“The pasha ordered us to keep marching,” the soldier grumbled. “Bloody Yothians refused their tribute and won’t fight. I say we put the question to the sword, but Veyre is under siege and we haven’t the time. I suppose we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground again tonight. Bloody Yothians,” he repeated. “Look, we have a giant. Why don’t we put him to work?”
He pointed to the front of the column of marching soldiers. A figure trudged ahead, twice the height of a man and with arms as thick as a man’s waist. He carried a huge mace that looked like it could level a mud-brick house with a single blow. The others gave him a wide berth.
The captain’s eyes flickered. “Who is your pasha?”
“Ismail of Veyre.”
Roderick had heard of Ismail. He was one of the enemy’s generals who had led King Toth’s assault across the river at Sleptstock. It was said that he’d slaughtered his prisoners to feed the dark wizard’s magical power. He had apparently escaped into the khalifates to rebuild his army.
“Pasha Ismail commands ten thousand men,” Pradmort said. “Where is the rest of the army?”
“Three other columns are marching west, skirmishing with barbarians near the Tothian Way. Ismail himself is following the river to the south. He has war mammoths and must keep them near the water so they don’t succumb to the heat.”
“What is your name, soldier?”
“Calum, my lord.”
“Calum, go ahead, find your captain. Send word to the pasha and tell him the ravagers of Toth have ordered a halt. We have business in Yoth.”
The soldier looked eager and delighted. “Yes, my lord.” He rushed off at a trot, his greaves clanking with every step.
Pradmort eyed the town walls with a thin and cunning smile at his lips. “Roderick, it is time. Come with me.” He turned on the road and headed toward Yoth.
Eight other ravagers accompanied their captain from the main body. Roderick followed them with trepidation. His body was trembling, and a wild, dangerous lust for battle rose in his breast. Once again, his emotions were swinging between extremes.
It means that you are losing control of your mind.
Roderick had begun to hate that nagging voice. Why wouldn’t it leave him alone?
The riders made their way toward the town on the hill. The road was empty save for a single dog that barked furiously as they approached, then fled with its tail between its legs when they got too close. Stray goats bleated at the riders, but their shepherds had disappeared. Closer to the town walls, the fields were also empty, though here and there were sheaves of wheat, abandoned scythes and other tools tossed down. On the road ahead, a handful of people were hurrying into the town as the iron gates swung shut. They slammed closed with a boom and the clank of a reinforcing bar falling into place just before the ravagers arrived.
Two men appeared on the walls about fifteen feet above them. One held a bow with a notched arrow; the other wore a fine robe with a jeweled turban on his head. This second man called down, “Who are you, and what business have you in Yoth?”
Pradmort answered back. “We are warriors of the dark wizard, as any fool could see. As to our business, that is up to you, my lord. Do you obey my commands, or do you fight against us?”
“I am the emir of Yoth, and I answer only to the high khalif.”
“What of your Chalfean lord? Doesn’t he command your allegiance?”
“The Chalfeans make unreasonable demands. They forced us to bear the weight of the enemy attack and offered no reinforcements.” The emir shook his head. “I refuse to obey a command which will see my people destroyed, my slaves slaughtered, my women carried away to serve as whores for the barbarian lords.”
“Your khalif gives full suzerainty to his master in the Dark Citadel. So when you disobey the khalif, you disobey King Toth himself.”
“Perhaps. But until Toth comes, I will have nothing to do with you or the Chalfeans.”
The captain smiled. “In person? You wish to see the dark wizard in person? You are a brave man, Emir. How many men-at-arms do you have? A hundred? Two?”
“More than enough for you,” the emir sneered. “Our walls are strong, and I doubt you have brought Cragyn’s Hammer to batter them down. Perhaps you have wizards. No? I thought not.” The emir smiled. “It is harvest time, and the keep is well stocked. We can hold out until spring, if necessary, while you do not have that luxury. Indeed, I wonder if Veyre will even stand come spring. Some say that Toth is already dead.”
