Emissary (38 page)

Jumo dropped back to offer some advice to the women and Maliz had to ignore his thoughts about Pez for the moment whilst he listened to the wiry little man.

Up ahead Pez and Lazar walked slightly apart from the others.

‘What have you seen?’ Lazar asked.

‘A great deal of sand. Nothing stirs, apart from the odd scorpion or lizard. No problems as far as I can see, although I had to be very careful and will have to continue being watchful.’ Lazar gave him a quizzical look. ‘You can hear the falcon up above?’ Lazar nodded. ‘There were others and they’d like nothing more than to bring a large snowy owl down on the wing,’ Pez explained testily.

The Spur looked towards the horizon where the sun sat on its rim; a great fiery ball, promising a furnace not too much later in the day. He looked up and saw a lone falcon, a fearsome hunter that could stalk and kill a desert bustard despite its prey’s poison liquid, as easily as it could a pigeon. And then he looked across the golden wilderness as the last clumps of patchy grass lost their fight and capitulated fully to the parched sands of the Great Waste. He had survived this once before and he intended to do so again, but he felt a twist of fear in his gut at the thought that there were now so many other lives he was responsible for ensuring also survived.

‘This is madness, Pez,’ he murmured.

Pez could read his thoughts, shared them in fact, but still said the right words, the only words one could in this situation. ‘We have no choice, Lazar. If fighting a battle of our faith is not hard enough, we now face war with our fellow man.’ He shook his head with disgust.

‘And it’s all my fault,’ Lazar muttered. ‘I could have averted this.’

‘How? By going yourself?’

‘Of course! My reluctance means we are all under threat and this perilous journey guarantees nothing.’ He sounded helpless.

‘Spur Lazar, tell me what your father would do if you did appear before him.’

‘There would be no war with Percheron.’

‘And?’

‘I would be put to death.’

‘I see,’ Pez said thoughtfully. He paused and then spoke again, firmly this time. ‘Can you unequivocally guarantee that there would be no war with our realm?’

It was the Spur’s turn to pause and consider. He took his time, so long in fact that Pez could have been forgiven for thinking he’d forgotten a question had been posed.

‘I cannot give that guarantee.’

‘Why?’ There was satisfaction in the dwarf’s tone.

‘Because of all the kings of Galinsea who have resisted the temptation to invade Percheron for its riches, I believe in my heart that my father would be the weakest with regard to its seductions.’

‘So, in taking full blame and presenting yourself at the palace at Galinsea we risk not only losing you to the grave but we still run equal risk of war, even after having given our lives to chance in the desert.’

‘I regret that you paint an accurate picture.’

‘Then stop blaming yourself. You are doing the right thing, taking the best option by keeping yourself alive to lead our men if required whilst also escorting the one person who might just be able to broker the peace we need.’

‘What if my father wants war anyway and this is the best excuse he’s ever had?’

‘I think that has already occurred to all of us, Lazar,’ Pez counselled gently. ‘Boaz would have worked this out from the very first moment he met the Galinsean dignitaries but as Zar he has to leave no stone unturned to keep his people in peace. Your idea to marry him to Ana was inspired. If anyone can charm a king, Ana can.’

Lazar sneered. ‘If you knew my father, you’d know that he is not prey to the usual foibles of a man.’

‘I think I do know your father,’ Pez said, and winked at his friend. ‘I think the man I call friend well reflects his bloodline.’ He wondered if Lazar might take offence, for it was obvious no love was lost between king and heir.

‘Ah, well,’ he said very softly, almost a sigh. ‘This is probably true to some extent.’

‘What happened, Lazar?’ He held his breath, expecting to be told to mind his own business, but was surprised to be answered.

‘I loved a woman that my parents did not approve of.’

‘Not from the right family?’

‘You could say that,’ he said, and gave a sorry smile. ‘She was…’ He appeared lost for words.

‘Special?’

Lazar nodded, and Pez could see how hard this was for him. ‘I have to presume she is no longer alive for you to be unable to so much as speak her name.’

‘Yes, she is dead.’

‘Killed by your parents?’ Pez asked, incredulous.

‘I like to see them as murderers but a more generous, perhaps more realistic person might say they helped to contrive a situation that would prompt her death.’

‘She killed herself?’

