Snare (58 page)

‘Things are not right with Arkazo.’ Jezro made a statement rather than asking a question.

‘No, they’re not,’ Warkannan said. ‘I don’t know what to do. You’re going to have to order him to leave Ben – I mean Hassan alone.’

‘I’ll talk with him later.’ Jezro took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his nose. ‘Let’s let him settle down.’

‘Thanks. He never should have come with me, but I couldn’t leave him behind. The Chosen would have arrested him for a certainty, if something had gone wrong.’ He glanced at Zayn. ‘Right?’

Zayn nodded his agreement.

‘Did I tell you, Jezro?’ Warkannan went on. ‘We all would have been arrested, except Zayn spoke up for us.’

‘How did you learn that?’ Jezro said.

‘He told me, that day I questioned him.’

Zayn found himself remembering the temple, Warkannan on one side of the bars, himself on the other, and Idres was saying – what had he been saying? Something about lies and God’s mercy. He couldn’t remember. There was something he couldn’t remember. The panic caught him by surprise, that a lapse of a talent he hated could frighten him.

‘Sir?’ The white-shirted servant was standing in front of him,
holding out a plate with bread, cheese, and some sort of pink salad on it.

‘Thank you.’ Zayn took the plate and put it on his lap. The thought of eating revolted him.

Jezro and Warkannan were both staring at him. The servant backed away, then turned and hurried out of the room.

‘Are you all right?’ Warkannan said.

‘I just can’t remember what you said to me that day. About mercy.’

‘Oh. That. Well, I told you that I refused to believe you were damned for a trait you were born with. We’d been talking about the Chosen, actually.’

‘That’s right, yes.’ Enough of the conversation came back to dismiss the panic, but he still could not eat.

‘Speaking of the Chosen,’ Jezro said, ‘I suppose they made you swear some kind of oath of secrecy.’

‘Of course.’ Zayn felt profoundly weary. ‘But the minute I refused to kill you, I turned into a deserter. What do you want, me to tell you everything?’

‘Not necessarily. But if I do decide to follow out Idres’ insane idea and claim the throne, it would be a great help.’

‘If?’ Zayn said.

‘Yes, if. I haven’t made up my mind.’

Zayn felt himself gawking like an idiot. Warkannan laughed under his breath.

‘See?’ Warkannan said. ‘Hassan can’t believe you’d turn the chance down.’

‘Oh shut up, Idres.’ Jezro sounded weary rather than angry. ‘I have to admit one thing. The idea looks a lot more attractive now that Hassan can tell us who’s likely to stick a knife in my ribs.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t intend to kill your fellow legionnaires out of hand, not any more, not after what Idres has told me. You have my sworn word on that.’

Zayn could hear something hissing, a kettle perhaps, water boiling, but the sound kept getting louder, turned into a roar. ‘I’d never doubt your word,’ he managed to say.

‘Then the names, if you even know them, of your officers would come in handy. And where you meet, that sort of thing. If I do become Great Khan, I have to get control of the Chosen first thing.’

Zayn tried to speak and failed. He could no longer see correctly,
either. Warkannan and Jezro’s faces seemed to be drifting back and forth in front of him.

‘Zayn!’ Warkannan’s voice whispered from the other end of a long tunnel. ‘Try to hold still. I’m on my way.’

Zayn felt his entire body move, felt his head snap back, felt pain as he twisted, arched, fell, heard the sound of a plate shattering. He could see nothing, then felt nothing.

Yet Zayn woke in what seemed to him an instant to find himself lying on the carpeted floor. He ached so badly that at first he thought himself a child, recovering from one of his father’s beatings, but the sight of Idres kneeling beside him brought his memory back. The smell of alcohol hung in the air, strong and sickening. It took Zayn a moment to realize that his shirt was soaked with brandy and streaked with blood. His right hand throbbed.

‘He’s come round,’ Warkannan said. ‘Zhil, bring some water, and you’d better get some bandages, too.’

Zayn lifted his hand, cut and slashed in a dozen places.

‘That’s from the brandy glass,’ Jezro said. ‘You crushed it when your muscles spasmed. The strength of ten, huh?’

Zayn turned his head. The room spun, but it settled to reveal Jezro, kneeling beside him.

‘You just went into convulsions,’ Jezro said. ‘Do you remember anything? Were you aware of anything?’

‘No sir,’ Zayn whispered. ‘Nothing.’

Jezro let out his breath in a long troubled sigh. He laid a hand on Zayn’s forehead. ‘Cold as ice.’

‘Convulsions?’ Zayn suddenly focused on the word.

