WindBeliever (28 page)

“Enough!” Sajin snapped. “By the Prophetess, McGregor, you’re a walking disaster waiting to happen!”

The first genuine laugh in over two years exploded from Conar McGregor’s lips and he looked at the nomad with a sincere smile.

“We’ll have to see what we can do to you that will attract Cat’s interest.”

Sajin chuckled. “I’m afraid her interest has already been caught and held, my friend.”

There was another genuine, unreserved smile. “You think so?”

The Kensetti snorted. “You know so, you despicable cur.” He shook a finger at Conar. “How can I compete with scars like you have for both our women to grieve over.”

Conar’s forehead crinkled. “Both?”

“Yes, as if you didn’t know you’d caused my sister a tear or two when she saw your back.”

“Sybelle?” the Serenian questioned.

“By the Prophetess, I hope I don’t have but one sister!”

“It bothered her?” Conar couldn’t imagine the woman being upset over something that caused him pain.

Sajin grimaced. “All my life, ever since I was old enough to know the meaning of the word, WINDBELIEVER

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Sybelle has sworn to me she was a witch.” He didn’t notice Conar’s raised eyebrow as he continued. “She swears she can do spells and such, but I’ve never seen anything she’s accomplished.”

“Is she of the Multitude?”

“The what?” Sajin asked, mistaking the glimmer he saw in the sapphire gaze with humor.

“The Multitude. It’s a sect of sorceresses who owe their allegiance to the Great Lady.”

Sajin shrugged away the question. “Sybelle says she owes her allegiance to a goddess named Sirene. She says the goddess appears in the form of a ....”

“Mermaid,” Conar finished for him. “A woman of the sea.” His voice was very quiet, very hushed.

“I think.” Sajin didn’t seem to care one way or the other and he hadn’t heard the strange quality of Conar’s voice. “Anyway, she came rushing to my room that night when she’d seen your back. You do know she and Cat were bathing you?” At Conar’s look of surprise, Sajin wagged his brows. “Only the Prophetess knows just how much of you they saw that night!”

“There isn’t much to see.”

“I wouldn’t think so, either,” Sajin chortled, glancing down at Conar’s lap.

“Bastard,” Conar said affectionately.

“As I was saying, Sybelle came running to me, crying that I shouldn’t fight you. Pleading with me to swear I wouldn’t try taking Cat away from you.”

Conar’s face showed his astonishment.

“Yes,” Sajin acknowledged. “Can you believe it? Then she broke down and cried, babbling something about how I should not make an enemy of you because you are a dangerous man.”

“I am a dangerous man.”

“And a conceited buffoon,” Sajin grumbled. “She said you were a sorcerer, do you believe that? And that I wouldn’t stand a chance if I went up against you.”

“She didn’t take into account the little altercation you and I had the other day?” Conar asked.

Sajin shook his head. “She told me that morning that she put some kind of spell on me and I wouldn’t be hurt all that bad.” He rubbed his ribs. “I don’t know what the lady calls ‘bad,’ but I thought you were going to kill me.”

Conar smiled. “Wouldn’t have happened.”

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A

sorcerer?”

The smile widened. “Of the First Order.”

Sajin rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as her. She tells me she’s a ninth degree Adept, whatever that means.”

The smile left and Conar took a moment before he commented. “It means she’s good at her craft.”

“Yeah, right,” Sajin growled. “Anyway, I just came to tell you I’m wise to you. If you’re gonna be making the women sob over you, I’m just gonna have to come up with something to outdo you.”

Conar’s smile returned. “You do that, Ben-Alkazar. I look forward to whipping your nomad ass.”

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Major Storm Jale stepped from the Inner Kingdom jinriksha and frowned up at the minaret from which a very loud, very eerie-sounding voice was calling. With brows arched in wonder, he watched as the people around him headed for what the driver called a mosque and began to unroll little rolls to spread on the ground.

“It is their prayer time.”

Storm turned and looked at dark man who came up behind him. “I was born in Jabol, but this is not the religion I practice.”

“Once a child of the Prophetess, always a child of the Prophetess,” the man quoted. “You are the gentleman from Serenia?”

“How

...?

