Emissary (45 page)

But only one interests me, my young Ana,
he thought.
And you are not her…not until I become Boaz.
‘Oh, I do hope so, Zaradine, and once this mission is done with, I might try a little harder with my social life.’

She nodded her approval and then disappeared silently into her own tent.

Definitely not Lyana,
his thoughts echoed. ‘So who is?’ he whispered to himself.

Maliz had to wonder whether his instincts had sent him a ruse. And that in chasing off after Pez, he was actually leaving behind the real trail in Percheron where Iridor existed and could lead him to the hated Goddess. He grimaced. Lyana was cunning this time. But he would find her and he would take his time killing her. His mind moved again to Ana. No. Not her. But if not Ana, who is the Goddess?

Not far away, yet distant enough not to disturb the sleepers, Pez was vomiting but with no idea why. The grief over Jumo aside, his insides had felt well enough and he had not partaken of any of the meat. The nausea had suddenly come upon him; no warning just a violent surge through his body before a darkening of the sand where he stood.

What was it? What could have disturbed his body so? His head throbbed and he sat down to lean against the dune.

‘Pez,’ a voice whispered.

He leapt up, startled but still dizzy from his exertions. ‘Ellyana,’ he murmured, ‘don’t creep up on me like that.’

‘I cannot use magic to reach you or he will sense it. He is very alert just now.’

Pez knew to whom she referred. But not how she would know the demon’s state of mind. He stole a glance around the dune to check that Ellyana could not be seen from the campsite. ‘I am unwell.’

‘I can see,’ she said softly. ‘It is not what you think.’ She could see his heavy brow frowning in the moonlight. ‘You are not ill. It’s because you are Iridor.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he groaned quietly.

‘You will. I am here to tell you that our previous agreement regarding Ana is no longer necessary.’

He ignored his aching head to stare at Ellyana, not that he could make out her features in the darkness. ‘Why?’

‘Just do as I say, Pez.’ She made to leave.

‘Wait,’ he growled in a low voice. ‘Is she Lyana?’

He thought he might have caught a ghost of a smile across her face but there simply wasn’t enough light tonight with the moon constantly being shrouded by clouds. ‘All will be revealed.’

‘Why won’t you tell me?’ Pez persisted.

‘For your protection,’ she murmured, angry now. ‘Just let Ana be now. Iridor knows. Search yourself, you will find the answers you hunt.’

Pez looked to the sands, shook his head with repressed frustration, and when he looked back up, Ellyana had disappeared. So had his headache. He felt suddenly fine—the smothering pain had gone as fast as it had come, and the nausea was nothing more than a memory. He glanced over and noticed the dark patch of sand. He hadn’t imagined it; he had been sick but it had passed. None of it felt natural, and Ellyana’s curious arrival, timed perfectly to coincide with his disturbance, told him his nausea and headache was somehow linked to the Goddess. Something had happened…but what?

It had been two days since the loss of Jumo and although leaving the region of the quicksand and his death had helped to clear the morbid atmosphere that had pervaded everyone’s waking thoughts, it had done nothing to improve Lazar’s grim countenance that, if anything, had seemed to worsen into a dulled, impervious expression. Everyone assumed it was grief. But it was terror that lay behind his eyes: terror at the voices in his head; terror at his own dark thoughts of longing for the Zar’s wife.

Lazar, in his withdrawn state, didn’t know that Ana had begun vomiting most of the meagre bread and fruit she tried to eat in her bid to keep her side of their agreement, or that Salim was becoming decidedly nervous as they entered a part of the desert known simply as the Empty by the tribes. It took Pez and a hissing, angry exchange on this second night after Jumo’s death to finally get Lazar to take notice of anything more than his camel or the horizon.

Pez found Lazar in the black of night sitting
alone on the top of a dune well away from the campfires.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said, anticipating hostility. They had not spoken directly to one another since Lazar had banished him from his side after Jumo’s death.

He received precisely the animosity he expected. ‘I have nothing to talk about.’

