Emissary (37 page)

‘They are yours but we come with them.’

Lazar knew he was beaten. He raised a finger in the air in threatening fashion. ‘You and your men are under my command. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘You go where I say. You do what I order.’

‘To a point. We shall break away from your caravan should we discover the fortress.’

‘Agreed.’

They locked grim stares. Salim broke it by bowing his head to the Spur, hand on heart. ‘Thank you, sir. I will ready my men.’

Lazar sighed. He was not going to get any sleep this night.

At Jumo’s insistence, Lazar tried to get some sleep, but it eluded him despite his body feeling bone-shakingly tired. Instead he dozed restlessly on a skin beneath a few goat-hair blankets. He knew he had only two hours and then they would have to rise and get the caravan moving before the heat of the day set in. This was summer and it could kill within an hour if it so chose and if the unprepared decided to gamble with it.

He turned away from the fire, and the men talking quietly around it. Lazar felt the frost near his face and acknowledged how a desert night could also murder men if they took no precaution.

He found some measure of fitful rest and amongst his frequent stirrings his dreams punished him.

Voices called to him. They urged him to set them free but he had no idea where their prison was.

Unleash us on the land, Lazar. You will need us for the battle ahead.

Who are you?

Friends.

Where are you?

But there was no response and he realised he had jolted himself awake; he could hear Jumo’s voice speaking quietly with Salim and his men. He drifted off again and if the voices talked, he didn’t remember hearing them. This time his thoughts were with Ana, imagining how close she was and yet how very far from him. The words of Boaz returned to haunt him, that Ana’s womb might already be quickening with his heir.

He squirmed, forced himself to open his eyes and deliberately roused himself by turning back towards the fire. His gaze met Jumo’s, which was full of reproach.

‘You have another hour,’ he said.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Lazar replied honestly. ‘Let’s start.’

Jumo nodded, translated, and the men began moving as one, quietly dispersing to see to their various tasks.

Salim approached as Lazar was disentangling his long legs from the blankets.

‘The water you carry in those barrels will have to go into skins.’

‘They won’t like it,’ Lazar said, his chin jutting towards the royal tent. But it was obvious he didn’t disagree. ‘Go ahead. You have what you need?’

‘Yes, that’s the beauty of the goatskins, we can simply roll them up and carry them easily.’

Lazar nodded. ‘Pick out three gentle beasts for our royal party.’

Salim nodded. ‘And you?’

‘Oh, the nastier the better for me,’ Lazar quipped and they shared a smile—it was a smile of the desert, for most camels were cantankerous even in their most peaceful moments. The hobbled animals were already spitting and grumbling as their handlers began to get them up for the day.

‘We’ll give you Maharitz, then. She’ll soon sort you out,’ Salim said and his normally blank face creased into a mischievous grin.

Lazar stayed well away from the royal tent but he could hear its complaints. Herezah did not appreciate being woken whilst it was still dark and she was berating the unfortunate Elim given the task. Not a word of complaint from Ana, of course, and Tariq was already dressed for the desert in simple light robes and a fashez, the turban that men favoured when travelling in the sands. Lazar was impressed as he watched the man stretching outside his humble enough tent and felt a stab of something akin to sorrow. It seemed a pity that his change into this new Tariq must end in death. The demon was a far better Vizier—a far better man, in fact—than his host had ever been. Despite his fear of what lurked beneath the shell of Tariq, Lazar rather admired the no-nonsense, direct and rather
charismatic way in which the Grand Vizier carried himself these days. In a different situation perhaps the two of them might have found common ground…friendship even.

He shook his head free of such fanciful thoughts and reminded himself that this was a demon, not a man, and that he intended to destroy Percheron and any number of its people, if necessary, to achieve his own aims.

A smaller figure emerged beside the Grand Vizier from the royal tent and Lazar immediately looked away but not before he felt his breath sucked from him with a fresh gust of pain. It was Ana and she, too, had sensibly chosen the light-coloured, unadorned robes of the desert for their journey. She was still veiled, however, and that helped to make it feel as though she was distant, even though she was standing perhaps only fifty paces from him. He stole a glance and grimaced at the easy conversation that had instantly struck up between Zaradine and Grand Vizier. Ana was even laughing gently as she, too, stretched in the heavy atmosphere of the dewy night. A soft lightening to the east nudged at Lazar’s thoughts—he must get the caravan moving. This cool was a false prelude to what the desert sun would bring once she was allowed to banish the moon and claim the skies.

