Emissary (26 page)

Lazar heard the Second Bell and its tolling stopped him in his tracks. He bent down, hands on thighs as he sucked in air and then he straightened with rage and shouted a mournful howl of despair. He could see the River Gate, could see where an Elim executioner peered down into the depths and where Salmeo and Herezah were turning towards his keening with expressions that were triumphant, replaced with confusion.

He was too late. Ana was gone.

He yelled his anger again but something akin to pain passed through his head and then the voices came again.
Save her!
they urged through his yelling, familiar yet belonging to people he didn’t know; had no idea how they could enter his mind or speak to him in this way. There were the same whispering voices.

Who are you?

You must save her,
they persisted and then with fury driving their tone: Go!

Fear, he decided, was the final factor that gave him the impetus once again to hurl himself
forward, even though he felt spent. Salmeo approaching, his face frowning in confusion as to who this stranger running at them was, raised a hand but Lazar ignored him, launching himself headfirst into the river.

He knew it was deep enough to dive into and he prayed to Lyana to guide him through the waters. Fortunately this river came down directly from the mountains and was stunningly clear until it blended with the Faranel. Then it joined sea water and took on the cloudy aquamarine of its bigger cousin, but for now, with the sunlight penetrating and the day bright again, he could make out the position of the boats. Lazar swam deeper and deeper, knowing he had moments, if any.

He found one sack, struggled with the ties before he opened it and was horrified to see the body of Kett float up, the young man’s dead eyes staring sadly back at him. Lazar could not waste another second on Kett and looked around wildly, his body beginning to beg for breath as he spied the other sack crumpled on the riverbed. He reached for it, his fingers not working as fast at the ties as he needed them to. Panic was not an emotion Lazar understood or had experienced more than once in his life. When it had occurred and he realised how one loses control of thought, deed, action in that useless energy, he had promised himself all those years ago never to panic again.

He had stayed true to his oath but could not keep it now: he felt his whole body give in and lose control, although somehow, miraculously, the ties came free on the bag, as did the breath from his mouth in his urgency. He was almost certainly going to die himself in the next few moments if he did not inflate his own lungs. His beautiful girl floated up into his arms, lifeless, her eyes closed, ethereal in death.

He would not accept. Closing his mouth over hers, he gave her whatever little was left of his own air before he pushed up and away from the darkness towards Lyana’s sunlight.

Lazar burst through the surface, gulping for sweet life; his lungs felt like twin furnaces but he sucked in air and, treading water, blew it into Ana’s mouth again and again, weeping as he did so. He could remember the last time he cried—it was a dozen or more years ago, when as a young man something special had been taken from him. He would not permit it again. He gave a silent prayer to Lyana that if she gave this girl life, then he would never ask any more of the Goddess or her disciple. He would not follow through on his year’s worth of suffering or his promise, made on the island when he was still battling to live, that if he ever saw Ana again he would find a way to show her his love.

Arms reached for them both but he had no sense of being hauled from the water, or being dragged onto the riverbank by the impossibly
strong arms of Faraz. The executioner pushed the gasping Spur aside and pumped Ana’s chest several times before he, too, went through the motions of breathing life from his own lungs into hers.

In his dazed state, watching the huge black man tenderly kiss Ana with life, Lazar became aware of Salmeo talking at him and Herezah from afar giving orders. But he ignored both. He watched the Zar’s party arrive, Jumo hesitating at the gate, whilst Pez showed no such fear, cartwheeling until he arrived at Ana’s side.

‘Let me,’ he whispered to the Elim, who sat aside, stunned by the urgency and authority in the dwarf’s voice, shaken that the mad jester had spoken sense at all.

Lazar watched as Pez closed his eyes and laid his hands on Ana. He sang a song about goat’s udders as he did so and it had a sufficiently vulgar quality that anyone who didn’t know better might assume the clown was making fun of touching Ana’s breasts rather than using the Lore to search for the tiniest echo of a pulse.