‘Yes, it was quite a sight. You fell out of your chair and then twisted around and rolled on the floor. Does your back ache? It looked to me like every muscle in it had spasmed.’ Jezro glanced at Warkannan. ‘Let’s not ask him about the Chosen again right away, shall we?’

‘Was that it, do you think?’ Warkannan said.

‘It’s a good working hypothesis.’ Jezro held a hand up flat for silence. ‘I’ll explain later. Here comes the water.’

With Warkannan’s help Zayn sat up. Warkannan propped himself against the divan and let Zayn sit between his legs and lean back against him for support. Zayn gulped water, paused to breathe, then finished the rest of it. He remembered the hissing
sound, remembered hearing it in the temple as well, and knew that he had one urgent thing to say before he forgot – before he was made to forget by whatever enemy hid in his own mind.

‘But I could tell Ammi everything,’ he said. ‘I could tell her about them.’

‘Don’t talk about it now,’ Jezro said. ‘One set of convulsions a night is enough.’

‘Who’s Ammi?’ Warkannan said. ‘Hold out that paw so Jezro can wrap it.’

‘The spirit rider.’ Zayn held out his hand. ‘From my comnee.’

‘Ah,’ Warkannan said. ‘How does that hand look?’

‘Not too bad, by some miracle of God,’ Jezro said. ‘The glass only cut a lot of capillaries. It missed that big artery by the thumb. Hell – here’s a splinter of glass. Hang on, Hassan. I’ve got to pull it out.’

Zayn leaned his head against Warkannan’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to stay conscious, but the pain threw him back into the dark.

‘Is there a good hakeem around here?’ Warkannan said.

‘Not one I’d trust with this, no,’ Jezro said. ‘The convulsions, I mean, not the cuts.’

In his faint Zayn was starting to crumple and slide sideways. Warkannan wrapped his arms around his chest and held on, settling him upright again.

‘We’d better get him onto a bed. Zhil?’ Jezro turned to him. ‘Go fetch Robear, will you? Oh, by the way, did you send someone after Hassan’s horses?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate your help.’

‘You’re welcome, sir. If I may ask, are you really going to leave us and go back to Kazrajistan?’

‘I don’t know yet. Why?’

‘But if you do –’ Zhil’s eyes went wide in a kind of desperation. ‘Who’s going to be in charge here?’

‘Hadn’t thought of that. Tell you what, we’ll discuss it in the morning. Go get some sleep, all right?’

‘Yes sir, and thanks.’

With Robear’s help Warkannan carried Zayn to his own guest room and laid him on the nearer of the pair of beds. When Robear
started to pull off Zayn’s boots, he woke, or partially woke, long enough to sit up and look around him.

‘Just rest,’ Warkannan said. ‘Lie down, Hassan.’

‘The blue quartz, sir.’ Zayn followed orders and slumped back against the pillows. ‘It had lights in it.’

Warkannan and Jezro exchanged a puzzled glance. Zayn seemed to be about to say more, then merely sighed and fell asleep.

‘We could use some sleep ourselves.’ Warkannan took out his watch. ‘It’s three in the morning.’

‘Already? Wake me at first light. Robear, thanks. You can go back to bed now.’

Robear followed as Jezro limped out, leaning on his stick more heavily than usual. Warkannan took off his boots, then lay down fully dressed on the other bed. Although he was tired enough to fall straight asleep, every time Zayn made a noise, Warkannan woke. At times Zayn seemed to be talking, but the words made no sense in either Kazraki or Hirl-Onglay, nor did they sound like Vranz, but by the time dawn was turning the world beyond the window silver, Zayn was sleeping soundly, his breathing steady and normal.

Warkannan got up, stretched in every direction, then left the room to go wake Jezro. He was only half-way to the khan’s bedroom, however, when Jezro came to meet him, fully dressed.

‘I woke up a little while ago,’ Jezro said. ‘Couldn’t get back to sleep, so I thought I’d just come see how you were getting along. How is he?’

‘Quiet now. We had a few odd noises in the night. Do you really think the Chosen have done something to him?’

‘Yes. Don’t forget, I was educated in the palace. The Chosen have been around for centuries, you know. It’s not just dear Gemet who’s misused them, though from what you’ve told me, he’s turned misusing them into a fine art. No one really knows the details, but I was told that they have a way of altering their men’s minds to keep them loyal, of making it impossible for them to talk about the brotherhood. I never believed it till last night.’

‘It sounds preposterous.’

‘Yes, but consider what would have happened to Hassan if he’d been bound, tied to a chair, say, by someone trying to extract information. If he’d been unable to move freely –’ Jezro shrugged. ‘I’m no hakeem, but it seems to me it might have killed him. Caused a stroke or something like that.’

