The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (83 page)

Jashien smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes. It was a long ride today.’

‘May I join you?’ asked Baralosus.

‘Me?’ Jashien looked around at his meagre camp. ‘I haven’t anything to offer you. I can fetch some food and wine . . .’

Baralosus put up a hand. ‘No. I’m quite good.’ He sauntered up to the fire, feeling its heat against his face. Jashien was staring at him. The king looked around, not wanting anyone to overhear him. There were things on his mind, the kind of things kings rarely talk about. For some reason, Jashien seemed the perfect foil.

‘Sit,’ he directed the young man. ‘Go on with what you were doing.’

‘I was lacing boots, Majesty.’

‘Then go on with it,’ the king insisted. He waited until Jashien sat himself back onto the sand. Jashien shrugged and placed his boot in his lap, but his hands moved distractedly this time. He grimaced uncomfortably.

‘My lord has something he wishes to say?’ he ventured. ‘Your pardon, Majesty, but you look troubled.’

‘Why would I be?’ asked Baralosus. ‘Because my daughter has left me? Because I have to go kill a hero? Because I have sand in my shoes that’s making my feet ache?’ He flopped down onto the ground and angrily began unlacing his own boots. He didn’t care what Jashien thought of him or how ridiculous he looked. When he had his first boot off he tossed it aside, undid the other, then began massaging his feet with a sigh of utter satisfaction. ‘I have been drinking.’

Jashien spoke carefully. ‘Then you should rest, Majesty. Sit here with me.’ He smiled. ‘It is a fine night. Quiet.’

Baralosus looked around. ‘Yes, it is quiet. Is it always so quiet out here, so far from the city?’

‘Oh yes, Majesty, always. This is a good place for a man to come and think.’

‘And to get bitten by a scorpion. Take no insult, Jashien, but I prefer my palace to all this sand and drowa dung.’

‘But it is peaceful here, Majesty, and here you can get away from all the others. This can be a palace, too, if you know where to look. Even the moon is different here. Look how grand she is.’ Jashien gestured toward the bright orb. ‘It is like she has come out only for us. Don’t you think?’

Baralosus stared at the moon. ‘Yes . . .’

He felt old suddenly. He saw Salina’s face in the moon.

Jashien put down the boot, setting it down beside him. He had come back to Ganjor twice with bad news, both times delivering it to the king himself. Baralosus knew him for what he was – a good man, loyal and devoted to the throne. But there had always been a hint of admiration in his voice when he spoke of Aztar. Aztar’s strange glamour worked on men like Jashien, and Baralosus did not know why. The king stretched out his legs and leaned back against his palms, still looking contemplatively up at the moon.

‘Kailyr and the others – they’ll come looking for me soon,’ he said.

‘Not much time, then,’ said Jashien. ‘Will you tell me what troubles you, Majesty? I think that’s why you came here.’

‘I want to know about Aztar,’ said the king. ‘What do you think of him, Jashien?’

The question set Jashien off balance. ‘Aztar? He is a fool, Majesty. That is what I think.’

‘And what else?’ probed the king.

‘I think he has made a mistake.’

‘And what else?’

‘Majesty?’

‘No, Jashien, don’t do that. Don’t tell me what I want to hear.’ Baralosus sat up and glared at the man. ‘I came to hear the truth from you. I want to know what you think of Aztar, and what you think he’ll do.’

‘Majesty, I can’t say what is in the man’s mind. Or in his heart. He does love your daughter. That is what I think.’

‘Kailry says he won’t fight. He says Aztar is merely playing games with us, still, and that he wants more from me than what I’ve offered.’

Jashien shook his head. ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘Minister Kailyr was not there with me, Majesty. He did not see Aztar’s face. Or your daughter’s. There is real love there. He will fight for her.’

‘He’ll die if he does.’

‘Yes,’ Jashien agreed, as if there was no question of the outcome.

‘So? Is he insane? He has no chance at all. If I have to kill him, what will Salina think of me? He is a fox. He has played me into a corner.’ Baralosus frowned in frustration. ‘And what will you think of me, Jashien?’

‘Me, Majesty?’ Jashien laughed. ‘What should that matter?’

‘I want to understand. I want to know why men love him. They follow him, you see, and not just the Voruni. You admire him, Jashien. I can see it when you speak of him. If I kill him . . .’ Baralosus closed his eyes. ‘I’ll be the villain, not him.’

‘You’ll be the king,’ said Jashien. ‘Majesty, make no mistake – you are the King of Ganjor. No one hopes for Aztar to best you. He is like a myth, but that’s all. He is a good story to tell. You worry what the people will think of you? If you do nothing, you look weak.’

‘And if I come back with Aztar’s head on a pole?’

‘Yes,’ said Jashien. ‘That’s what you must do! Take his head and hang it from the palace door. Then you will show the people who is the king and who is the brigand.’

‘What? Really?’

Jashien nodded seriously. ‘Yes, Majesty. Nothing less will do. Prince Aztar has offended you. When he is killed, go to him yourself and cut off his head. Take it back with you to Ganjor. Then show it to everyone. Show it like a trophy.’

‘But Salina . . .’

‘Majesty, you came for my advice, yes?’

Baralosus nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now you know what you must do. It doesn’t matter what your daughter thinks of you after this. You will have her back, and you can lock her in her room forever if you like. But Aztar has to die, and the people have to see that he is dead. If it turns your stomach, Majesty, then you should not have come here.’

Baralosus should have been offended, but he was not. ‘I have a gaggle of advisors who tell me what I want to hear,’ he said. ‘I wrote poetry when I was younger. Sometimes I would read it to Kailyr. Always he told me how wonderful it was, but I was a horrid poet. Now he is doing the same thing.’