Herezah pointed at Lazar. ‘And who is this stranger?’ she demanded of her son as he arrived, all protocol ignored in these unusual circumstances.

Boaz was not given a chance to answer, for Salmeo now joined in the fray with his own frustrations: ‘My Zar, Ana is dead. She has been executed as you sanctioned and as required by the harem. I—’

The Zar held a hand up to stop them both as he watched Lazar take over once again, pushing air into seemingly dead lungs and pumping her chest to expel water, get the heart responding.

‘Well?’ he asked the men fighting for her life, holding his breath. His own feelings aside, Ana was their hope now and with her death went Percheron’s safety.

‘Who
is
this madman who leaps into the river and brings out an executed odalisque with not so much as a by-your-leave?’ the Valide demanded, looking at the dripping stranger who continued to ignore them all. It both appalled and disgusted her to see them trying to create life from death, although she would be lying if she didn’t privately admit to being fascinated to gaze finally on her enemy’s corpse. Still, she hated how protocol was being flouted. This was her show, the harem’s business, and nothing to do with the Zar or his visitors. Disgruntled that her son was more interested in Ana’s body, she addressed the golden-haired stranger. ‘You! Who—’

Ana gave a small cough. Everyone around her became suddenly still and silent. In fact no-one who wanted her to live dared so much as breathe until she did. She suddenly spasmed and drew in a huge gasp of air before exploding into a violent cough, vomiting water, struggling to get that first easy breath. Lazar, who held her, became conscious of the pair of disbelieving and enraged stares focused on Ana and did not want to be
seen to be too intimate. He wanted to hold her, feel her warmth, her life returning as her body warmed again close to his skin. He wanted to kiss those lips, not just connect with them and breathe life through them. But he must deny himself, keep his promise, for it seemed that Lyana had answered his plea.

He knew now, for the second time, what it was to panic from the heart because you love someone and can’t bear for them to suffer for even a moment. He had had every intention of interrupting proceedings but he didn’t know how he was going to do it. For once he was grateful to Galinsea and her aggressive attitude, and he felt in debt to his parents for taking offence at his presumed death, even though they had probably wished it a hundred times over when he had been living at the Galinsean palace.

Ana was breathing steadily again now, looking around, dazed, confused.

‘Ana?’ Her Zar took charge.

She took a long time to focus, unaware of who sat behind her, his head hung with relief. ‘Zar Boaz? Where—’

‘Ana,’ he began, then cleared his throat. ‘This is a terrible thing we have done to you.’

‘Is Kett alive?’

‘It doesn’t appear so, Ana. I imagine he committed himself to the river as courageously as you did,’ he replied, trying to lessen the blow of the news.

‘Then why am I here, Highness?’ Her voice was filled with despair. ‘Surely this is not your idea of a jest?’

He put his hands up in a warding gesture. ‘No! I would never be involved in such a thing. Ana, you were rescued because Percheron needs you.’

Pez had sidled up and in a childish manner stroked her hair, humming a lullaby. It was his quiet way of consoling her for the loss of a friend and comforting her during this traumatic moment. It also reminded her to be careful. Then he skipped away, glancing once at Lazar, who now silently pulled himself to his feet behind Ana.

His movement attracted the attention of the Valide. Their eyes met and in that few moments of numbing stupor she recognised who was standing before her, even though her mind was telling her that her eyes were lying. Suddenly Ana’s revival was no longer of immediate concern. The Spur was back from the dead!

‘Lazar?’ Herezah announced, not really a question but that’s how it sounded to everyone, her utter bewilderment. In fact, so complete was her astonishment that her hand covered her open mouth behind her veil.

Ana, still weak, turned, dizzy and unsure of what she’d heard from the Valide, to look into the eyes of the man she had been told was dead. Her lips formed the word, she even thought she’d spoken it, but no voice came when she repeated
Herezah’s exclamation. This silent communication between them completely consumed him.

