Emissary (40 page)

That night, everyone slept well and happy at the thought of fresh meat—everyone, that is, except one: Ana did not eat birds.

Pez felt unusually restless. He lay on his back, hands behind his head and looked with awe at the
canopy of stars winking in concert. Pez knew it was impossible but it felt to him as if a storm was brewing; he was a person who had always been sensitive to weather changes and as a child if thunder and lightning occurred, he would start acting oddly hours beforehand. He would become agitated, unable to concentrate or be still. That’s how he felt now and even though he had—in private, at least—grown out of the immature behaviour of running in circles or making a lot of noise when a lightning storm was coming, he had never lost the sensation of inward turmoil.

It had not happened that often over the years, if he was honest. Living in Percheron meant temperate weather most of the year but from time to time a storm would hit and would bring with it the fire in the sky that so excited him and yet also gave him a sense of doom…the sinister thunder rolls in the distance always suggested to him that something ominous was coming.

There was no lightning and certainly no thunder now—just a supremely clear and starry night that was frigidly cold despite the heat of the low fire everyone slept close to, apart from the Khalid who preferred to sleep alongside their camels and use the warmth of the beasts to heat them. Pez could see that even Lazar was snoozing—no doubt lightly—but the rhythmic rise and fall of the man’s chest suggested he was asleep. He sat up and smiled to himself with the amusing thought that he might be one of the few people,
ever, to see Lazar relaxed in slumber. With his face in repose, Lazar looked young, the flames of the fire smoothing out the lines of his face, the hollows in his cheeks, that had so deepened with his illness. In truth, this journey, despite all of its danger, was helping Lazar to recover better than any potion or quiet existence on an island. Lazar was a man of action. The journey would do him immense good but Pez still appreciated the untroubled, no longer grave countenance that the quiet suspension of sleep brought to Lazar. He almost wished he could wake Ana and show her how friendly Lazar could look…so long as he wasn’t awake.

This amused him too and he silently stirred himself and climbed to his feet to stretch. The thought of Ana prompted him to get up and out of the warmth of his blankets—he had no idea why. Now that he was up he might as well move.

He glanced at Lazar and noticed his friend’s eyes were suddenly wide open.

‘Ah,’ he whispered. ‘And there was I thinking how peaceful you looked.’

No-one else stirred. Jumo was snoring and the royal tents were still. None of the Khalid moved.

‘I was—you woke me.’

‘I was silent,’ Pez hissed.

‘You’re like one of the Zar’s elephants moving around.’ And the edge of his mouth creased in a grin but was gone as swiftly as it arrived. ‘What are you doing anyway?’

‘Going to relieve myself.’

Lazar nodded, closed his eyes and rolled over. ‘Don’t go far,’ he murmured.

Pez hadn’t known he was going anywhere until this moment. Pulling his blanket around his shoulders and uncaring of it dragging along the sands, he made for the closest dune but one well away from the main camp.

He turned to look back. In the tiny circle of light that the small fire threw out, everyone appeared fast asleep. He cursed his luck that he wasn’t, especially as he had felt tired enough to be one of the first to snuggle beneath his blankets, singing a lullaby to himself about cranberry sherbet.

Pez slipped into the black void behind the dune and decided he might as well relieve himself now that he was here. As the stream of hot liquid brought a familiar sound of all things normal and his bladder thanked him for this unexpected comfort, a voice spoke to him and both bladder and its flow froze in fear.

‘Pez, thank you for coming.’

‘Who—’

She materialised beside him, her own glow giving him just sufficient light to recognise her.

‘Ellyana.’

‘Are you done?’ she asked and smiled so kindly, he didn’t even register any embarrassment as he covered himself.

‘How did you—’

‘Always so many questions. Come, we have things to discuss.’

‘Come where? If I’m gone for more than a few moments, Lazar will—’

‘He will not know. Trust me.’

She led him deeper into the desert towards a nearby dune, which, when he arrived closer, he realised held some sort of rocky cave at its base.

‘Why didn’t we see this when we made camp?’

‘You don’t have to whisper, Pez. No-one can hear us.’ She smiled. ‘The sands hide and the sands reveal, as they choose. There are plenty of rocky outcrops and cave systems in the desert but most are covered by the sands.’

