Emissary (25 page)

‘Shield!’ Lazar spoke into the increasing noise. ‘This is your Spur commanding you to return to your barracks and posts. I shall speak with the men as one soon. Go now.’ His voice softened in acknowledgement of their obvious joy. ‘Please,’ he added. ‘All will be explained.’

They hushed instantly at the command of their Spur, quietly filing out of the Throne Room, obviously no longer required to protect the Zar. Spur Lazar could single-handedly protect their ruler.

‘Elim. You may return to your quarters too,’ Boaz echoed, keen to clear the room and have a more private discussion. Something complex was happening here and he didn’t think it should be publicly exposed just yet.

The men in red followed the soldiers, leaving behind the bowed visitors, a shaken Jumo, the Grand Vizier, clearly baffled, silent Salazin, and Pez, who was walking around the rim of the room on his hands, making noises like a duck.

Boaz took charge. ‘Tariq, in case you haven’t guessed, may I reintroduce you to Lazar, who has returned to us from the dead and was reinstated an hour or so ago as our Spur.’

Maliz knew how much Tariq detested this man and yet he felt nothing towards him. It was a surprise to see him but it had no impact on his task. Still, it made for interesting times. ‘Ah, the
late-night visitor. Spur Lazar, welcome back. That was something of a theatrical entrance, I must say, and my, how you have changed.’

Lazar looked at the shrouded eyes of the Grand Vizier, searching for the demon that lurked behind them, knowing this man, or whatever he was, wanted to destroy Ana and Pez, had already murdered Zafira and was capable of anything. Despite this knowledge he knew he must show nothing in his attitude towards the Vizier. ‘I could accuse you of similar change, Tariq, you look very well, very rejuvenated,’ he replied, understanding now all of Pez’s warnings about the Vizier’s ‘improvements’.

Boaz interrupted whatever his Vizier was going to say in response. ‘Lazar, will you explain why these men are paying such homage, why they called you Majesty?’

Lazar glanced towards Jumo, heard Pez stop his duck noises, felt his heart hammering in his chest as his long-held secret was about to be revealed.

‘Your Highness, may these man stand, please?’

Boaz nodded and Lazar spoke quickly in Galinsean. Both men moved slowly to their feet, looking at Lazar with quiet awe that was not missed by the Zar and simply served to further frustrate him.

‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘Zar Boaz, this is very difficult for me to reveal to you. It is something I kept from your father…rightly at the time we met perhaps, but maybe
wrong of me to perpetuate the secret for so many years.’

Boaz frowned. ‘Secret? What secret?’

‘My true identity, Highness.’

Boaz was catching on that this was no longer something personal. Lazar’s secret, as he termed it, obviously had far-reaching effect for it to create such tension. ‘Is Percheron in genuine danger?’

‘It was.’

‘Your parents are not Merlinean, not even just straightforward Galinsean aristocracy, are they?’ Boaz held his breath, his quick mind had guessed but could hardly believe what it was anticipating being confirmed.

‘No, my Zar. In this I have beguiled you and your father before you.’

‘Marius D’Argenny called you Lucien. Is this your true name?’

Lazar nodded. ‘I took on my new persona many years ago. I was once Lucien. I am Lazar.’

Boaz felt soft flutters of panic within his belly but refused to let them take hold and fly. He was the Chosen Son of Joreb and would not let his father down. ‘And Lucien, I’m presuming, is one and the same son of the King of Galinsea.’

‘He is.’

Boaz shook his head with shock; suspecting something and having it confirmed provoked two different gut reactions. ‘How can this be?’

‘It is a long story, Highness, as I warned earlier. But it is nothing to do with Percheron. Coming
here was an accident—as you know, I was captured by Slaver Varen—not that I have regretted it. Well, perhaps recently…’ He trailed off, sounding unsure.

Boaz was hardly listening, his mind now racing. ‘How bad is it, Lazar? I know my history but Galinsean contemporary politics is not my specialty. There are several sons in the royal family, am I right?’

Lazar nodded grimly. ‘I am one of three sons. I have a sister too.’

‘But which son are you, Lazar?’

Now the Spur looked deeply abashed. ‘First-born, Highness.’

Boaz closed his eyes momentarily to stem his rising alarm. ‘Galinsea believes we executed the heir to its throne?’

‘It seems so by the presence of these dignitaries.’

‘Jumo, what in Zarab’s name possessed you? Had I known where you were headed I would not have permitted it.’

Jumo hung his head. ‘Having lost my master, Highness, and in the manner we lost him—through betrayal and treachery from within the palace—I no longer cared about anything. It seemed the right thing to do. I admit I wasn’t thinking too clearly in my grief. I had to get away from Percheron and I needed to somehow do more for my friend than I had.’ He stopped, embarrassed at such a long speech.