‘Do you mean in general or with me specifically?’ Pez asked, prepared to go along with the fight that was certainly due between them.

‘Both.’

‘Lazar, I think something’s happening that we don’t know about and whether you want to talk to me or not I’m the one who has to make you aware because, to all intents and purposes, you’re not very aware of much at all just now.’

‘Go away, Pez.’

‘I will not.’

‘I don’t wish to discuss Iridor, Lyana, this battle, or Maliz, or anything in fact. I want to be left alone.’

‘This has nothing to do with any of what you censure, Spur; this has everything to do with your job for your Zar.’

‘What is it?’ Lazar said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s Salim. He’s not saying much but the language of his body and the tension he is creating amongst his own is saying plenty.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’m not sure, that’s why I’ve brought it to you, but we’re all feeling it. There’s an uneasiness.’

‘I’ll need more than that to go on.’

Pez shrugged in the dark. ‘It’s hard to say. Salim seems overly watchful, nervous. He keeps looking this way and that. I swear he looked over his shoulder earlier today. It’s certainly giving me a sense of unrest and I know the others feel similar, from eavesdropping on their conversations.’

‘Have you spoken to the Khalid?’

‘How can I? The Grand Vizier has nothing to focus his attention on at the moment except me, I feel.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

‘Listen, Lazar, pay attention to what I’m saying. I think something dangerous is afoot.’

‘Does your big nose twitch from the Lore and tell you this, or do you have any facts to give me?’

Pez knew Lazar was being deliberately provocative, determined to goad him into the fight the Spur clearly wanted. He wouldn’t bite, not yet. ‘Salim senses trouble but he’s not telling us anything. You need to talk to him.’

‘Why should I? Simply because you feel something in the air?’

‘Lazar, it’s more than that.’

‘Well, I don’t feel anything,’ he said and made it sound as though that was the end of their conversation.

‘That’s because you are in an Empty all of your own, Lazar,’ Pez snapped, his temper no
longer in check. ‘You arrogant fool. Prince or not, you are all Galinsean. Don’t ever say I didn’t try!’

Lazar was on his feet. ‘You dare talk to me like that,’ he warned, turning now to stare angrily at the dwarf.

‘I think I’m the only one who isn’t scared of you, or that look that I can’t see in the dark but I know is on your face. If you want to hit me, break my jaw again, do it. I can heal myself once again if I have to.’

‘You seem quite at ease to use the Lore on yourself, or for Ana,’ Lazar sneered, dropping his voice low now.

‘Ah, so now we come to it. I understand what this is all about. This is not about Jumo. This is about me refusing you. And I helped Ana to have some time with you—I thought you both deserved it.’ Whatever else he thought about that moonlit night he left unsaid.

Lazar was grateful for that much and hoped he could push Pez away for the time being, until his own chaotic thoughts about Ana settled. ‘Go find another playmate, Pez,’ Lazar urged. ‘I don’t wish to talk about this.’

‘No, but then you never do. You run away from all things that prick at your emotions or require you to open yourself up to others. What have I done, Lazar?’

‘It’s what you haven’t done,’ he replied, almost a whisper, and there was deep sorrow in it.

Pez knew his recent lies would follow him for the rest of his life. He was glad Lazar could not see his face or the despondent expression written on it. ‘I explained, I needed to touch him. How was I supposed to do that without perishing myself?’

‘Well, even in my panic at that moment I could imagine you turning yourself into the owl and hovering over Jumo’s head if you had to. You could have touched him easily.’

Pez had not thought of that, curiously enough, and now, feeling even more hollow—if that was possible—grasped at a fresh deception. ‘I…I cannot use the Lore when I am Iridor.’

‘I think you’re lying, Pez.’

‘I am not—’

‘I’ll tell you why I think you’re lying and why you chose not to save the life of someone who could have survived with your aid. No-one should die like that, swallowed by the earth, slowly drowning in a dark mass with an audience that couldn’t…or in this instance, wouldn’t help.’