“The good captain of the East Wind pointed you out to me. He said you needed a guide to take you to St. Steffensberg.” He held out his hand. “I am Azalon Ben-Hasheed. I have a caravan leaving for the Outer Kingdom at the end of the month.”

A heavy sigh escaped Jale’s lips. “Do you know of one leaving any sooner?”

Azalon shook his head. “There only a few of us merchants allowed across the border. Only one caravan a month may travel into the Tzar’s domain and this month it is my privilege to make that trip.”

Storm looked away, staring out across the sea of men who were bending and bowing toward the mosque. He had hoped to be in the Outer Kingdom before the end of the month, but if there was no other way, there was no other way. He looked back at the dark man.

“Where do you suggest I take lodgings until then?”

Azalon smiled, showing heavily-stained teeth where there were not gaping holes in his mouth. “There is a small inn owned by one of my relatives where you may acquire a clean bed and excellent meals. If you would allow me, I will escort you there.” He held up his hands. “The streets of Asaraba are twisting and there are no signs to point you in the right direction.”

Storm smiled. “Then I would greatly appreciate any assistance you can give.” He put out a hand to stop the man. “Would you be insulted if I try to find someone to take me across the border sooner?”

Azalon shrugged. “You may try, friend, but I doubt you will find anyone.”

“There is a Serenian staying at the Moon and Scimitar Inn,” the spy informed his master. “He looks to be strong and healthy.”

“How

old?”

“Thirty-five,

thirty-six.”

The spy glanced around him. “He has the look of our people, but does not answer the calls for prayer.”

“Is he alone?”

The spy nodded.

“Then, do what needs be done, Achmed.”

Storm turned over in the bed, scowling at the scratchy feel of the rough muslin beneath his cheek. The room was like an inferno and the smells of garlic and curry was thick in the air. His stomach was on fire with indigestion from the spicy foods he had consumed and he had a slight headache. Jale knew sleep would be a long time in coming.

“The things I do for you, Conar,” he growled, lifting up to punch the pillow and regretting it WINDBELIEVER

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for the dust from the feathers rose up to make him sneeze.

He sneezed again. And again, exasperated by the allergy he’d had since childhood. It was as another sneeze exploded from him that he felt something heavy crash down on his skull and he ceased to sneeze.

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Conar and Sajin leaned over the battlements and stared unabashedly at the staggered group of riders entering the palace gates. Now and then Sajin would either sneer with disgust or laugh outright, pointing to men who would glance up at him from the roadway and then away.

“That fool there is Rupert Von Schlesendorf.” Sajin shook his head. “He doesn’t know one end of a lance from another but he’s a fair archer.”

“He’s already been here,” Conar exclaimed. “Why would he humiliate himself again by trying for Cat’s hand?”

“He needs the large dowry that comes with that pretty little hand,” Sajin mocked. “The man took the throne less than two years ago and has already drained his country’s treasury to copper coin. By allying himself with the Tzar, he can pull himself out of the muck of his finances.”

Conar pointed. “Who’s that?”

Sajin shook his head. “Alexi Barishnokov. He’s no threat.” He nodded politely at the man who waved cheerfully up to him. “He’s gay.”

A snort of humor escaped from Conar. “What does he want with Cat?”

“He probably wants to write sonnets and sing them to her.” Sajin clamped his companion’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze. “DON’T, I beg you, ask the man to sing, Conar. He sounds like a rusty barn door squealing.”

“I’ve had experience with that.” Conar chuckled. “You should hear my brother Legion!”

“Cat would go insane having to listen to Alexi. I think the man believes a wife would have to listen to him.”

“I take it he thinks he’s good?” Conar asked.

Sajin shrugged. “He’s godawful.” The Kensetti’s hand tightened on Conar’s shoulder. “Now, there is competition.”

Conar looked down at the man whose black stallion was prancing toward the gate house. By the set of his shoulders and the arrogance of his face, the Serenian prince understood the man thought himself someone of importance.

“That’s Prince Guil Ben-Shanar Gehdrin. He’s the crown prince of the Rysalian southern sector at Basaraba. That jackal riding beside him is his right-hand man, Rasheed Falkar.”

From the look on his new friend’s face, Conar could tell the Kensetti wasn’t pleased to see the Rysalian. “Is there bad blood between the two of you?”