Boaz knew there was little point in arguing what might have been. He returned his attention to his Spur. ‘Well, perhaps you could explain to them what actually occurred.’

‘Yes, Highness. Excuse me a moment.’

The Zar and Vizier waited patiently as the Spur flipped from Percherese into the guttural language of their traditional enemies. Questions were asked by the messengers and answers given. Boaz could tell from their faces what they were learning as their expressions moved from interest to disdain, despair to dawning understanding and finally puzzlement.

‘What are they frowning at?’ Boaz enquired.

Lazar looked uncomfortable again, flicking a glance towards Pez who was miraculously quiet in the corner, smelling his shoes. ‘They wonder why my survival was kept a secret from you.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I have told them that it is as baffling to us as to them.’

‘You did tell them about Zafira and that she has disappeared so we cannot even ask her immediately?’

Pez watched and so did Lazar as the Vizier’s attention moved from vague interest to riveted intrigue at the mention of the priestess. Lazar tried to disguise his anxiety at Boaz even mentioning Zafira in front of the Vizier. It was not the Zar’s fault, of course, but now it gave the demon a new line of pursuit.

‘Not yet.’

‘You knew the priestess?’ Maliz asked predictably.

Lazar looked nonplussed, deliberately gave the impression that the question seemed irrelevant. ‘I ran across her from time to time. In my line of work you get to know most people in the city.’ He turned away.

Maliz persisted. ‘But how is she connected to you?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, Tariq, I’m only just realising that you know none of this,’ the Zar said. ‘After the flogging Zafira cared for Lazar but she told us—that is, Jumo and myself—that Lazar had died and that she had given him to the sea at his request.’

‘Why the priestess?’ Maliz asked, his voice husky with keen interest.

Lazar shrugged. He didn’t have a ready answer for the demon’s interrogation and had to move very carefully now for fear of pointing in any way to Pez and thus Ana.

‘I took him to the temple,’ Jumo said into the silence. Jumo’s eyes flicked from Lazar to the Vizier. He could hear Pez humming softly, but carefully avoided looking at him, having picked up quickly on Lazar’s reluctance to explain more to Tariq. ‘Does it matter why now?’ he asked, loading his question with disgust. ‘Lazar was dying. We needed somewhere peaceful, private. We went there in our misery. Is that wrong, Grand Vizier Tariq?’

Maliz seethed within—he had missed something but was not yet sure what it was. There were links here but he couldn’t connect them. He needed time to think. ‘No, not at all. I just can’t imagine why a man of Zarab would be taken to the place of the fallen goddess.’

Again something gnawed at Boaz in this curious answer from his counsellor and the vehemence behind it. Jumo was right; why did it matter where Lazar had been taken? What mattered were the lies that followed. He said as much before adding: ‘Tariq, I want you to put your ear to the ground with all your networks and see if you can find out more about Zafira’s disappearance.’ He noticed Lazar quickly hide a smirk that emerged. ‘You too, Spur Lazar—use all the resources required to track her down. We cannot understand your situation fully until we have her explanation. The Galinseans deserve that.’

Lazar translated for the visitors.

‘And if we cannot locate her?’ the Vizier asked.

‘Well, we must find a new way to appease our aggressors.’

‘Zar Boaz?’

‘Yes, Spur? Incidentally, is that how I should address you, or is there a formal title I should now accord you? Are you still our Spur or—’

‘I am your Spur,’ Lazar said, cutting across the Zar’s words.

Boaz paused, watching Lazar intently for any guile before he nodded. ‘All right, go on.’

‘This small delegation is not simply on a fact-finding tour.’

‘Oh?’

‘No, Highness. They require a representative from the Percherese Crown to travel to the Galinsean capital and explain formally what has occurred…’

‘Why?’

Lazar continued as if the Zar had not spoken. ‘With your assurance that I am alive.’

‘Can we not just send you in person, Lazar? I hate to lose you so soon after having you returned to us but we are still under the threat of war, presumably until this is done, am I right?’

‘Yes, my Zar.’

‘However, your countrymen don’t seem at all intimidated by being here. They obviously don’t fear for their lives, so perhaps war is expected to be averted,’ Boaz noted.

‘My father will carry out his threat if Marius and Lorto are not returned whole to Galinsea, together with your emissary.’

‘You are my emissary. Are you not proof enough?’

Lazar looked pained. ‘That’s part of the long story, Highness. I cannot return to Galinsea with ease.’