Pez felt his belly clench, praying inwardly that Lazar had not seen through him. ‘Listen to me, I could not use the Lore—’

Lazar continued as though Pez had not spoken. His voice was calm but edged with ice now. No-one could hear or see them. ‘I think you lied to me and to Jumo and you continue to lie to me and even yourself because you chose a dream over
reality. The dream is Lyana and for her you allowed one of the best men to have ever walked at your side to die an agonising death of suffocation. He showed more courage in death than you ever could in life, Pez.’ Reluctant, angry tears were rolling down his face as he pointed at the dwarf who could not see the tears but could make out his accusing finger. ‘In your stifling fear of Maliz, you killed my closest friend.’ Pez’s expression turned from dismay to despair, his large head moving from side to side in denial. ‘You might as well have, Pez. You could have saved him. You chose not to and I only worked out why on the way back to camp. You couldn’t risk Maliz scenting your magic, could you? Jumo died to keep you safe from the demon.’ His reasoning was right, it had hit on the truth but the accusation was unfair and he knew that too. But Lazar didn’t care. He wanted someone else to suffer this pain of loss alongside him. Everyone else was carrying on as though Jumo was already something of the past, a distant memory soon to be forgotten, and of no real importance. The bile rose in his throat and he couldn’t help himself: he gave 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 swore 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—his 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 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 connected with the rising of Iridor and the ultimate battle ahead. None understood how their very lives hung on the fragile thread of secrecy. He could almost hate Lazar in this moment for making him feel so responsible for Jumo’s demise.

He took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Yes, there is some truth in what you say but I didn’t withhold my magic to save myself, Lazar. In this you are unjust, for my life as Iridor is forfeit. No, I made the hardest choice without much more than a second to reach that decision 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 has 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 disembowelled her but kept her alive for an hour or more—and I can’t tell you what a slow, agonising death that would have been 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 favourite, though,’ he said sarcastically, ‘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 and both of them knew he 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—once, perhaps, was swift, but for the most part 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 you believe that Ana is Lyana or not 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 where Ana is concerned. He will dream up something even more spectacular with you as audience and you will share her every groan, her every plea to die. This is why I had to choose. There was no surety that I could save Jumo but there was a guarantee that I would not reveal myself and thus endanger Ana and you. Believe me, I have not lived easily with myself these past two days and nights. If it was only my life to jeopardise, I would have risked it gladly for Jumo, but there were too many lives at stake, Lazar. The price was too high.’

‘Would the Lore have saved him?’ he 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. So much risk.’

Lazar hung his head. ‘We cannot bring him back.’

‘That’s right. I made a decision for the greater good and I cannot bring him back even if you
deem that decision wrong. I stand by it. 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 survives.’

‘She will survive, I promise,’ and his certainty made Lazar turn towards him sharply.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Instinct,’ Pez said, too quickly, and Lazar heard the catch in his throat as if Pez realised 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?’

‘I cannot bring him back,’ he repeated.

‘That is not an answer to my question. We have been great friends over the years. We know much about one another, especially each other’s deepest secrets. We have trust. I don’t want to lose that.’

Lazar stared out towards the moon that 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 never did finish what he was going to say as he was knocked sideways with a powerful shove.

There was a pressure at the top of his arm and in the darkness of night he couldn’t see much, but when he clutched at where the sensation was, he felt a new feeling. This time it was pain and there was a sticky wetness on his palm, and impossible though it seemed, there was an arrow sticking out of his arm.

‘Pez,’ he began, incredulous, now wavering on his knees.

‘I am gone to fetch your sword,’ he 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 back to his feet.
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 to the point of wanting to shout to the heavens. Lazar heard scrabbling nearby and prepared to throw himself down the dune, for without a weapon he was useless to his group.

‘It’s me,’ the breathless reply came. 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 felt their weight by 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 fist of it, but they are dying. There is no rallying point—they need you. It’s each man to himself but all fighting to keep the royal tent unbreached.’