Salim ambled over. ‘We are ready, Spur.’

‘Good. I will need to speak with the royals and they will need help mounting their beasts when the time comes,’ he reminded.

The man nodded and without needing to say a word seemed to be able to give orders to his men from gestures or expressions. They were all well rehearsed in journeys such as these and required no verbal reminders of what they should do.

Lazar steadied himself and strode across to where Herezah was still ranting behind the drapes of the tent. ‘Good morning, Zaradine Ana,’ he said as cheerily as he could, his heart hammering as she turned her gaze fully on him. He could not see her eyes as clearly as he would have liked in the low light but it was not necessary in truth for their colour was etched brightly in his mind. ‘I won’t ask if you slept well,’ he continued with an effort at levity, including Tariq now with a nod of his head. ‘Grand Vizier.’

‘Feel free to ask, Spur,’ came the sardonic reply. ‘Zaradine Ana was just telling me that this was her deepest, most pleasurable sleep in thirteen moons. I certainly slept like a babe at the breast.’

Lazar could believe it. Gone was the stoop of the Tariq of old, and the man standing before him belied his age of well past three score years.

‘You look fit indeed, Tariq,’ he said, not knowing what else to say. ‘I am glad you found some rest, Zaradine,’ he added, unable to turn away from her just yet. The ache in his chest did not lessen when her eyes now crinkled at their edges and he knew she smiled the smile that he held dear in his memory. Again he did not need
the veil removed to know its brightness and warmth.

She spoke. ‘I thought I’d become soft in my time in the harem, Spur, but I suppose one’s heart never forgets what is closest to it. Memories of sleeping on a red blanket on the hard earth, beneath the stars of the foothills, are not lost to me and will remain my happiest.’

To the Grand Vizier it must have sounded like the wistful recall of sleeping in her father’s home in the foothills and he smiled indulgently. ‘Then you are blessed, Zaradine Ana, to experience such pleasure again.’

He said something more but Lazar didn’t hear any of it. To him Ana’s words provoked a distraction that left him so deeply wounded he could not have replied if she had expected one. Ana was not referring to her father’s hut. No, Ana was recalling the nights travelling amongst the foothills, after leaving her family dwelling, during which she slept in the company of two men—Lazar and Jumo. They had taken their time with the journey; even in her naivety, Ana knew it didn’t take so many days to reach the city. During this time Lazar had given her his own blanket to sleep on. It was red and she had commented at some point that such a hot colour did not suit the Spur’s cool approach to life. And Jumo had quipped that a man’s desert blanket is the truest reflection of his spirit. Even Lazar had cracked a wry smile at this.

All he could do was bow gently towards her, his throat closing with the emotion he was choking back.

‘So, we leave now?’ The Grand Vizier interrupted his thoughts and forced him to clear the lump from his throat.

He coughed. ‘Er, yes, that’s what I’m here to tell you—’ Before Lazar could finish the tent flap was thrown back and the Valide stomped out.

‘What time do you call this?’ she demanded of everyone in her fury but especially the Spur. She looked glorious in her anger and dishevelment.

But her beauty was winter to Ana’s that was all things summery—and that coldness had never held any allure for the Spur. ‘This time, Valide,’ he said politely, ‘is what I call travelling time.’

‘It’s night, for Zarab’s sake!’

‘It’s the early hours of the morning before dawn, Valide. It is cool and safe for us to begin our journey before the heat of the day. The sun will be fierce in a few hours. I explained this.’

‘You explained little. You leave your servant to do all your bidding.’

‘Jumo is not my servant, he is my friend.’

‘He is irrelevant, as is his status! I refuse to leave my tent until I have washed, breakfasted and it’s light enough for me to see which clothes I shall wear for today. Do you understand me, Spur?’

Lazar sensed the smirk on Tariq’s face. He knew the Grand Vizier was enjoying watching
the stand-off and looking forward to seeing how the Spur would handle the Valide’s bullying tactics.