“So that is why you revolted against your khalif. You are counting on the armies of the Free Kingdoms to rescue you.” The captain removed his helm and let his blond hair show. “Are you certain that the Knights Temperate stand against King Toth?”
The emir frowned. “I have no idea who you are, pale knight, but you don’t frighten me. Now continue on your way, and we will not harry your troops. If Toth wishes tribute, let him come for it. I will pay.”
The ravagers turned away. One of the men asked, “What now? Do we leave the emir unpunished for his treachery, or do we lay siege?”
“Neither,” Roderick guessed. He glanced to Pradmort, afraid of another stinging rebuttal, but none came. The captain watched him with a half-smile. Roderick continued, “We don’t need wizards or infernal devices to break down the gates of Yoth. We have a giant.”
“A good plan,” Pradmort said. “I had come to the same conclusion. Come, it’s almost night and our enemy and his hounds will be abroad to hunt for our souls. We will attack Yoth by morning.”
Yes, a very good plan, Roderick, the small voice said, but Roderick heard—what?—worry? So your goal now is to crush all enemies of Toth? What honor, what commitment to your vows.
Roderick returned his own question to the voice. What choice do I have? They changed me. I am somebody else now. Even this admission took effort. Sweat popped out on his forehead.
No choice? the voice answered. Is that what you learned in Sanctuary Tower? That you have no choice? What would your brothers say?
“My brothers be damned,” Roderick said under his breath.
They would soon enough join the dark wizard. He turned to follow his fellow ravagers, companions in death, agitation brewing at the thought of the battle, the voice forgotten for now. He felt a burning excitement that he had not felt before, a blood lust that boiled within. He clenched a mailed fist, anxious to begin the slaughter.
Chapter Seven
To Sofiana’s annoyance, Chantmer insisted that she be bathed, her grime removed by having slave girls rub olive oil into her skin and card it off. When that was done, he sent her to be perfumed by yet more slave girls. When they were done, the wizard returned to fetch her. At no time did they pass through or near the palace chambers where Marialla, Uncle Daniel, and the Balsalomians were staying. Now, standing outside the harem, she felt ridiculous and naked dressed in a pair of billowy silk pants that looked like sleeping paijams, a tunic roughly as solid as a spiderweb, and a pair of slippers that she could have torn in two with her bare hands.
The wizard told her he would leave her outside while he fetched a eunuch, but before he did, he touched her forehead and whispered a few words in the old tongue. A surge of confidence and energy flowed through her limbs. The hot breeze felt suddenly prickly against her skin, and the colors of the roses on the climbing vines seemed impossibly sharp. She could smell bread baking somewhere and hear girls whispering on the other side of the garden wall.
“There, now you’ll be brave no matter what happens.”
“I told you already, I’m not scared.”
He smiled. “Now we’ll be sure, won’t we? But don’t worry, you’re in no danger so long as you keep your wits.” He gathered his robes and passed through the archway, leaving her behind.
Chantmer, you wicked man.
He thought he was fooling her, but he wasn’t. Faalam was a dangerous man; she’d spotted him trailing her several times over the past few days, and whenever she tried to lose him, he somehow
managed to find her again. No matter if she was in the vast labyrinth of cellars beneath the palace, or hiding in one of the gardens up the hillside, the eunuch always appeared as if drawn. What’s more, if the man wasn’t dangerous, then why didn’t the wizard administer the silver bite himself?
By the Brothers, it was hot standing out here. The silk, so sleek and smooth when the girls in the baths had dressed her, now clung, sweaty and damp, to her body. Her feet were perspiring, and she could use a drink of water. With the heat, even the whistler birds had fallen silent in their cages. In their place, cicadas buzzed from the trees, a sound that bored into her skull.
She was about to go in after Chantmer when he finally appeared. He was leading one of the other two eunuchs she’d spotted following her through the palace when Faalam was not around, a man named Lassitus. The eunuch was naked from the waist up. All the eunuchs were corpulent, but this one was fatter than the others, even though he couldn’t be older than twenty-five. His chest looked almost like a pair of flabby breasts if not for the few dark, curly hairs around his nipples.