‘What are you doing here?’ He had lost his initial shock and decided to be direct. Ellyana had a talent for being vague.

‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Why not the others?’

‘Well, to begin with I suspect Jumo wishes to stick a blade into me.’

He frowned. ‘You may be right.’

‘Although I suspect that deep down he’d admit that he’d go through the same pain and ordeal if it meant life for Lazar.’

‘I suspect he would. Jumo is loyal to the death.’

‘Yes, he is. Poor Jumo,’ she said, and looked at the sky, her tone wistful.

‘What does that mean?’

She shrugged. ‘He is a good man.’

‘What do you want, Ellyana?’

‘I need you to do something for me.’

‘Your tasks have a way of turning nasty. You know about Zafira, presumably?’ There was no friendship in his tone now as he recalled the devastating moment of discovering his old friend, impaled on her own temple’s spire. All for the sake of her faith and the demon who hunted his followers.

‘That was the work of Maliz.’

‘Your hands have her blood on them too, Ellyana. You put her into that danger. She had nothing to fight him with, no wings, no magic, probably no idea he was even coming for her.’

‘Zafira went to her death willingly, Pez. She was brave, she was old and she was ready to sacrifice herself for Lyana.’

‘Lyana! I’m sick of hearing her name! She is not Ana. You have led me wrong. You have lied and cajoled and got us all to do your bidding but I’m no longer your servant, Ellyana.’ In his anger and frustration he startled himself with the sensation that he might weep.

She noticed it too. ‘This is a cause worth weeping over, Pez. Your memories as Iridor will tell you that lives have been lost in many ways and on so many occasions that for their sake alone—for their endeavours and their bravery—we must fight on. We have no choice, my friend. You are Iridor and you have a reason for being.’

Pez hung his head. ‘She calls him friend now.’

‘I know,’ she replied, her voice tender again. ‘But she is safe for the time being.’

‘How? How can he spend time with her and touch her and not know?’

‘I warned that this time it would be different,’ she replied—more cautiously now, he noticed. Pez had learned that when Ellyana took this approach, she was usually not telling the full truth, using her talent to divert him.

‘Why can’t you just be honest and tell us?’ he demanded.

‘Because you must trust. The less each knows, the better…and Pez, I am but a servant, like you. Don’t presume that I have all the answers.’

‘But you never give us any answers, only questions.’

‘I am not your enemy.’

‘Sometimes it feels as if you are,’ he grumbled, but she could see her words rang true with him.

‘Please, Pez, trust me.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

And as she told him, his eyes widened and his mouth opened in disbelief.

‘I cannot,’ he whispered. ‘I will not.’

‘You must!’ she impressed. ‘For her sake, you must. It is her protection.’

He began to look around wildly, desperate for someone to save him, ridiculously hopeful that Lazar would step around the dune now and demand to know what was going on.

‘Pez, you are Iridor. You are the messenger, the go-between, the only conduit we have.’ She tried to offer him something but he let it slip to the sand.

‘I cannot,’ he repeated.

Ellyana picked up what was dropped and pressed it into his gnarled hands. ‘You must,’ she urged. ‘Trust me,’ she now beseeched and her expression was one of such supplication, all that was Iridor within him responded and he clutched her gift to his breast, tears leaking down his misshapen face.

‘Go now, my precious one. We fight this battle with stealth and cunning this time.’

‘And we shall win,’ he said, trying not to make it a question but a mantra to cling to.

‘We will win,’ she assured.

He watched Ellyana, or the vision that she could become, fade into the darkness of the desert night until he was alone, suddenly cold again. He looked at what he clutched near his heart and felt the knife of fear at what he had been charged to do.

Pez didn’t know how long he stayed in that position or when he finally decided to move and pick his way back to the camp but as he pushed himself deeper into his blankets Lazar spoke.

‘That was quick,’ he mumbled. ‘Now sleep, Pez.’

The little man wriggled closer to the fire but no amount of heat was going to smother the chill he felt in his heart at Ellyana’s bidding.