He nodded sadly. ‘It was the only way she felt she could prevent our family being torn apart. I was the son, the heir, and my father was not having her as the next queen.’

‘Her death achieved nothing, then.’

‘Nothing towards healing the rift in our family, no. And nothing towards ensuring the present heir to Galinsea takes the throne. But she offered me my freedom through her act and her bravery gave me the courage not to ignore that gift. I did not look back once I fled Galinsea, for I did not look forward to kingship, to presiding over a nation that preferred to steal art—or raze it—rather than create its own. Most Galinseans are heathen when it comes to art or poetry, music and dance.’

‘I’m sure you are too harsh, Lazar. Did it not occur to you to be a king who changed his people’s attitude?’

‘I was nineteen when I fled Galinsea.’

Pez took Lazar’s hand. ‘And Boaz is as good as seventeen and running his realm.’

Lazar looked abashed. ‘He is a better man than me.’

‘And now you speak rubbish like a true Galinsean! When will you accept that you were born to lead? You can’t help yourself, you have kingship qualities in your blood—you cannot escape your line.’

‘I have.’

‘And yet here we go, heading back to Galinsea from where you hail, from where you fled, from where you think you can hide.’

‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘I can no longer hide.’

‘That’s right. It won’t stop here. They will find you.’

‘I know. I have been thinking that once this is over—if we can avert war—maybe I’ll leave Percheron.’

‘Run away again? We need you, Lazar. Boaz needs you and, more importantly, Percheron itself needs you—not just because you are its Spur, but I’ll risk boring you again by reminding you that we are caught up in a different battle as well.’

‘That one has to wait.’

‘It will take its own course as and when it chooses.’

‘As and when you know who the Goddess is,’ Lazar reminded.

Pez ignored his jibe and left the topic of Galinsea alone for the time being. ‘Have you noticed how friendly he is to her?’

Lazar didn’t need to ask to whom Pez was referring. ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘She is falling for his charms.’ He noticed the dwarf baulk. ‘Oh, I don’t mean he is seducing her for her flesh. No, he is winning her as a friend, something Ana so badly needs. I can’t blame her for being attracted to his charismatic ways. If we didn’t know better, perhaps we might fall for them too.’

‘I can’t tell you how dangerous this situation becomes if Maliz has her under some sort of influence.’

‘She is
not
Lyana. Her very presence here, alive and well, should assure you of that.’

‘It doesn’t!’ Pez snapped. ‘Ellyana said it would be different this time. And it is. Ana is involved. Her name suggests she is.’

‘And now you’re grasping at the proverbial camel’s hair, Pez, and you don’t have a good grip.’

‘If you don’t trust me, at least humour me. I have never led you down a wrong path. Please, if just for my own sanity, go along with this. Allow that I might be right and that he is preying on her.’

‘For what? What can he gain?’

‘If she is not Lyana, as you claim, then I have to presume he believes, as I do, that she knows who Lyana is or she can lead us to the real Goddess.’

That stopped Lazar in his tracks. ‘I hadn’t considered that.’

‘Well, do so now. And keep walking. He watches our every move.’

‘Hush,’ Lazar warned as Salim approached.

Pez was already humming a nonsense song and picking his nose.

‘We should mount up now,’ the Khalid suggested.

Lazar nodded and held a hand up to slow the column to a halt. Pez just kept striding on, adding a skip every few steps.

Lazar could feel the sweat seeping into the back of his shirt and, as he walked towards the royals and against the soft flurry of the sands, he wrapped the desert turban around his face so that only his light eyes could be seen.

He bowed. ‘Valide, Zaradine. We ride from here for the next two hours.’

‘I have never ridden a camel before,’ Herezah said, still sulky. These were her first words since they broke camp.

‘I will show you, Valide. Come, I will get you mounted.’ He flicked a glance towards Ana and saw the soft hurt flash in her gaze. ‘Zaradine Ana, Salim here will help you onto your beast. Tariq…’

‘I can manage, thank you, Spur,’ the Grand Vizier said, and shooed away any help. ‘You
looked as though you were in tall conversation with Pez. The Zaradine here says Pez would be talking his usual nonsense and you apparently humour him.’

Lazar did not miss a beat. ‘Zaradine Ana has been quick to notice lots about the palace and to understand its ways. She appreciates the value of Pez for his humour. Yes, he is mad but sometimes his very madness can bring a strange sort of clarity to those around him. Laughter is a great tonic.’