‘Well, yes, I can see that.’

They turned down the hall that held the guest rooms. ‘That’s odd,’ Warkannan said. ‘The door’s standing open. I know I closed it when I left.’

‘Damn! I hope he isn’t sleepwalking.’

Warkannan hurried on ahead, stepped into the room, and saw Soutan, standing by Zayn’s bed. Zayn himself lay asleep, sprawled on his stomach with one arm hanging over the side of the bed. Soutan whirled around to face Warkannan, but not quickly enough. Warkannan held out his hand.

‘Give it back,’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon!’ Soutan straightened to full height. ‘Just what are you implying?’

‘I’m not implying anything. I’m accusing you of stealing whatever that is. The amulet thing Hassan was wearing.’

Trapped, Soutan glanced this way and that. Jezro appeared in the doorway and limped into the room just as Zayn woke, sitting up in one smooth motion.

‘The imp!’ Zayn laid a hand on his chest. ‘Where – who are you?’

‘His name is Yarl Soutan,’ Jezro said. ‘I thought you knew that.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Zayn rubbed his face with both hands. ‘He’s a shape-changer.’

Warkannan cleared his throat, then pointed at Soutan’s closed fist. ‘I said give it back.’

With a muttered curse Soutan opened his hand and tossed a gold chain and a small rectangle of bluish stone into Zayn’s lap. Blue quartz, Warkannan thought. Is that what he meant last night?

‘I merely wanted to examine it,’ Soutan said. ‘It’s an imp, all right, and it’s the reason I couldn’t pick him up in my crystals.’

Zayn clutched the imp in one broad hand and went on staring at Soutan. ‘Is this what you really look like?’ he said.

‘Yes, Hassan.’ Soutan forced out a smile. ‘This is the real me. No more shape-changing, as you called it.’

Zayn yawned and leaned back against the pillows, but he was studying Soutan narrow-eyed.

‘I woke early,’ Soutan went on. ‘I was on my way outside for a stroll when I saw Warkannan leave, and so I thought I’d see if Hassan was recovering. The imp caught my eye.’

‘It did, huh?’ Warkannan glanced at Jezro to see if he believed
the story, but the khan’s bland expression could have meant any one of twenty things.

‘I’ll go see if Cook is awake,’ Soutan said. ‘We can discuss this over breakfast.’

Soutan swept out with dignity wrapped round him like a cloak. Warkannan shut the door behind him.

‘Feel like eating?’ he said to Zayn.

‘Yes.’ Zayn was threading the imp onto the chain, an awkward job with one hand bandaged. He slipped it over his head before he spoke again. ‘I can’t remember everything about last night, after we got inside, I mean. You said I went into convulsions?’

‘Yes,’ Jezro said. ‘That’s how you cut your hand. You were holding a glass at the time.’

‘I remember that. I had muscle spasms, and I fell on the floor.’ Zayn turned his face towards the wall, but his eyes moved as if he were looking at a picture of the event. ‘Why? That’s what I don’t remember. Idres, do you –’

Warkannan felt suddenly cold, suddenly weary. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said, ‘but we’ll talk about it later.’

‘Don’t worry about it now,’ Jezro said. ‘Let’s go eat breakfast.’

‘Tell me something first, sir,’ Zayn said. ‘Soutan, is he a friend of yours?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Just wondered.’ The expression on Zayn’s face turned into a bland mask. ‘Is there a place I can clean up before we eat?’

‘Yes,’ Warkannan said. ‘I’ll show you, and you can have my other clean shirt.’

Warkannan had seen Zayn’s mask before, often enough to know that he was hiding some dangerous feeling. He could guess that Soutan’s attempt to have him murdered lay at the heart of it. Later, if they could get a moment alone, he would sit down and talk with him about secrets and the need for them.

After a bath, dressed in clean clothes, shaved – Zayn felt like an army officer for the first time in months, ironically enough, since his actions of the night before amounted to outright mutiny and desertion. The night had also left him exhausted, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to sleep and forgo the company of old friends, so long thought lost.

After breakfast the three of them rode around the estate, then
sat in the blue parlour and shared stories of old times. At moments – once right in the middle of a sentence – Zayn would fall asleep only to wake just as suddenly. Any time the conversation threatened to turn towards the Chosen, he would hear the hissing begin deep in his mind and change the subject. During the entire day Soutan left them alone. At intervals Warkannan would go to his nephew’s room and try to talk with him, but Arkazo never once let his uncle in. The servants told Warkannan that Soutan had brought the boy food.