The week passed in a slow cycle of repetitive days. Herezah no longer complained and was one of the first to rise, dress carefully in her desert robes and be ready to travel. She now ate walking, on camel back, or whenever she was hungry—there was no longer any ceremony in her life, although Lazar had to admit she maintained a great elegance in all that she did, even here in the desert. He allowed them one bowl of water every three days to wash and appreciated how hard this was for someone like Herezah who had known daily bathing rituals since she was a little girl. It seemed the release from the harem that this journey afforded Herezah had offered her a glimpse at how life could be without plotting and cunning, without always looking ahead to where the next iota of power could be gained over the people she was forced to share her life with.

Lazar understood. The desert was a great equaliser. As he had told her, there was no status out here. Survival meant everyone helping each other, respecting one another,
sharing…all concepts the Valide had forgotten or had gradually had squeezed out of her in the selfish, single-minded existence of the harem.

Ana was quiet and eating little. Lazar asked Herezah how the Zaradine was faring and she simply waved her hand and told him not to worry.

‘All new wives become broody and introverted. She’ll get over it.’

‘She’s not eating much.’

‘Are you keeping such a close eye, Lazar?’ she asked, eyebrow arched. She meant it in jest but of course Lazar wasn’t used to genuine lightheartedness from the Valide. With him she bounced between viciousness and lustfulness—there had never been an in between.

‘She is the reason for this perilous journey, Valide,’ he answered gravely. ‘Of course I’m keeping a close eye on her.’ In fact it was Pez who knew Ana was not eating much, for he liked to be around the cookpot for the evening meal and the group allowed him to stir the broth or cook the flatbread—a simple enough task, even for an idiot. He shared the duties with one of the Elim, the mute called Salazin, in charge of supervising the preparation and presentation of all the royal food. Pez liked to hand the food out, too, and it annoyed Herezah no end that he always bowed rather comically to the Zaradine before handing her a bowl and bread, urging her to eat, watching her take her first ladleful or bite, but somehow
managed to spill the Valide’s broth on the rare occasion one was cooked, or drop the Grand Vizier’s bread in the sand.

‘Well, you have no reason to fret. She has complained of an upset belly but I have given her something for that. It will ease.’

‘Perhaps she will brighten with some fresh meat.’

‘I think we all will. This diet is excellent in preserving one’s figure but it makes me feel weak. I need blood now and then, Lazar,’ she said and eyed him directly.

Lazar left it at that, for the conversation was going in a direction he didn’t want it to, but he intended to keep his own watch over the Zaradine who appeared to have faded these past couple of days. She no longer watched him, and he didn’t believe she had spoken more than a few words in recent times. Jumo confirmed she hardly conversed with him either. If she was sickening, Lazar needed to know.

Neither the Valide nor the Grand Vizier shared with him their suspicions as to why the Zaradine was suddenly so off-colour, preferring instead to keep it a secret for now. Information was a weapon—something they both understood—and to be wielded only at the right time.

On this evening they were sitting around the usual three campfires. The Khalid sat around their own and talked in their curious language that sounded as though they were always arguing
with one another. Lazar, Jumo and Pez tended to range between either the Khalid’s or the royal party’s fires. The Elim kept themselves entirely separate, although never far from their two female royals.

Tonight the royal fire included Lazar and Jumo. Pez was dancing a jig for the Elim, who sang for him. The royal party watched the Khalid and particularly Salim with his falcon.

‘Have they named him?’ Herezah asked.

‘It’s a female falcon. She’s simply called Shahin,’ Jumo answered.

‘Why do they stroke her all the time? I don’t think that man has been separated from the bird. He even sleeps with it tied to a post near his face.’

Jumo nodded. ‘That’s right, Valide. When they are training it to the lure, the person who is taming it must give every moment to that bird. He talks to it, touches it all the time, keeps it close. The bird gets used to the man in particular but also the talk of men, the movements of men and is not startled by us. They will brand it soon on the beak with Salim’s mark and it will be finally his—companion, provider, friend.’

‘So the falcon can definitely hunt?’ Herezah asked, her eyes glittering in anticipation.

‘She is magnificent on the wing.’