‘But Jumo told us long ago you had talked about it only—’

‘Talk is talk, Highness. I was considering taking a journey from Percheron—an extended one, yes—but whether I would ever go back to Galinsea is questionable.’

‘Why? Is it dangerous for you to return there?’

‘You could describe it that way. I have been formally banished.’

‘But you’re the heir! They’ve sent a delegation to learn of your fate. Zarab curse me, they’re prepared to declare war over you.’

‘All true,’ Lazar replied, frowning in his discomfort. ‘But that doesn’t mean they forgive, Highness.’

‘Zarab save me, Lazar. What could you do to your family that would have them pull in two such passionate directions? They would slaughter a nation for you but not forgive you?’

‘I’m afraid the King of Galinsea can be capricious, Highness. His Queen more so.’

‘By dangerous I take it you mean potentially fatal?’

‘Potentially, or thrown into the dungeons for the rest of my days. I am more useful here and my loyalties are to this Crown.’

‘Why, Lazar?’

‘I renounced the throne, Highness. The why of it seems irrelevant after so long.’

Boaz shook his head. He thought of the possibility of sending Ana but she had no status and was in fact a condemned woman, about to die. Her Galinsean was pidgin anyway, of little
use to the court. ‘I can’t send you and yet I have no-one, not even myself, who speaks Galinsean adequately enough to make themselves understood in that capricious court!’

It was only then that Boaz became aware of Pez dancing nearby, mimicking a woman’s voice. He was talking nonsense, of course, and that was Pez, although Boaz knew the dwarf’s antics well enough to understand when his friend was conveying a message.

Pez leapt onto the Zar’s back and although this startled everyone, the Percherese in the room all knew better than to react to anything the dwarf did, including this clownish behaviour involving the royal.

‘Go away, Pez, this is not the time,’ Boaz said, struggling to loosen the dwarf’s grip.

‘Trust me, she speaks contemporary courtly Galinsean fluently,’ Pez whispered before leaping down and moving away, breaking wind in time with each step.

The Vizier snarled his disgust and the two visitors looked at each other, unsure how to react.

‘Forgive our palace clown,’ Boaz muttered, trying not to show that he was shaken by Pez’s secret. Time was too short to dwell on it; Ana could already be dead. He composed himself. ‘Lazar, what about Ana? I understand that Ana can talk courtly Galinsean like she belongs in your palace.’

Lazar didn’t wait for permission. ‘Where?’ he growled over the back of his shoulder.

‘The River Gate. Hurry! Second Bell marks the moment.’

Salmeo was right. It was a curious morning, filled with foreboding. The Elim prayed to Zarab as they had escorted her behind the enormous eunuch to the region of the palace known as the River Gate. Ana, too, was entranced by the strange, eerie light this morning had brought.

She had never witnessed such a phenomenon and yet somewhere deep in her memories it was yielded up to her what this was, in the same strange way that she knew the names of the Stones of Percheron or that volcanoes existed in the world. This was a rare eclipse when the moon shielded the sun, bringing an odd twilight to the day when it should be brightening to full morning.

The dark side of the moon seemed to mourn the proceedings and this interpretation was not lost on those gathered—Salmeo had to urge his Elim forward, to fight their fear of this sign from the heavens.

Ana smiled, convinced now that Lyana was talking to her in a subtle manner; soothing her, showing Ana her command of all things natural.
It was a genuine comfort and Ana took it to mean that Lyana would prevail in this battle—it helped her to believe this, even if it didn’t come to pass. Zarab and his followers like Salmeo would not keep winning, keep destroying people’s lives. A new era was dawning in Percheron and it began with Boaz but would finish with Lyana’s triumph. He would bring about the revolution in the palace that would filter through society and perhaps change Percherese life forever, whilst Lyana would restore the age of the priestess and harmony. She hoped so. Salmeo, Herezah, even Tariq, and their kind were primitive. Their time and traditions had passed. Boaz would usher in the new era as he introduced new laws, new rights, new lives. These thoughts gave her courage and the sight of Kett gave her intense relief. He was here. They would die together, and quickly, Lyana in their hearts and peace in their minds.

Lazar had never run so hard in his life. He saw none of the people around the palace he encountered, didn’t feel the stone walls he careered off or the toe he broke as he tripped. Speed was his only focus and he ignored the burning in his lungs and the protest from his legs and the harsh breathing at his throat. Speed was all that mattered because speed alone would save Ana’s life.