‘Mother,’ Boaz began but he stopped talking when the Valide began to laugh, although no-one could see the tears in her eyes, and they were not from amusement.

Her intensely agile mind must have crashed through a dozen scenarios as she tried to piece it together and yet what she said surprised even her. ‘Every bit the Galinsean you tried to pretend you were not,’ she said, her tone cynical and cutting. ‘Hair dye. How simple, Lazar, and how truly cunning.’

‘Mother, we shall discuss this shortly. You require an explanation regarding the revival of a supposedly executed criminal from the harem and will have it, but right now I need the physicians to look at Odalisque Ana. Elim, if you please…’

Ana had not moved. Her body was rigid, her eyes filled with dread that her suspicions were confirmed. Lazar had held her gaze, even though each moment it lingered it pierced his heart deeper until the wound seemed so great he felt sickened. There would be no speedy recovery from this injury. He knew exactly what she was thinking, understood her sense of betrayal, and whilst the Valide hurled her taunts, he barely heard them. He felt dead inside but at least Ana was alive. Lyana had granted him the living death he didn’t think he would have to face and try to survive again.

The Elim helped Ana to her feet and it was Faraz who offered to carry her; gently insisted, in fact. When she was gone, Boaz didn’t even give his mother a chance to reignite her burning enquiry.

‘Mother, you should know that in the Throne Room there impatiently await two Galinsean dignitaries, who can essentially begin a war on Percheron if I provide the correct ammunition.’ He let that notion sink in before he continued, watching her angry eyes become wary now behind her veil. Not even at her most imaginative could Herezah have guessed that this was the reason for the Zar interrupting an execution. ‘I have no intention of giving them even a spark for their tinder and right now appeasing the enemy is far more important to me than appeasing your anger.’ As he paused she opened her mouth to speak but Boaz refused her. ‘Lazar’s presence has been explained and that explanation was due me alone. He is the Spur of
my
Shield and, as you know, he is answerable to no-one but the Zar. When we have solved our immediate dilemma, and at my convenience, I will sit down and take you through this strange set of circumstances that have brought about today’s excitement. Until then, Lazar and Ana are all I have between Percheron’s peace or Galinsean war. Please excuse us.’

It was a stunning censure and both the palace dwarf, doodling in the sand on the riverbank, and
the Spur felt this speech was Boaz’s coming of age. They had borne witness to a new Zar—an all-too-young Zar—finally accepting the full responsibility of his Crown and not cringing away from one ounce of its weight. There was no doubting who sat on the throne of Percheron now and, more importantly, that that person did not have strings attached to him that led back into the harem where a Valide and a Grand Master Eunuch felt they had the ability to manipulate him.

In another situation, Lazar might have applauded loudly. On this occasion he simply bowed his head in courtesy to the Valide and followed his Zar who had already turned to leave. Pez hurried behind, taking careful aim before accidentally treading on the Valide’s gown and her long veil, momentarily dragging back her head. Being mad, he didn’t even have to apologise, not even acknowledge it, so he didn’t and completely ignored her exclamation of outrage.

Salmeo remained sensibly silent.

Maliz, disguised as Grand Vizier Tariq, had played his role as dignitary to perfection, even though his own mind was churning. It was fortunate that the Galinseans did not require conversation but he had arranged for a table to be dressed in an anteroom connected to the Throne Room and servants had set up an enticing feast for the visitors. Seated on exquisite embroidered cushions, arranged on the floor, the two men had capitulated to the Vizier’s urgings to refresh themselves with some food whilst they waited.

It had actually not been long. Marius and Lorto had just begun nibbling on the decadent array of brightly presented food when the Zar returned. They struggled to their feet to bow, and Boaz, not prone to cynicism, was nevertheless uncertain whether the two visitors were bowing to the Zar of Percheron or the Crown Prince of Galinsea who was directly behind. He made a promise to himself not to let this be an obstacle to the diplomacy he must now engage in.