‘Minister Kailyr is a friend, Majesty. He believes what he tells you, but he is wrong. Aztar will fight. So Aztar must die. You are ready for this?’

Baralosus tried very hard not to let the wine speak for him. He said in a clear voice, ‘I am ready, Jashien. I will take Aztar’s head myself. And when I have it I will show it to everyone, and they will know that I am king.’

With nothing left to say, Baralosus sat and looked at the moon.

Across the Skein, Prince Aztar knelt beneath the same giant moon. Atop the hill where he always went for prayer, he communed with his god, Vala, asking him for guidance. The Great One’s voice was quiet but Aztar’s heart was open, ready to hear anything the god might say. Alone and not speaking to anyone, he had neglected his evening meal so that he could talk to heaven. The hour had grown late and Aztar’s body ached. The pains that followed him everywhere since the fire plagued him especially when he prayed, but he considered this a reminder of the things he had done wrong, and accepted his discomfort with grace. Aztar liked the solitude of the hill. Mostly, he went to it in the mornings, greeting the sunrise. Tonight, though, he needed Vala’s presence. The Tiger of the Desert whispered his prayer aloud.

‘. . . and I will do as you ask, Most Holy One. I will not flinch from it. Whatever you send to me, I will embrace it. Whatever your fate for me, I will take it.’

Aztar kept his eyes closed as he waited for Vala’s reply. When the Great One spoke to him, it was not by words but with a simple touch on the heart. It was not easy for Aztar to describe this to others, but among the Voruni they understood. It was what made them devout. Aztar unclasped his hands and put them face down on the warm rock. Craning his neck, he looked up at the moon, and past it, toward the heavens. Why did Vala dwell in the sky, he wondered? Why not in the sand or in the life-giving plants? The answer came to him instantly, and he smiled.

So that He can see it all.

Tomorrow or the tomorrow after that, the hill would be taken from
him. Very soon, he would go to face Vala. Aztar knew this with certainty and was unafraid. Living in his scarred body had become an ordeal. Living without Salina had torn his soul apart. Still, Aztar worried. He had sent Salina away to Jador, and so far she had not returned or even sent word to him of her welfare. She was well, though, and this he knew because his men had returned without her. The Witch of Grimhold had agreed to protect her, as had Jador’s blind Kahana. For that, Aztar was grateful. For that, he had spent the night in prayer, thanking Vala. But there were others that Jador could not protect, and for them Aztar was frightened.

‘Not for myself, Vala. Never for myself.’

He kept his eyes on the stars, desperate for wisdom. Not one of his people had fled the camp, not even now, when the Ganjeese army was so close. They would die, Aztar supposed, because he had spat on Baralosus and the king would have no mercy in his heart. But Aztar knew he deserved no mercy, not for himself. He had slain too many innocents for that. Now, Vala made him suffer for them.

‘If they stay they will die. Shall I make them leave, Great One? Shall I face the Ganjeese myself? Salina will have no chance at all, then. I must take some with me to your presence. Yes?’

He waited, and the answer seemed obvious.

‘Yes,’ he pronounced. ‘That is what we will do. For your glory, I will protect her. She is your servant, so much better than I ever was. And the people of Jador, your favoured. I will protect them, too.’

Was Vala satisfied? Aztar waited for the touch, and when it came it was good. With Vala’s help he had made his decision.

Finally, Aztar lifted himself off his knees, stretching his knotted spine as he rose to his feet. The burns along his body screamed but he ignored them, smoothing down his robe and taking a deep breath of the good desert air. He loved the desert. All he ever wanted was to protect it. Did Vala understand that? He hoped so. It was not good for a man to die being misunderstood.

At the bottom of the hill, Aztar glimpsed a silent figure, waiting for him patiently in the moonlight. He took his time looking at her, admiring her and all she had done for him. She might have been there for an hour or more. Harani was loyal and never interrupted his prayers. With a slight wave he greeted her, then started his decent down the hillside. Because of his many aches he moved slowly, but when he reached the bottom Harani came to offer aid. Aztar took her arm gratefully, letting the young woman guide him toward smoother ground.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

‘Not long,’ replied Harani. It was a standard answer. ‘You told me to come as soon as Fahren arrived back, but I did not want to interrupt you.’

They walked together back toward the distant camp, neither of them hurrying. Aztar took his time before speaking again. He did not need to question Harani. He already knew what she would tell him. Whenever the news was bad, Harani’s pretty face sagged. It was a small change, but Aztar knew her well enough to see the subtle creases. She held tight to his arm as they walked, not hiding her affection. He was her master, and she adored him. It was not at all a romantic thing. Really, it was so much more.

‘Harani . . .’

The young woman stopped and looked at him. ‘Master?’

‘We are alone?’

The question made her blanch. ‘Yes. Fahren could not convince them, Master. I am sorry. No one else will help us.’

Aztar nodded. It was the answer he’d expected. Asking for help among the other Voruni tribes had always been a gambit. They had no reason at all to stand up against Baralosus. ‘Do not blame them for it,’ he told Harani, seeing the disdain in her face. ‘I asked too much of them.’

‘We do not need them, Master,’ said Harani confidently. ‘We’re still strong.’

‘Not so strong,’ laughed Aztar. He kept hold of her, refusing to go further. ‘Harani, the Ganjeese are only two days away. There are at least a thousand of them. Many more, perhaps. When they come they will kill us. You do understand that, yes?’

Harani’s expression turned serene. ‘I understand, Master. We all understand. We are ready.’

‘Ready to die?’

‘Ready to go to Vala,’ said Harani.

Her answer touched the desert prince. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. It would do no good to tell her to leave him. She would not free herself from the coming storm. Just like the rest of her people, she would stay with him until the Ganjeese came.

And then she would die.