even more unlikely — some of the things the ladies had done to him.

  It all sounded rather sick-making and boring, but Shandie didn’t say so. He knew what grown-ups did on a bed, and most of it seemed to be just the same thing every night, and pretty stupid. None of the things Book-Thorog had done.

  Cousin-Thorog was thirteen, and hence thought he knew a great deal more than Shandie did. He probably didn’t know quite as much as he was hinting, though, because Shandie was sure no girl in the Impire would ever want to kiss anyone with that many pimples or such funny-shaped eyes, even if Thorog was tall, like his father, the Duke of Leesoft. And Shandie, while he had yet to understand the merits of kissing and that sort of stuff, had seen a lot of that sort of stuff going on sometimes when he was supposed to be asleep.

  Rather to his astonishment, Shandie had discovered himself alone with his cousin — no grown-ups around at all! He tried to remember the last time this had happened. He had wondered, with a shiver of panic, if he even knew how to speak to anyone not-grown-up anymore, but apparently Thorog hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his talk. Of course, Thorog was doing most of the talking.

  They were in Thorog’s room, and Thorog was just finishing dressing himself. He didn’t have a valet of his own yet … Shandie did! The wedding called for formal dress, of course, but not court formal, so that was all right. Formal was only a hundred years out of date, instead of thousands. No togas.

  Thorog wanted to get back to Leesoft quickly, although he had just arrived in Hub. This was hunting season, he said.

  “You’ll stay for my birthday, day after tomorrow?” Shandie said hopefully.

  “No. I mean, I’m here to represent the family at the wedding today. Dad said I can come home anytime I like as soon as it’s over, and I don’t want to miss his big stag hunt.”

  “It’s raining!” Shandie glanced at the streaming panes and thought wistfully of going on a stag hunt, or even being able to sit on a horse again. As long as he behaved himself at the wedding, he thought he would get a birthday party, though. Ythbane and Moms ought to be in a good mood, after all. He wondered if he’d know any of the boys who’d be invited.

  “Won’t be raining at home! Rains more in Hub than at Leesoft.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “Dad says so.”

  Shandie retreated from that battle and tried again. “What else d’you hunt?” he asked wistfully. And after the list ran out; “You ride every day?”

  Thorog was taken by surprise, busily hauling on a stocking. His legs were much longer than Shandie’s, but not much thicker, and Shandie was rather ashamed of his arrow-thin calves. But at least Thorog wasn’t getting dressed up in a toga. Even to look at a toga made Shandie shake now.

  “Don’t you?” Thorog demanded.

  The thought of sitting a horse was very unpleasant so soon after yesterday’s formal court function. “I never … almost never ride.”

  “Why not?” Thorog looked thoroughly disbelieving. “You’re not scared of horses, are you?”

  “Course not!”

  The nasty glint did not leave Thorog’s eye. “Sure?”

  “Sure!”

  “Then why not?”

  Shandie shrugged. “Just don’t have time. Too many f-f-f-formal functions.” He plunged ahead loudly. “Now that Grandfather’s birthday’s finally over, there won’t be so many f-formal things I have to go to.”

  “What do you do at them?” Thorog demanded, standing up and squeezing his feet into his silver-buckled shoes without unbuckling them.

  “Just stand beside the throne.” And I always fidget, no matter how much I try not to. But this wedding isn’t that sort of function, so I won’t get beaten. I hope.

  “Shandie,” Thorog whispered with a quick glance around the obviously empty room, “does Grandfather ever say anything now?”

  Shandie shook his head. “Not in weeks. Why?”

  “Mum asked me to ask you. Don’t tell.”

  “Course not.” Shandie shook his head again.

  “When are they going to proclaim a regency?”

  “About a month, I think. They want to get the wedding over first. Why are we whispering? The whole court knows all this.”

  Thorog said, “Oh!” and looked disappointed.

  Suddenly there was a gap in the conversation. Now might be a good time to try to get an answer to a question that was really bothering Shandie. He had been dying to find someone he could ask. His books were vague on the matter, and Court Teacher was evasive. He took a deep breath and decided to risk it.

  “Thorog … what d’you know about puberty?”

  “Puberty’s what I’m in the middle of,” Thorog said, drawing himself up straight and looking challengingly at the mirror.

  Shandie sniggered. “You mean like messing up a cravat?”

  “No, I mean like growing hairs on my lip — and other places,” he added mysteriously.

  “What hairs on your lip?”

  “Well, once it starts it comes very quickly, Dad says. And it’s started!” Thorog looked even more mysterious.

  “Where?”

  “Down here.”

  Now came the problem that had been really torturing Shandie. “Thorog, what color is it?”

  Thorog stuttered and said brown, what color did he expect it would be?

  “It isn’t … blue, is it?”

  A very strange expression came over his cousin’s face. He clumped over to where Shandie was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why, Shandie?”

  Surprised, and a little nervous, Shandie said, “Well, it can be blue, can’t it? Hair down there?”

  “Who has blue hair there? I won’t say you told me, honest. Except to Mum, and she won’t tell anyone.”

  “How should I know?” Shandie said quickly, alarmed now.

  Thorog dropped his voice. “The only people with blue hair are merfolk. Their hair is blue, all of it. Very pale blue. Even eyebrows, I suppose. They’re very unhairy people, legs and arms, but I expect their grown-ups have hair down there like any others. If a man had some merman blood in him, he might have blue hair, and then he’d have to dye his hair so people wouldn’t know. But I don’t suppose he’d bother dying the bit down there. All right?”

  Shandie nodded gratefully. That explained things, although it was odd that Thorog
was so knowledgeable about merfolk. “And what’s wrong with having merfolk blood? I mean, is it worse than troll blood, or elf blood?”

  “Nothing wrong with a little elf blood,” Thorog said snappily. “Dad says jotunn wouldn’t be too bad, either. But merfolk … you know why Grandfather doesn’t rule the Kerith islands, young fellow?”

  “Because they don’t fight fair,” Shandie said. “Mermen won’t stand and fight. They pick us off with cowardly attacks in the dark, one at a time. It’s happened …”

  “Fight fair?” Thorog went back to his mirror. Amazingly, he seemed to be satisfied with his cravat, for he set to work on his hair. “If someone invaded your country, would you care about fighting fair?”

  Shandie had never considered the question.

  “And why do the centurions let the men run around to be killed one at a time in the dark? They don’t do it fighting dwarves in Dwanish, or elves in Ilrane. Why fighting mermen? Never asked your books that question?”

  “No,” Shandie said in a small voice.

  “Well, it’s the merwomen who do the damage. They sing, or dance, or just show themselves. And the army falls apart. You know how dogs flock to a bitch?”

  “No.”

  “Bees to a queen, then?”

  “No.”

  Thorog rolled his eyes. “You spend far too much time reading and hanging around court functions, my lad! You should get out of doors more. But that’s why you’ll never be Imperor of the Keriths, Shandie. Sex!” he whispered dramatically. “Men go crazy!”

  “Oh!” Shandie said.

  “And that’s why merfolk aren’t welcome, not anywhere. They bring quarrels. Why don’t jotnar ever trade in mermaid slaves?”

  Shandie considered that, then said, “Why not?”

  “Because they can’t bear to part with them!” Thorog crowed in triumph. “Now, who do you know with blue hair down there?”

  “Oh, no one! Say, you don’t mind if I slip up to my room for a moment?”

  He didn’t sleep with Moms anymore. He had a new room now, all to himself, and his medicine was there. He was beginning to feel scratchy-twitchy, and the only cure he knew for scratchy-twitchy was a mouthful of his medicine. He headed for the door.