‘Ask them to make themselves comfortable again, Lazar,’ he urged and listened as, in three
briefly uttered words, the Spur had them both seated again.

He joined them. As a show of goodwill he allowed a servant to wash his hands in a bowl scented with orange blossom before he dismissed all servants and reached for a small flatbread. Boaz was not hungry, not after what had just gone on, but he knew that the breaking of bread together was one of the fastest ways to make all strangers feel at ease. His history lessons had taught him that both Galinsea and Percheron followed the same tradition that generosity at the table—even to an enemy—was the highest form of hospitality and diplomacy. He dipped his bread into a thickly oil-slicked bowl of chickpea paste and ate.

Lazar, at the Zar’s encouragement, followed suit. He too thought it wise that Jumo and Pez opt to remain in the Throne Room, next door.

‘Make some small talk, Lazar—I don’t care what you say but put them at their ease.’

‘They are at ease, Highness,’ he assured, before beginning a conversation that the Zar had no hope of following.

Whilst this occurred he looked to Tariq and said softly, ‘We might yet save this situation, and our secret weapon is Odalisque Ana, can you believe.’

The man shook his head. ‘I thought she was being executed, Highness.’

Boaz sighed. ‘So did I, Tariq, so did I.’

Lazar was already talking to him again so he stopped his chat to the Vizier. ‘…about where we’ve been.’

Boaz frowned.

‘Excuse me, Highness, I’ve explained where we’ve been, because we left so suddenly.’

‘Are they shocked?’

‘A little.’

‘Barbaric Galinseans surprised by an execution?’

Lazar did not show that he bristled at the criticism of his countrymen. In fact he was surprised himself that after so many years of considering himself a Percherese he could be affected in this way. ‘No, my Zar, more intrigued that we would kill a girl for her ingenuity instead of perhaps reprimanding but making use of that bright mind.’ He shrugged with mild apology. ‘Galinseans are pragmatists. They do not hold to tradition as closely as the Percherese.’

‘Have you explained anything further?’

‘Not without your permission, Highness. Shall I do so now?’

‘Go ahead. Let them know what we’re planning in terms of the emissary. I presume they understand your reluctance?’ he asked, and Lazar nodded. ‘Proceed. Tariq, come with me,’ he said, motioning towards the door. ‘Excuse me to them, Lazar, for just a moment. I need to brief Ana.’

Lazar acknowledged his Zar but did not break from his discussion with their visitors.

Tariq followed Boaz outside. ‘You’d better brief me too, Highness. I think I’m rather confused.’

‘Yes, I intend to. What I need right now is for you to organise for Ana to be brought before the visitors as soon as possible. She is being checked over by the physicians at present and I don’t doubt she’s in shock and not in a position to pay us the attention we require but you need to impress upon her the importance of what I need her to do.’

‘Which is?’

‘To travel to Galinsea as my emissary.’

Maliz arrived at the harem where he was met by the Elim.

‘I’m here to escort Odalisque Ana, at His Majesty’s request, to the Throne Room,’ he said to the eldest.

‘I must fetch Grand Master Salmeo to speak with you.’

Oh lovely,
Maliz thought,
just what I need.
‘Thank you.’

The eunuch arrived shortly and paid the Vizier no salutation. ‘She is not ready.’

‘I shall wait.’

‘I can send her with an Elim escort, Tariq, you need not linger for such lowly duties.’

‘Nothing on behalf of my Zar is lowly. He expressly asked me to bring her.’

‘She is still with the physicians, unless you want her coughing up river water all over the esteemed dignitaries.’

‘I’m sure that won’t help our cause but apparently she is all we have.’

‘What is meant by this insult to the harem?’ Salmeo spat, no longer able to maintain his calm facade. ‘This girl was to be executed. The harem deals with its own. What is the Zar thinking by interrupting our private and traditional proceedings?’