‘I didn’t notice you laughing, Spur,’ the Grand Vizier said, more slyly now.

‘You were obviously not paying enough attention, Tariq. Pez was teaching me one of his nonsense songs. I went along with it as a way of taking my mind off the tedium of our journey.’

‘Was it the song about the butterfly and the ass?’

‘No, he did sing that one to me yesterday, Zaradine, but it was actually the one about smashed pomegranates that seemed to amuse him this morning.’

‘Oh yes, I know that one. It’s funny, even though it’s so silly.’

‘Quite,’ Lazar said and gave her a soft smile. ‘I do humour Pez, Grand Vizier, and it would be helpful if you would too. He has his place and his part to play for the palace but he is fragile and I’d rather not deal with him in one of his strange moods if I can help it.’

‘I shall do my best, Spur.’

Lazar nodded his thanks and hoped Ana would notice how he included her in those as he swept his gaze by her and back to Herezah. ‘Shall we go, Valide?’ he said, knowing she would have felt a small stab of triumph at his sudden humility towards her. His good sense had overridden his anger for the time being and he had decided during these hours of walking not to lose his temper again with her. She would find ways to punish Ana instead and he needed everyone calm and ready for the ordeal of the desert.

Jumo waited by the Valide’s camel with her handler. ‘This is Masha,’ he said, ‘and we are assured she will not try any tricks.’

‘Good,’ Herezah replied, looking dubiously at the kneeling animal, which chewed indifferently, awaiting her burden.

‘We won’t ride like the Khalim, Valide,’ Lazar said politely. ‘We will seat you at the back of the camel’s hump but on top of a saddle that is laden with blankets.’

‘You’re not trying to sell me on the idea that this is going to be comfortable are you, Spur Lazar?’ she replied, a little more like the sarcastic Herezah of old.

‘I wouldn’t dare. But you will get used to her swinging gait quickly and my best advice is that you simply allow your body to drift with hers. Don’t fight it, just go with it and by this evening you will move in tandem with her.’

Herezah pointed. ‘That man—that tribal man over there—he is kneeling on his saddle.’

Lazar shook his head in some awe. ‘I know, it’s their way. They can go at full gallop like that and never lose their balance. I always swore I’d learn how to do that.’

‘Is this why you suggested I wear the pants and robes of the desert, Lazar?’ she said, a tease in her voice now.

‘It is,’ he joked in his deadpan way. ‘You will be more comfortable for riding and, I promise you, Valide, you are far cooler in these robes than your formal wear in the palace.’

‘I swear I wouldn’t be comfortable in this heat even if I were naked!’

Jumo stifled a grin whilst Lazar just looked pained. Herezah was back to her flirtatious best.

She could hardly miss his grimace. ‘I was making a jest, Lazar. Have you ever understood the concept of one making a jest and the listener smiling, even just to be polite?’

‘Yes, Valide. As you can see, I’m not very good at it.’

‘Indeed.’ She rested her hand on his shoulder and gave an appreciative smile at touching him. Then she seemed to lose her footing and Lazar had to step up close to steady her, his hands unwittingly clasping her waist, and her hands more knowingly going around his neck. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed and loaded the words to mean so much more.
‘These are certainly slippery creatures to climb aboard.’

Jumo gave Lazar a look of soft exasperation, for Masha had not so much as blinked whilst Herezah was attempting to mount her. Lazar feigned all was well and allowed her hands to linger around his neck as he ensured she was seated properly on the saddle.

‘As I said,’ he began, releasing himself from her embrace, ‘not exactly comfortable but you should not be too sore if you don’t resist the swaying.’

‘I shall remember that,’ Herezah said, and all three of them knew she was not referring to his advice so much as his touch. ‘That’s the sort of tip we give new girls in the harem,’ and she pretended to stifle a playful smile.

Lazar kept his expression deliberately blank in response, whilst he turned to check that Ana and the Vizier were on their camels; as he did so, he saw the look of injury that Ana threw at him. She hadn’t failed to notice Herezah’s pantomime.

‘Come,’ Jumo said, well able to read the undercurrent swirling around him. ‘The sun has no patience.’

And the caravan finally got moving, all on four legs, at a faster pace.