He bit back his own anger but his voice had lost the gentleness that seemed to imbue his tone when he addressed the Zaradine. Now it was as hard and cool as the marble of the Stone Palace. ‘Valide, in the desert there is no status. I am sorry to enlighten you that your position in the palace carries only the weight that I allow. I permit that you are shown formal respect but you will not interrupt the progress of what is—I think you’re forgetting—a diplomatic crisis.’ He held up a finger. ‘Firstly, there will be no washing in the desert from here on in, but I will allow you a small bowl of water as this is our first morning and water is plentiful. It won’t be from tomorrow. We shall have only what we can carry and that is needed for our sustenance, not our personal pleasure.’

The second finger went up. ‘Secondly, if you can eat some flatbread as you walk, that’s called breakfast, and I am happy for you to do so. If you prefer not to, you will not starve but you will have to wait until we mount the camels when you can nibble on your bread with one hand and drink from a skin with the other.’ If it was possible his voice became harder still. ‘And if that wounds your etiquette, Valide, my personal apologies, and I shall have to ask you to wait until we have stopped for the day before you feast fully.’ She opened her mouth to let fly with a new
tirade but he stopped her with his third finger going up alongside its companions. ‘And thirdly,’ he said with a finality in his voice, ‘may I suggest you dress yourself as sensibly as the Zaradine and the Grand Vizier have chosen for this day’s travel. You will regret it otherwise. But it is, I might add, your choice.’

He now turned to face all three of his royal party. ‘Gentle beasts have been chosen and the men are waiting for you over by the camels. Please, cover your heads now, for the sands will begin their fun.’ He gave no further eye contact to the Valide, instead turning to address the waiting Elim.

‘Take the tents down immediately—you have minutes to get it all packed away and onto the beasts.’ He bowed to his guests and strode away.

But Herezah unwisely stalked him, stabbing at him with a manicured finger. ‘How dare you speak to me like that, Lazar. You are my servant, you—’

Lazar swung around. ‘In the desert I am King, Valide, I am your god, your master, your ruler. You will do as I say in order to stay alive. My job for my Zar is to get you and the royal party safely to Galinsea to broker a peace between our two realms. And then I am charged to bring you back to Percheron safely. I am
not
your servant, and something you should perhaps realise, Valide, is that I never have been. You are the slave, bought by a harem to pleasure a Zar. I choose my role for Percheron, you were sold into it.’

Her voice was a whisper when it came. ‘Oh, there will be a reckoning for this when we get back to the palace, Lazar. You are never going to survive this indiscretion.’

He leant close. ‘Remember who you speak to, Herezah…I am the heir to the enemy throne and I can keep you captive in Galinsea if I so choose.’ Of course his threat was empty but she didn’t know that.

Only they shared the exchange, only they knew the threats both had made to each other. And only they knew how suddenly terrified Herezah felt as the realisation hit of where she was, without a single ally. No Salmeo to do her bidding, a Grand Vizier who no longer fussed around her, no royal son to protect her with his status. Around her was controlled hostility everywhere she turned.

‘Lazar!’ she yelled to his retreating back.

He didn’t turn, kept walking away from her, but held five fingers in the air and she knew that was the number of minutes she had before he would move the caravan out.

She returned angrily to her tent, already being expertly brought down at one end.

‘Please, Valide,’ a senior Elim urged, ‘please let us help you dress.’

She had no choice but to meekly enter her half-crumpled tent and put on the colourless, lightweight robes already laid out.

Behind her, and out of earshot, the Grand Vizier and the Zaradine shared a conspiratorial smile.

‘I think this journey is going to be very good for our Valide,’ Maliz whispered to his companion. ‘And highly entertaining for us.’

The caravan of two dozen camels set off not long after, with Lazar asking everyone to lead their beasts for the first couple of hours.

‘When the sun is out fully,’ he explained, ‘we mount up.’ And that was all he said before the slow-moving beasts took their first steps into the wilderness they felt so comfortable in. Herezah and Ana walked with Tariq, with Elim leading theirs and their own camels.

No-one spoke. There was not much to say after the fiery confrontation earlier. Everyone probably believed Herezah was sulking but whether she was or more likely deep in her agile thoughts, she remained sensibly quiet behind her veil. Ana wanted to enjoy the early-morning silence, which was broken only by the call of wild birds of prey. Maliz was simply relishing the building tension. He could see the dwarf skipping along ahead of them and frowned—this was the first time he’d seen Pez in ages. Where had the dwarf hidden himself all these hours? he wondered.