‘Well, Salmeo, I’d suggest he’s thinking of you and I. Should it come to war, we’ll be amongst the first to be put to the sword. The Galinseans hate our traditions, you know, and the harem would be one of its major targets.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘No, I can see that. The harem has different meanings to different people, Salmeo. To you it is home, it is life, it is tradition—you know nothing else. To the Zar it is his most treasured investment, from where he will choose his heir. To the Valide it is her seat of power. To the people of Percheron it represents their heritage and an extension of all that is beautiful in their realm. It stands them apart from other kingdoms that do not follow suit.’

‘And to those other kingdoms, something else no doubt,’ Salmeo interrupted.

Maliz didn’t mind, he had nothing better to do just now until he could get some peace to ponder all that he had learned. ‘Ah, and now we come to it, you catch on fast, brother. To other kingdoms it is the symbol of Percherese wealth
and decadence. It is, I don’t doubt, envied, coveted and thus a target of hate. It makes our Zar different to all the other kings who follow a more monogamous marriage system, even though I imagine they lie with whomever they wish behind the palace walls. To destroy the harem is to destroy one of the key aspects of what makes Percheron so covetable, so exotic, so different.’

‘And tell me, Tariq, how does Ana fit into this campaign to save the harem, to save Percheron, as the Zar suggested?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss matters of state so openly, Salmeo, I’m sure you understand, but suffice to say that Ana will be taking on a new official capacity for the Zar.’

‘This is outrageous!’

‘I suggest you take it up with Zar Boaz, Grand Master Eunuch, I am merely the escort today. How long before she is ready, do you think?’

‘Wait here,’ Salmeo said, and turned on his heel.

Maliz did as asked and took the time to replay in his head the conversation about Zafira. It was intriguing that the Spur, back from the dead, had been nursed to health by Zafira. Coincidence perhaps? Unlikely, though. Centuries of battling the Goddess had taught him to suspect everyone. Was the Spur involved? Is that why his death was contrived, his survival from the poison and his wounds
kept a secret…but why? And then why come back? He pondered this for some time before the silent answer echoed in his mind. He came back to be close to Lyana perhaps, but who is she? he mused for the umpteenth time. She’s close, possibly not arisen yet, but Iridor was and his only suspect was the dwarf, who was proving himself to be every bit as mad as everyone assured the Vizier he was. The priestess’s claim that Salmeo was Iridor was a ruse, he was sure, or he would have known from being around him so much. He hadn’t yet had a chance to meet up with Salazin, who might yield some fresh information.

So far he had Pez, Lazar, and this odalisque as potentially being involved but none were showing any of the usual signs of being close to the Goddess—the nervousness of her disciples was usually his first inkling that he was getting closer to Lyana but Pez was impossible to read in his insanity, Lazar so remote it seemed he was passionate about nothing, and he hardly knew this girl. Tariq had met her on a couple of occasions but paid little attention. That she was beautiful and a troublemaker was as much as Tariq’s memories could offer.

But Lyana was clever, he admitted to himself. She had tried many guises over many cyclical battles. She had been an old woman once, other times she had given herself the most ordinary of looks and roles—one year a merchant’s wife,
another a harlot, even a simple bread-seller once. He smiled remembering her most audacious attempt to confuse, when she had rebirthed herself as a young lad. That had not worked very well—the female form was best.

As he was thinking this, Salmeo emerged once again, this time with the girl fully covered in the simplest of dark gowns and matching veils. The sea-green eyes appeared dulled, uninterested.

The Grand Vizier stood. ‘Odalisque Ana?’

She didn’t respond until Salmeo murmured something to her.

‘I am,’ she finally said, not looking at anyone or anything in particular.

‘Is she all right?’ Maliz asked testily.

‘Well, she’s drowned once today, if that helps clarify things a little, Grand Vizier. Then she was revived, pulled back from the brink of death. The physicians say there is no outward sign of damage but, as you can see, she is vague, to say the least.’

