Emissary (42 page)

It was only the memory of Ellyana’s visit that kept Pez strong and resolute. He did not falter from his path and added more weight to his lie. ‘I have to be touching him for the Lore to work,’ he snarled. And something broke inside him as he watched Lazar wilt, his hands cupping his weeping face, his body racked with grief.

‘Lazar.’ It was Jumo, his voice still firm, filled with courage. ‘There is no time now. Listen to me. We never did speak of your parents. You must go on now. You must hurry and get to Galinsea. They are earnest in this war and it has nothing to do with sacking Percheron for its riches. It is about you and you alone. It is about revenge. No language barrier could prevent their understanding of my tidings. They wept at my news—I wept with them. It is over, Lazar, whatever happened between you all those years ago is finished. They lost a son. The heir to their crown.’

With much effort Lazar dragged his head up and looked at his friend again. Pez had never seen him so haggard, not even at the flogging had he looked so completely broken emotionally. During the flogging he fought back. Fought back with grim silence and by somehow holding on to life. Right now he looked ready to give up all of his spirit and let grief kill him in the sands beneath the blazing sun.

‘They want forgiveness?’ he asked incredulously, his voice tight as a drum.

Jumo shook his head sadly. ‘You are dead, remember. No, they want Percheron to pay and they’ll take that debt in blood, unless you and Ana prevent it. I am ready,’ Jumo said into the thick silence. The murderous sludge was inching towards his neck—it would not be long now. ‘Do not let my passing stop your mission, Lazar, or the Percherese will die, down to the last child. He didn’t need to tell me, I could see it in your father’s eyes. It was only your mother’s urging that convinced him to send the delegation, to give Percheron a chance to prepare itself.’

Jumo was fully buried to his neck now and Pez was amazed at how calmly the man allowed himself to sink. There was not so much as a flicker of panic in his eyes. Here was a man resolved to his fate, accepting of his lot and using his last moments to build the courage of his great friend to accept as well and to go on with life. Pez felt the prick of tears at his own eyes and knew he, too, would never recover from this sad scene. Such courage and grace and the best Pez could do was lie to him. He hated himself. He could have saved Jumo, could have kept him somehow elevated in the quicksand long enough for camels to be brought and for him to be pulled free of death. But he could not risk openly using the Lore, not with Maliz so close, not with the demon paying such close scrutiny to him.

Before, he had escaped discovery because Maliz had stumbled across the Lore and not known what he was touching upon or to whom it belonged. And Pez had covered his tracks well. But out here the coincidence would be too great. If Maliz detected magic it was obvious he would put it all together amongst only a handful of people in the desert. There were only Lazar and Pez to be suspicious of and Pez knew that Maliz had probably decided that Lazar was no threat—he was certainly not Iridor. And so in his fear that Iridor would be destroyed before he even fully discovered Lyana, he kept his Lore to himself and refused to risk using it so openly. Maliz would surely come rushing back with the rescue party and everyone would demand to know how Jumo had been kept from sinking. No, no! Too many questions, too much revealed…too much danger to the cause that was Lyana.

‘I’m so sorry, Lazar,’ Pez whispered as Jumo for the first time began to struggle to keep his chin high.

‘Jumo,’ Lazar croaked. ‘I have loved you better than any.’

‘Don’t waste those words on me, my friend. Give them to Ana.’ The mire began to close around the back of his head, now turned to the scorching sun. ‘Lyana, take me,’ he said to his Goddess, ‘I am ready,’ and then he somehow pushed himself beneath the swallowing sands, no longer prepared to wait for death’s wet kiss.

‘Jumo!’ Lazar roared as he leapt to his feet. ‘Jumo!’ He continued screaming it until his voice was hoarse and there was not so much as a mark upon the surface of the quicksand to show where his friend had been. Jumo was fully taken into the depths of the killing sands and was now in Lyana’s embrace.

Lazar, his throat raw, his eyes red and angry and his cheeks wet from helpless, useless tears, slipped once more to the hot sands in a silence thick with grief. After several long minutes had passed and by which time Pez could see Lazar’s naked skin burning, the dwarf rallied himself from his dark thoughts and pulled himself up the dune to fetch the others who were waiting on the other side in their own grim silence.