Both she and the Grand Vizier sighed. ‘It will certainly be nice to taste some fresh meat again,’ Maliz admitted, as the flatbread diet was wearing
on everyone now. The cheese and fruit were dished out sparingly and had become such a treat that Herezah admitted she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sit down to a palace meal again with all of its decadence and sophistication.

‘How much longer, Lazar?’ she said to the Spur, who seemed deep in thought, his hollowed face even more handsome in its gauntness. His guarded expression looked more vulnerable now and the chin he no longer kept rigorously shaven had a thin close growth of hair. He was beginning to look like one of those priests they’d heard about who did a special penance by living in the desert for weeks on end.

But then Lazar always looked as though he was doing penance. Nevertheless, when he raised his eyes to her to answer, she felt the familiar thrill of being close to him and his attention given to her. In the past she would take that attention whether it was accompanied with his usual gruffness or just his disdain. Since she had realised she had no allies and was making an effort to co-operate, she had noticed a slackening of that cool aloofness he maintained. She had discovered he was even capable of conversation and had been stunned a few days back when he had joined herself, Ana and the Grand Vizier and spent an hour talking about desert life, even reminiscing about his first experience with it when he was making his escape towards Percheron.

It had been so tempting to ask why he had needed to flee Galinsea but the truth was Herezah was, for a rare time, enjoying the simple pleasure of conversation and the even greater pleasure of seeing Lazar relaxed in her company—even smiling, praise Zarab—such that she was not prepared to risk the moment in curiosity. She knew what would have happened. He would have thrown down the shutters of his mind, his face taking on that sober, blank expression as though chiselled in stone, and he would have made some excuse to leave them. And so she had promised herself to do nothing but listen and revel in his refreshingly easy manner for however long Zarab granted it last.

Lazar replied after several moments of calculation. ‘If we continue at this pace, which is relatively good, I imagine at the new moon.’

‘Twenty-two more days of this?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ he answered her, and all noticed she didn’t spit it—as the Herezah of the palace might have—it was simply a statement, accompanied by nothing more than a soft shrug. The desert was doing the Valide a power of good.

‘Zaradine Ana, are you keeping up your water intake?’ he asked gently.

She nodded wanly. ‘Yes, of course. You gave us strict instructions.’

‘You are very quiet.’

‘I am fine, Spur, thank you.’

‘Perhaps we can offer you some dates. The sugar will help.’

‘I couldn’t eat anything more,’ she said softly.

Looks passed around the fire. She hadn’t eaten anything of substance, barely nibbled at her bread.

‘I think we should all get some sleep,’ Lazar advised. ‘We will get up a little earlier than usual as we’ll need to give some time in the cooler hours of the day to hunting the desert bustard.’

‘They’re definitely here?’ Herezah was obviously determined to eat well tomorrow evening.

Jumo answered. ‘Yes, we have seen them and they are relatively plentiful in this region.’

‘Sweet dreams, all, then,’ the Grand Vizier said, rising and stretching. ‘Come, Zaradine, let me escort you to your tent.’

Lazar scowled, but he covered his expression quickly and offered to walk Herezah back to the tent. She looked delighted and took his arm. Nevertheless he kept his eyes rigidly facing forward on the back of the Grand Vizier, who now put his arm around the small figure of Ana as they strolled back to the accommodation.

Tomorrow, Lazar promised himself, he would try and get some time alone with Ana. He had to know what was wrong with her.

Shahin was beautiful, Lazar decided, and so proud as she rode on the arm of Salim.

‘She is tame now,’ Salim told him. ‘She will always enjoy a man as her companion now.’

‘Is she not attached to just one man? You?’

‘Only to begin with. We sell our birds all the time and so long as they are treated well, they will cleave to a new owner. This one, however, is special. There is an intensity to this falcon I have not seen in a long time and she learns so fast. She is valuable.’

‘So you will not be selling her?’

‘Never.’

Jumo and one of the Khalid riders arrived excited.

‘They’re just over the rise—at least four of them,’ Jumo said.

Lazar actually smiled. He really had never seen Jumo so excited and could understand that his friend was reliving a boyhood memory with this hunt. He wondered why they had never hunted with birds before, the two of them. They would from now on.