“I don’t know what happened,” Lassitus told Chantmer. “I leaned against the wall for a moment and then I was asleep. If the master finds out—”
“Never mind that,” the wizard said impatiently. “Here’s the girl you’ll be presenting to Faalam.”
“What girl?”
“This one!”
Lassitus yawned, then glanced at her through beady eyes set above pudgy cheeks. “Do I know her?”
The man sounded as mentally slow as he looked, but Sofiana knew this was the wizard’s magic playing tricks. Lassitus had been clever enough following her through the palace. Perhaps not as clever as Faalam, but he had tracked her down when she tried to hide and given her a smirk to let her know that she was at his mercy. She enjoyed the stupid expression on his face at the moment.
“The girl the sultan told you to bring to the eunuch for training.”
“Oh, yes. The barbarian child for the harem. Of course. I forgot that.”
“Well, don’t forget,” Chantmer snapped, “or the sultan will do to your head what he did to your stones.”
Sofiana couldn’t help but giggle. Lassitus glanced at her, nostrils flaring and his skin flushing an even darker shade than its usual mahogany color.
He took her arm in a strong grip. “Come along.”
Sofiana bristled and only just resisted elbowing the eunuch in his fat, sweating belly. But Chantmer gave her a hard look, and she took control of her temper and let Lassitus lead her into the harem. The wizard stayed behind, his heavy eyebrows knitted together in concern. His whisper tickled in her mind, one final exhortation to remain confident. She felt the packet of silver bite where she’d hidden it inside her small clothes.
It was cooler inside the harem, and dark but for the flickering light of oil lamps. Aromatic smoke rose from censers in the corners. The floor was colorful tiles in geometric designs, and pillows lay heaped everywhere. Women in various states of undress, from diaphanous gowns to full nudity, lounged about in the room.
According to Chantmer, the sultan preferred his younger wives and concubines, but here in the harem the mature women seemed to hold sway. Several women the age of Kallia or the princess lounged on pillows, dozing beneath huge palm frond fans being waved by the girls. One woman opened her wide, kohl-lined eyes and gazed at Sofiana for a few seconds before yawning like a giant cat and rolling onto her side. A girl not much older than Sofiana dabbed at the woman’s forehead with a damp cloth while another young woman peeled a pomegranate and fed her the seeds from red-stained fingertips.
As Sofiana entered, a bare-breasted woman with deep brown, almost black skin looked up from smoking a hookah. But her eyes were dull, staring right through the girl without seeing her. Another woman, this one with more olive skin and almost as beautiful as Princess Marialla, spotted Sofiana and a leonine smile came over her face. She was nude, her body damp with oil. She uncrossed her legs indelicately and patted the velvet pillow next to her.
“Come here, girl, and sit a while.”
“This one is not for you, Nafalla,” Lassitus said. His grip tightened slightly on Sofiana’s wrist. “The sultan hasn’t had her yet.”
“Oh, fah!” the woman said. She waved her hand dismissively and turned away with her nose upturned.
Sofiana was relieved when the eunuch led her past the women and through an archway into deeper chambers. “What did she want?”
Lassitus gave her a side look, one eyebrow raised. “The sultan may have castrated the harem guards, but he hasn’t bothered with certain bored women. Stay away from that one if you can. Also the one with the red hair.”
“I didn’t see her.”
“And hopefully she didn’t see you either.”
“I’m not scared of them,” Sofiana said. “They’ll be sorry if they touch me.”
Lassitus chuckled.
They crossed a small internal courtyard with a bubbling fountain and sharp-scented lemon trees, passed two eunuch guards who touched the hilts of their scimitars but did not draw the weapons, and entered another, smaller chamber. On the floor lay a bed of pillows and silk sheets where Faalam slept with his mouth open, snoring. Lassitus stumbled to a halt.
“That’s curious,” he whispered. “He is still asleep. Should I wake him?”