‘He will need help,’ he said, and they understood.

Whether Lazar was aware of the tenderness shown to him that sorrowful day Pez could not tell, but the Khalid gently picked him up from the burning sands and, having sensed he would not permit himself to be dressed, they made no fuss, simply threw his robe across his scarred back.

‘Walk, Spur,’ Salim whispered, ‘he died with courage. Hold yourself proudly for him.’

They were the right words to say, it seemed, for Lazar finally straightened. He took a moment to press his hands to his face and wipe all trace of tears. Pez privately grieved that the carefree and wonder-filled expression had been cast aside
and the granite-like countenance had returned. Pez wondered in that moment whether Lazar would ever let that sense of lightness enter his world again—he would remember it and similar moments of lightness only as dangerous and heartbreaking; the Galinsean love, Ana of course, and now the hunt—on each occasion he had opened himself up to their pleasures and each time he had been left broken, having lost someone precious.

No, Pez didn’t think Lazar would return from this loss fully and he felt the bile gathering in this throat that he had permitted it to happen when he could have avoided the pain, saved a life…two lives, in fact, if he counted Lazar’s that would forever suffer by this experience.

One of the men picked up the dead bustard and, with a soft murmuring of a prayer, tossed it into the quicksand where Jumo had been swallowed.

‘That meat is tainted,’ Salim said in explanation.

No-one said anything more. The group, with hung heads, moved out silently from the now innocent-looking patch of desert where death had come to claim a life and left no mark that the man had ever existed, and walked with a heavy tread back to their camp.

‘Ah, meat!’ Herezah exclaimed at the first sight of the men returning.

Ana, who had rallied these past hours, and even got a blush back into her cheeks, noticed immediately that all was not right. ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said, ‘look at Lazar.’

He wasn’t difficult to pick out at the best of times but half-naked it was all the easier.

‘Zarab save us!’ Herezah said, startled yet secretly delighted at the same time.

‘They got the birds, I can see, so the hunt’s been successful,’ Maliz said, frowning. ‘But you’re right, Zaradine, there’s nothing triumphant about this arrival.’

‘There’s one less of them,’ Ana said suddenly, having had the wherewithal to count the party.

‘Probably one of the tribal men has run off or something,’ Herezah said, distracted by the sight of Lazar and the promise of a good meal tonight.

Ana joined the Grand Vizier, who had stood. She squinted. ‘I think it’s Jumo. I can’t see him.’

Her fears were confirmed as the men drew close now, sorrowfully entering the outskirts of the camp where the camels sat patiently.

Lazar strode past the royals but gave a swift glance to Ana, who saw the pain reflected and lost her breath anticipating what was coming. Salim could speak only a smattering of Percherese. He tried to explain but it was hopeless. Pez could hardly translate in present company.

‘What is going on here?’ Maliz demanded.

Pez realised it was up to him, even if he couldn’t explain in straightforward fashion. He
had arrived flapping his wings but now stood still. ‘The sands swallowed Jumo,’ he sang, ‘the Spur has no appetite and the fat birds fell from the sky.’ He began to dance before flapping off, hoping he’d said enough.

The royal party looked back at the dazed group of men before them and one of the Khalid began to mimic sinking, struggling for breath.

‘Drowning?’ Herezah asked. ‘How do you drown in a desert?’

‘Oh, this is ridiculous. Where is the Spur?’ the Grand Vizier said, although he was careful enough to realise this was not a man to be pushed. He walked to where Lazar busied himself, grimly pulling on his robes and tying back his hair.

‘Spur Lazar, we gather something has happened to your friend, Jumo. Would you settle our confusion, please.’ His voice was low, kindly.

‘Certainly,’ Lazar said matter-of-factly but there was a tone of danger in his voice now that the Grand Vizier recognised as the sign of a man on the very edge of his emotions. ‘Jumo is dead. Quicksand. There was nothing we could do.’

‘Spur, I can’t imagine—’ He reached out his hand to convey his condolences in a way that only touch can but Lazar stepped away.

‘I prefer to be left alone.’ It was all the courtesy he could show at this time. ‘Forgive me.’ He pulled on his turban and walked away, Pez crawling on all fours beside him.