‘And this is who shall save Percheron. My, my…’ Maliz said, deciding he was going to enjoy this episode, especially now that he’d established that this young woman was not the reincarnation of Lyana. He hadn’t expected her to be, but as she seemed to be attracting so much attention from the day she arrived, it had crossed his mind to somehow contrive to meet this woman and the Zar had given him the perfect excuse. Had she been the woman he hunted, he would have felt it; would have felt every inch of his body respond to
her magical presence. And her magic would have triggered his and released him from being entirely the prisoner of Tariq. Although he would die again as the Vizier when this battle was done, her arrival gave him his full powers—as it had always done before—fed his fury, nourished his desire to destroy her once again. He needed her to cross his path soon, for until such time he was vulnerable. Oh yes, none of his enemies realised that until Lyana’s presence made itself physically felt, he was entrapped by the mortal man and could die as any mortal. It was his darkest secret and once again he thanked Zarab that Lyana had never known this. Her supporters always assumed he possessed his demon skills permanently. Maliz shuddered: it would be so easy for Iridor—whoever he was this time—to stick a knife into him or contrive a death by any number of means, and the Vizier would die, taking with him the demon.

Maliz grinned, smug that they had never discovered this…and never would. Whoever Iridor might be, he was no doubt treading very carefully, wary, believing that the demon could not be murdered in his sleep, poisoned during dinner or simply meet some seeming accident. He would warn her other disciples too, no doubt, that Maliz could not be killed by conventional means. In fact…

‘Vizier Tariq, what are you smiling about?’ Salmeo’s lisping words cut through his thoughts.

‘Ah, forgive me, Grand Master Eunuch. I was
just thinking how sad it is that we hide our most treasured possession—great beauty—behind the veil. I have seen this girl, I know her magnificence. She will take our visitors’ breath away.’

‘How little you understand the harem, Vizier Tariq, and how obvious that you have no wives of your own. Our women are never to be paraded, their beauty is protected and enjoyed only by their husbands.’

Maliz did not want to debate with the eunuch now. He was vexed that he’d been caught off guard momentarily anyway and if he continued this conversation that irritation might show itself.

‘Our Zar awaits, Salmeo. And no doubt he’ll decide whether or not to allow the glow of this young woman to fall upon others. Odalisque Ana, if you please?’

‘Elim will accompany,’ Salmeo warned.

‘As you see fit.’ He turned once again to Ana. ‘Come with me, my dear, it seems you’re suddenly the most important person in the whole palace, next to the Zar,’ Maliz said, just loud enough for Salmeo to hear as he guided Ana away from the harem.

‘Grand Vizier, forgive me, but I don’t understand,’ Ana pleaded.

And he believed her. Her eyes were so large and filled with confusion that he felt a strange thrill of sympathy for this young woman. This was not an emotion he was used to experiencing.
He recalled her outstanding beauty, remembered the sweetly innocent body that didn’t seem to match her oddly confident, direct manner that so upset Tariq and Salmeo at the time. ‘I can tell you some more—as much as I have been told. I know they’re waiting for you, Odalisque Ana, but let us take the slower way to the Throne Room so I have a little time to explain.’

‘That’s generous of you, Grand Vizier.’

Maliz smiled. No-one had ever accused him of that trait before. ‘How does it feel to return from the dead?’ he asked conversationally.

She didn’t pause before replying, as he had anticipated. ‘I feel angry.’

‘Why?’ This was not the answer he had expected and she intrigued him.

‘Because I hate this place and everyone in it. Death was my ultimate escape.’

There was true venom driving this statement and he loved to hear the passion in her tone. He could begin to appreciate what Boaz saw in this particular girl and he almost regretted telling the Zar that she was inconsequential. Far from it—this woman was exciting. ‘That’s a very sweeping statement, Odalisque Ana. Do you not crave life? How about everlasting life?’

She stared at him as they walked, conscious of the Elim trailing silently behind. ‘No, Grand Vizier. Life has not treated me kindly and there is nothing to look forward to in age. Dying young is appropriate.’