Coming behind him were Pez, whooping and screeching—a madman picking up on the
lunacy around him—as well as the Zar, also moving swiftly but understanding it would be unseemly for Percheron’s ruler to hurtle through his palace. It was true he had never strode this fast before. Jumo, too, was at his side, not permitted freedom through the palace and needing the authority of the Zar. The Galinsean visitors had been left in the care of the Grand Vizier; they would be served refreshments as they waited, confused, in the Throne Room for the next update from the heir to their throne. They had no idea why he had suddenly run out of the chamber but suspected it was connected with them. Lucien was a serious sort and not prone to flights of fancy.

Lazar kept running. Damn the River Gate—the furthest point in the palace. He knew once the Second Bell was sounded, Ana was as good as dead. He had to beat it, no matter if it cost him his last breath.

Ana stood, composed and demure, in the gently rocking boat. Alongside her boat was a second and in it, shaking with fear, was Kett and another Elim. Kett looked ghostly in the eerie light cast by the eclipse. Nearby, at the river bank, was the Valide and her lisping henchman, the Grand Master Eunuch. And standing further away were the two Elim who had escorted her with Salmeo to her place of death. Not far from them sat a scribe who served the harem for any matters that needed
recording on paper for the library or for other formal reasons. Witnesses aplenty, in other words.

Before her stood an enormous man. He was Elim, and one she had never seen before. Ana realised that the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest; he had to stand inches higher than even Spur Lazar who was the tallest man she knew. His solemnity was tinged by dread, and Ana knew it was not only the executioner who was feeling disturbed by the strange twilight.

Fringing the black disc of the moon was a gossamer halo of sunlight. Again Ana was struck by the notion that this was Lyana talking to her, talking to them all, mocking the killers and uplifting Ana’s spirits. Soon her and Kett’s bodies would be safe within their watery graves, whilst their spirits would rise to the bosom of Lyana, where she would welcome them. There would be no such welcome for Salmeo or Herezah and this gave Ana more comfort as the Grand Master Eunuch began speaking.

‘Odalisque Ana, this is Faraz. He is the Elim responsible for executions within the harem,’ Salmeo explained lightly as if introducing a guest for dinner.

She nodded at the huge man and he responded in kind, nervously glancing up towards the sun and moon, suddenly a single, glowing sinister body in the heavens. Everyone but Ana was unnerved by its presence.

‘Ana, you understand why you give your life today?’ It was the Valide, as usual drawing out the agony for as long as possible, but even her voice sounded strained and she, too, uncharacteristically lost her nerve and looked up to the skies.

Ana fixed the Valide with a long look. ‘I’ve worked it out, Valide, thank you.’

‘Perhaps you could explain it to us so we can bear witness that you did most certainly understand the charges brought against you. It is tradition.’ Again it was all so polite they could have been having a conversation just prior to heading out on a barging excursion.

‘My naivety led me to make some rash decisions, Valide,’ Ana said cryptically. ‘I trusted people I should never have thought capable of honesty. I broke the law of the harem…again. Is that clear enough?’

‘Be careful, Ana,’ Salmeo cautioned.

‘Or what? You’ll kill me?’ She actually laughed at him and it felt wonderful to see all his visible flesh quivering.

Her triumph was short-lived. It was Herezah’s cold voice that cut through her amusement. ‘No, but I’m sure you would like to go to your death knowing the family in the foothills that you care about so much is not punished for your misdemeanours. Your uncle’s death should have been sufficient for your selfish pursuits. I’m certain the other two deaths on your hands—those of Lazar and Kett—are more than enough.’

Ana’s resolve crumpled. She looked visibly shaken at the threat. ‘Can we just get this done with, I beg you? I have nothing further to add. Forgive my offence, Grand Master Salmeo, you may appreciate that I am trying to find courage to die bravely.’

Salmeo’s scar lifted as he smiled, the gap in his teeth looking cavernous, now and then filled with the plump pink tongue that seemed to taste the air like a snake. ‘I accept your apology, Odalisque Ana,’ he lisped, ‘and agree we should get “this”—as you put it—underway, for this strangely dull morning is already warm and these dark silks are not breathing as well as they should.’

Herezah made a tutting sound in sympathy. ‘You should have changed into the summery lightweight silks already, Salmeo,’ she admonished. ‘Odalisque Ana, you gave me your promise, your absolute word, that you would never attempt escape again from the harem. Do you remember that warning?’

Ana hesitated, realising now how brilliantly this pair had cornered their prey, then played with it before releasing it into that well-constructed false sense of freedom before pouncing again, this time fatally. She had to admit it, they were superb crafters of the darkest deeds. She recalled the conversation well and how innocently Herezah had led her through the discussion, extracting that promise for this very moment when she would hurl it back against her. Ana really did want to die now.
She wished Pez might have come along so she could hug someone goodbye at least. But he was probably with Lazar, and that bleak thought hit her as she answered the Valide. ‘Yes, I remember giving you that promise.’