Sajin pushed away from the wall and turned his back to the procession of men arriving for the tourney. He stared out across the battlements, his body rigid.

“Sajin?” Conar questioned.

“Do you know who Sager El-Balidar was?”

A cold shaft of intense foreboding scraped down Conar’s spine and he stared at the man beside him. The blast of a trumpet going off in his ear could not have made him move.

The Kensetti prince turned his head and looked at Conar. “Do you?”

Conar nodded slowly, searching the eyes of the man beside him.

Something dark moved across Sajin’s face and then he looked away again. “How well did you know the bastard?”

It took Conar a long time to answer. “Better than I wanted to.” He thought of the old man who had been the Domination’s Arch-Prelate during his internment at the Abbey as a boy and shivered. He let out a heavy breath. “Is he the one?”

Sajin’s steady gaze lifted to the heavens as a hawk circled lazily overhead. “It was before he WINDBELIEVER

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became Arch-Prelate and left the Inner Kingdom to take up his duties in Serenia.” He squinted as though in great pain. “My mother had taken me to Basaraba for the festival of the harvest. She was Rysalian, a distant cousin of the Gehdrin family, and they had invited her to attend a wedding of another cousin that was to take place that week.”

“How old were you?”

“I was nine.”

Bad memories of his own of the old man kept Conar from asking what he wanted of the Kensetti. If Sager had done to Ben-Alkazar what he had done to Conar, there was no need to ask.

“I never told my mother what happened at the court at Basaraba, but when I returned to Kensett, Sybelle somehow guessed what the old bastard did to me and it was soon after that that she began to talk of joining the witches in the hills.”

“To

avenge

you?”

Sajin smiled grimly. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Was Sager kin to this Guil?”

“Guil is Sager’s grandson.”

Conar turned back around and looked down at the meandering group of tourney participants.

“But your dislike of him goes beyond his relationship to Sager El-Balidar.”

“Yes.”

“Does he know what his grandfather did to you when you were a child?”

Sajin shook his head. “I don’t believe he does.” He turned around and braced his hands on the half-wall. “If he did, he’d have brought it up to me before now.” A crooked, evil smile touched the Kensetti’s full lips. “He is in love with his half-sister, Jasmine, and Jasmine is in love with me.”

Conar looked at his companion and crooked a questioning brow. “His own sister?”

“Incest is best when kept in the family,” Sajin quipped. “Jasmine hates his guts.”

“Has he ...?”

Sajin snorted with contempt. “With Jasmine? She’d geld him and laugh the entire time! No, the girl is a virgin despite her attempts to alleviate that situation.”

“How old is she?” Conar asked.

“Sixteen.” He glanced at Conar. “She met a man from your Wind Force a few years ago and thought sure she’d get him to relieve her of her burden but her father put a stop to that.”

Conar’s face showed his surprise. “Who?”

“I forget his name but he is of royal lineage. He captains his own boat out of Virago.” Sajin looked around at the hearty laugh that came from his friend.

“Paegan Hesar.” Conar chuckled. “I remember now that he couldn’t stop talking about the Rysalian wench he had ....” He stopped, blushing.

Sajin’s face paled. “He didn’t!” A slow nod was the Kensetti’s answer. “Would he lie?” the nomad asked with a look of hope.

“Paegan, lie?” Conar shook his head. “No.”

The Kensetti groaned. “By the Prophetess, if that little conniving bitch had conceived, there would have been war between Rysalia and Virago!”

“He wants to marry her, if that’s any consolation,” Conar told him. “The Hesar’s are good men and Virago is a very rich Principality.” He frowned. “But they’re cousins of mine.”

Sajin shrugged. “That wouldn’t matter to Sadaam Gehdrin as long as the Prince gave Jasmine everything she wanted.” He shook his head. “But if Guil ever finds out his sister was compromised, there will be hell to pay.” He sighed. “The bastard wanted to be the first, and only WINDBELIEVER

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one, to take her.”

“Sorry about that,” Conar remarked. “Do they have the same father?”

“The same mother,” Sajin answered. “Guil is older than me by two years. He courted Sybelle until Jasmine was around ten and then he turned his lecherous attentions to her. She’s a beautiful woman.”