Why was he asking her? Was he incapable of taking initiative?
Lassitus cleared his throat nervously. “I suppose I should wake him.” He pointed to a small side chamber. “You’ll find what you need in there. The tea is in clay pitchers. He likes it strong. Crush a few mint leaves and add plenty of sugar.”
That was hardly explicit enough to do the job right, and Sofiana bristled at being ordered about, but now was not the time to protest. He’d given her an opportunity to be alone to prepare the head eunuch’s drink. She knew that was a suggestion put in his mind by Chantmer the Tall, but was surprised at how well it worked, as if the thought had come spontaneously to Lassitus.
Sofiana entered the room and found the sweating clay jars on a shelf. She pulled out the stoppers of a few of them. They all contained tea, but it seemed to be of varying strength, so she chose the darkest liquid and poured it into a cup, which she put on a tray. After a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she took out the packet Chantmer had given her, opened it over the cup and tapped in the contents. She thought, but was not certain, that she saw the grains fall out and into the tea. When that was done, she crumpled the packet and shoved it into a back corner behind more clay pots.
Feeling safer now, Sofiana found a wooden box that held golden-colored sugar blocks, and used the sugar snippers to bite off a large chunk, which she dropped into the tea. She cut off a smaller chunk and popped it into her mouth, letting it dissolve on her tongue while she searched for the mint. This she found lying on a damp cloth, together with other freshly cut herbs. She wasn’t sure how much mint to use, but figured too much was better than too little. But when it was floating around in there, it seemed like an awful lot, so she thought to fish most of it out again. At the last moment she remembered the silver bite and used the sugar snippers to do it instead of her fingers.
When she emerged, Lassitus was still standing over his master’s bed, clearing his throat. It wasn’t doing the job. A large gray cat had come into the chambers and sat near the doorway licking its paw while studying Lassitus through large golden eyes. The eunuch scowled when he saw the animal and jabbed it with his toe to shoo it out of the room. It sprang clear and disappeared through the archway and into the courtyard, its haughty step seeming to mock the man.
“Aren’t you going to wake him up?” Sofiana asked.
“I’m trying.”
“You call that gurgling in your throat trying?” She took a step closer to the sleeping man. “Hey! Your nap is over. Wake up!”
“No, don’t!” Lassitus started to say.
Faalam’s eyes flew open, and he sat up, taking in his
surroundings with an alert expression. He sniffed at the air and narrowed his eyes when he looked out into the courtyard, as if he could smell that an intruder had been present, even if only a cat. But when he eyed Sofiana, he seemed to relax as recognition passed over his face.
“It’s late. I’ve overslept.”
“I didn’t know if I should wake you,” Lassitus said.
“You have the girl, that is all that matters.”
“She hasn’t left my side,” the younger eunuch said confidently. This was not remotely true, but Sofiana didn’t know if he were intentionally lying or if Chantmer had placed a false memory in his head.
“Why did you bring her?” Faalam asked.
“She is uncouth and savage. I thought to give her a lesson in palace etiquette before we present her to our lord.”
“Very well.” Faalam gestured. “Bring me the tea. My throat is parched.”
Sofiana held out the tray and he took the cup in his hands. He did not immediately drink, but first looked the girl over with an expression not much different from the way Kallia’s cooks inspected cuts of meat before accepting them from the butchers guild.
“So you’ve been told.”
“About what?” she asked.
“About the sultan and his plans for you.”
A look of disgust came to her face before she could hide it. Faalam smiled.
“You must understand, it’s not my desire, but his. And I live only to serve Mufashe, may he live forever. If he expressed a preference for camels, I would immediately send word to all the Kratian nomads in the wastelands hereabout. But we are not cruel men. We will do what we can to make it easier for you.”
“Are you a maiden?” Lassitus asked. “Have you known a man?”
“I’m only thirteen years old!”
“That’s old enough to have begun your courses,” the younger eunuch said.
“I haven’t begun them yet,” she admitted. “Most girls my age have, I know.”
The Warrior King (Book 4) Page 5