‘Which you promptly broke that very evening.’

‘Yes, Valide.’

‘No-one helped or encouraged you? This was your own decision?’

The scribe was busily recording the facts on his tablet of paper, trying not to look above at the halo of ethereal light surrounding the moon.

‘All of my own doing,’ Ana echoed. ‘I coerced Kett into aiding me. He felt obliged.’

‘That won’t save him, I’m afraid, Ana, but we appreciate your candour.’

Salmeo looked to the scribe, who nodded. ‘We are ready, then. Step into the bags, please.’

The Elim helped the bound Kett into the black velvet sack. To his credit, Kett was stoic, his eyes firmly on Ana, and whilst she was sorely reminded of a similar scene of despair not so long ago, during his emasculation, where they drew strength from each other, Ana was thinking how much like a frightened bird Kett appeared. Trembling, silent, helpless.

‘It will be quick, Odalisque Ana, fear not,’ Herezah said.

‘The stones at the bottom of your sacks make it so,’ Salmeo added.

‘I don’t fear death, Valide,’ Ana said. ‘The
thought of remaining a slave to the harem is far more daunting and a worse sentence than drowning—I’m sure you of all people understand.’

Herezah held on to the gasp of indignation that threatened to explode. Instead she fell back on her usual expression, a sardonic smile. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll never know the difference between Valide and odalisque, young Ana, although I do, and the worlds are markedly apart. Sleep well in your watery grave.’

To prevent Ana saying anything further to infuriate his mistress, Salmeo spoke and his tone brooked no interruption. ‘We await the toll of the Second Bell. You may tie them in.’

The two men in the boats got busy pulling the bags up around their victims, at which point Kett began to fill the tense silence with a stream of gibberish. Ana caught a glimpse of him before she herself was pushed deeper into the darkness of her death bag and it seemed as though her friend had fallen into a trance. And it was in that same moment that the solar eclipse passed. The moon shifted, and blinding, golden sunlight hit them all so ferociously that everyone shielded their eyes. It bought her just a fraction of a moment more and it was as if Kett alone was bathed in his own tunnel of glorious light and he appeared to be fully a bird—a proud raven…the black bird of omen.

And then she was plunged into the velvet void as Faraz secured her bag with ties. She could hear
Kett’s muffled voice. He was jabbering in ancient Percherese, she realised with alarm, the likes of which no-one around her would probably know existed once, for it was so different to the Percherese spoken today. It shocked her to hear him speak it. It possessed a harsher quality to it, more like Galinsean, and delivered with none of the elegant intonation of the contemporary language. Kett spoke in a monotone that seemed to match the trance he had succumbed to. She could not explain how but she understood every word:

‘I am Lyana’s Raven, bird of omen, and bird of sorrows,’ he said over and again until Ana thought that’s all he was going to say before they drowned him. To hear him quote Lyana frightened her more than she wanted to admit. Pez’s warning that Kett might be a messenger rang in her ears.

She heard muffled complaining from Herezah and the chilling words from Salmeo: ‘Stick that knife of yours into him, executioner, we cannot bear the noise.’

To her relief the Elim executioner refused. ‘Forgive me, Grand Master Salmeo, but tradition allows a prisoner to say prayers at any stage during his execution.’

‘That doesn’t sound like prayers to me,’ Herezah moaned. ‘It’s another language.’

‘Nevertheless,’ the executioner replied in a stunning show of stubbornness that Ana could have kissed him for.

‘Kett!’ she shouted, and then in the same ancient Percherese that was so annoying Herezah and Salmeo she bade him farewell. ‘We shall meet again in Lyana’s arms,’ she comforted and felt hot tears stinging her face that Kett should die so lost and so confused.

‘I am the Raven and you are the Mother,’ he suddenly said, frightening Ana to her marrow. ‘This is my omen. You must live, you must let the Goddess live and you must help the creatures and the giants to live. Maliz has killed the priestess. Now you must find the Rebel…you must find the Rebel.’ He kept repeating the final five words and over his chant she heard the Second Bell sound and the words ‘Drop them’ from Salmeo.

Ana felt herself picked up by the Elim executioner as though she was no weight at all and she heard him whisper a plea for forgiveness through the velvet before he grunted softly and dropped her over the side of the boat.

Cold hit her like a slap and then she was gasping as the river flooded into the bag and surrounded her as she sank to the depths. She meant to gulp down the water and aid the drowning but the shock of it finally happening prompted a primeval desire to hold her breath and live for just a few brief moments longer, Kett’s ominous warning resounding in her mind as the stones dragged her deeper still and her lungs screamed for air.