The Grand Vizier did not hear Lazar’s comment to the dwarf but Pez suddenly stopped, stood up and watched the tall man stride away.

The fresh meat they had all looked forward to tasted bitter in their mouths. Only the Grand Vizier, it seemed, took real pleasure in the roasted bustard. Even Herezah had the grace to dine quietly and sparingly in her tent but Salim had urged all to eat the food that the gods had provided and that Shahin had risked her life to give them.

Through gestures he managed to convey this and the Vizier took up the torch for him, insisting everyone in the royal party and all the Elim partake of this rare opportunity for freshly cooked food.

‘We have a long journey ahead,’ he counselled, ‘with no idea of when fresh meat will come our way again.’

They ate in moody silence. Pez was nowhere to be seen and Maliz presumed he might be with the Spur, but going by the body language of both earlier, he was reluctant to fully believe the dwarf was welcome at Lazar’s side. He wondered what had happened between them.

Herezah emerged and Maliz was surprised to see her thank the Khalid for their gift of meat. They bowed to her. The desert does strange things to one, Maliz decided, and then he watched intrigued as she cut herself another
piece of the roasted bird and reached for some of the cooling flatbread.

‘You have a good appetite, I’m pleased to see, Valide,’ he said and couldn’t quite mask all the sarcasm in his voice.

‘I eat but little, Tariq, as you should know. This is for Lazar.’

He smirked. ‘Good luck.’

‘The point is, Grand Vizier, we cannot have our guide and our protector dropping dead from starvation. I’m hoping to appeal to his practical side, at least persuade him to eat for his health, if not pleasure.’

‘You’d do better then to let the Zaradine take that food to him.’

Herezah bristled. ‘You think her persuasive powers are greater than mine?’

He regarded her with a soft look of vexation. ‘Are you truly interested in his health, Valide, or would you also appreciate his company?’ He stayed the inevitable rush of insult coming his way by raising a hand. ‘Forgive me. I simply mean that perhaps they can encourage each other through this sorrowful time. They are both miserable and neither are eating. We need both strong and healthy—they are our most important companions. The Spur as our guide into Galinsea and the Zaradine for the deal she must broker.’

She walked back to her tent and looked inside. A quiet exchange took place and Ana stepped out this time, pale and watchful.

‘Come, Ana, you have a task to achieve,’ Herezah said and led the girl away from the camp to where they knew the Spur brooded.

They found him with his head between his knees, long arms encircling all, as if by closing himself off to the rest of the world he could avoid its pain. He heard their soft footfall and raised his head. Ana winced to see the grief in his face.

‘Please,’ he began shaking his head.

‘Lazar, you must eat something. The desert is unforgiving, I’m discovering,’ Herezah began softly, conversationally, ‘it makes no distinction. I gather it will happily kill without mercy, although it prefers the malnourished, I’m sure.’

He nodded, said nothing, although his expression showed a quirk of surprise. She knew what it was—he had never heard genuine gentleness in her voice previously. Perhaps the Vizier was right, she thought, that the desert makes strangers of us.

She pressed on. ‘The journey ahead is perilous enough—you’ve warned us of this so many times—without us adding to the danger through lack of food or care for ourselves.’ Herezah pushed Ana forward towards him and continued arguing her case. ‘Please, eat something. I don’t care whether you don’t taste it or even want it. We all care that you remain strong and see us through this trial. You need this meat.’

The Spur turned his gaze fully onto Herezah now and she felt the familiar weakness that his regard could always provoke. She was used to it being loaded with disdain and felt suddenly unsettled that on this night there was nothing but vulnerability reflected.

‘Imagine what a fine counsellor you could be to Boaz if only you’d…’ He didn’t finish.

‘Yes,’ she said, a little more brightly, ‘the Grand Vizier urges the same. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were in cahoots together.’ She tried to laugh but it came out as a choked sound. ‘But none of you men have lived in the harem to know how it shapes everything about its inhabitants. How it turns you from a happy and carefree eight-year-old into someone who knows nothing but scheming in order to protect oneself. No man can know the fear of bringing a son into this world that you know from his very first cry will probably be slaughtered—except you don’t know when—and that all that stands between him and the blade is what lies between your own legs and how well you wield that weapon to achieve safety for that son.’