‘If we had dogs it would be easier. Dogs and falcons are invincible when they work together,’ Salim bemoaned.

Lazar hadn’t realised that the salukis and shahin would normally work in partnership. ‘Can she kill enough?’

‘Oh yes, but the bustard is a fearsome prey. It fights hard to its death but it also squirts an oily muck at its predator and it will take many days before we can fully clean a falcon of the mess on
her feathers. That’s why we use dogs and more than one bird.’

‘How many can she take alone?’

He shrugged. ‘A good one can probably kill up to eight or nine but they will take six or seven on the wing to half that on the ground.’

‘So we have to get the bustards moving?’

‘Yes, my friend, that’s your job.’

And so with guidance from the other Khalid men, Lazar and Jumo, with Pez flapping his arms and hobbling alongside mimicking the bustards, flushed the fat desert birds from their hollows in the sand.

It was several hours of mighty battles for Shahin. Sometimes the fight would rage over forty yards whilst she battled with her prey. The bustard was a warrior. Oil was splotched darkly over the golden ground in its attempts to thwart its attacker, but Shahin was wily and had obviously hunted this prey on many occasions when she was wild, for she nimbly avoided being coated. She was not so successful in avoiding the blow from its wings and on her third kill was stunned by one of these blows.

Salim finished off the dying bustard, breaking its neck, for he was worried about his falcon. She came around, though, and within a short while was taking her fourth, initially on the wing and killing it fully on the sands.

‘A beautiful sight,’ Jumo murmured, as they watched the two birds tussle in the air and then plummet behind a particularly large dune.

‘Ah, if we had the dogs, this would be so much easier,’ Salim sighed.

‘I’ll get it…and her,’ Jumo said in high excitement and sprinted off towards the dune.

‘Have you ever seen him like that?’ Pez asked, out of earshot of the others, as he looked at Lazar’s uncharacteristically open and grinning expression.

‘Not in all the time I’ve known him,’ Lazar said, scratching his head. ‘We’re definitely going to do this again, Jumo and I. We shall train our own birds and hunt regularly once this is all done.’

‘And grow old together—you make a fine pair,’ Pez said, with only a hint of sarcasm.

‘You know what I mean. This is fun. Jumo and I spend so much time in our dutiful pursuits for the throne that we forget to stop sometimes and just do things like this.’ He waved his arm at where Jumo was just scrambling over the dune, his arms cartwheeling as he reached the summit. ‘Simple sport, utterly carefree.’ He laughed as his friend turned and waved before disappearing at a full run down the other side.

Pez touched his arm. ‘Keep that promise, it is very good for your disposition too,’ he said and winked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.’

Lazar’s smile faded. ‘You know, Pez, I’ve never felt quite as carefree as I do at this moment. I know it won’t last but right now I feel as though I
have no responsibilities, no duty to anyone, no politics or diplomacies to consider…nothing but freedom and enjoying being amongst a companionable group. I feel closer to Salim in this short time we’ve known each other than I have to anyone else in Percheron in almost two decades, save yourself and Jumo.’

‘That’s because you let Salim in. You’re so controlled all the time, Lazar, and so deliberately distant that no-one can be your friend. You let me in because I was a freak and allowed you to discover my secret; and you let Jumo in because he was different, not one of the Percherese. You seem to like underdogs. Salim is Khalid—that makes him different, exotic, and, of course, he speaks another language so that makes him entirely inaccessible to the rest of the party except yourself and Jumo. And then there’s Ana—’

‘Don’t, Pez. It’s hard enough. I need no reminding.’

The dwarf sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Enjoy your light mood. Without the Vizier around, thank Lyana he felt obliged to keep Ana company, we can all be carefree,’ and he began to mimic soaring like Shahin. ‘I’m going to find Jumo and our wonderful falcon,’ he called behind his back, flapping his arms and struggling up the sand dune.

The other men were already excitedly running up the dune to catch Jumo, with Pez in hot pursuit, pretending to chase them down as
Shahin had done her latest kill. Lazar had to admit he did feel lighthearted—he couldn’t remember when last he felt this way—and he paused alone in the sands to savour this moment of pleasure.