Emissary Read online

  Herezah placed her manicured hand lightly against his arm. “I understood the nature of your invitation. I do not feel compelled to be part of the grisly process of making a team of mutes. I do, however, see it as my duty to stand by my Zar, to support him in all of his endeavors, to help bear the burden of some of the less pleasant tasks, and to share his pleasure at his successes. What you do today is unpleasant but important, Boaz. I know that you like beauty—in this you are your father all over again,” she said, smiling softly, “and that is why I’m here, to be at your side through the uglier challenges of your role.”

  Boaz was once again struck by his mother’s strength. And now she was using it to help him instead of herself. All of his life his mother had used him to elevate herself, but perhaps now that she’d attained the role of Valide—something she had dreamed of since arriving at the palace, probably—she could give her attentions for selfless reasons. He wondered what Pez would say about that. Their final conversation stabbed constantly like a knife in his back.

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said. And meant it.

  The Grand Vizier spoke up. “My Zar, Valide, we will now begin the Making of the Mutes. May I proceed? I must warn it is…messy.”

  “Proceed,” Boaz said, knowing there was no way back now.

  They watched as the physic in charge of proceedings, who was one of the Elim, blindfolded each of the men, except the last one, the man who had not sworn his life to the Zar.

  “Who is that fellow?” Boaz inquired of Tariq. “I have not met him.”

  “No, Majesty, you have not. But I will explain him shortly. Right now the men are being blindfolded because it is believed that the Elim performing the maiming must not see the suffering in the eyes of each victim. It is considered bad luck.”

  “Such a superstitious lot, the Elim,” Herezah interjected. “They don’t seem too worried by what is perpetrated on the women of the harem.”

  Tariq ignored that comment, nodding at the Elim, who caught his gaze.

  The first man was held, his arms pinned from behind.

  “I can see now how the potion makes them compliant,” Boaz whispered to his mother.

  He watched as the Elim physic encouraged the man to open his mouth. Pincers pulled at the victim’s tongue and within a heartbeat the bulk of the tongue had been cut off with a single slice of a keen blade. To prevent fatal blood loss the stump was immediately cauterized with a glowing brand. The man fainted, groaning, but to Boaz’s relief there was no screaming or struggle.

  “They will wait for him to recover before performing the deafening,” Tariq explained.

  “Surely it would be more merciful to do it whilst he is unconscious?” Boaz inquired.

  “But it would be considered cowardly,” Tariq followed up quickly. “This is about bravery and duty, Majesty. I know you wish for this to be easy on the men who give themselves so freely. But the maiming is all part of the test of their commitment. That’s why they do not scream.”

  The blindfold was removed and a cold linen was placed on the man’s face to revive him. As soon as his eyes fluttered open, though he was clearly dazed by the pain, he was quickly restored to his knees and once again held securely, this time by two strong Elim. The physic reached for a vicious-looking needle and Boaz prayed to Zarab that he would not let himself down by looking away. He fixed his gaze somewhere slightly beyond the action whilst not giving away that he wasn’t actually looking and then he told himself to think of something beautiful.

  Ana came to mind—no surprise there. He saw the stabbing movement and resisted the urge to gag as a small, sharp spume of blood hit the physic’s belly. Instead he thought only of Ana’s face, Ana’s hair, Ana’s newly voluptuous body. And as the physic pierced the other eardrum of the brave warrior, this time to the sound of a guttural growl of pain, Boaz turned himself over fully to the daydream of how it might be to lie with Ana, naked.

  He imagined caressing her body, taking his own pleasure from it. He saw himself lying back, lifting her onto his hips, urging her despite her shyness to lower herself so he could slide deep within her. Ignoring the fact that he, too, was a virgin, Boaz envisaged himself as a skilled but gentle lover. As Ana instinctively began to rotate her pelvis, Boaz closed his eyes to enjoy the dream’s climax. Suddenly his mother’s voice disturbed him.

  “Darling?”

  It sounded to Boaz from the slightly strained tone that this was not the first time she had said the word.

  “Yes,” he said, grudgingly releasing himself from Ana’s spell. As he refocused he saw that all the men bar one had ruined, bloodied mouths and running ears. Most were slumped on the floor, propped against the legs of an Elim so that they might retain a modicum of dignity after their trauma.

  “Where were you, my love?” Herezah asked.

  The smell of blood was thick in the room. Boaz suspected she knew he had somehow vanished in spirit, if not in body, from the terrible maiming ritual. “I was thinking,” he said curtly. “We are done, Grand Vizier?”

  One fellow began to wail. The Vizier cleared his throat. “That one might not turn out to be as suitable as we’d hoped. Yes, we have completed the maiming, Majesty.”

  THE MAIMED WARRIORS WERE helped away, leaving one whole man in the room.

  “And this last warrior?” Boaz asked.

  “My great pride, Highness,” the Vizier replied, unable to disguise the smug tone. He snapped his fingers and one of the Elim brought over the young warrior, whose gaze was fixed on the intricately patterned tiled floor. The slave knelt.

  Maliz looked at the young man with pride. It was all about this one youth, the reason for the whole campaign to install a ring of guardians around the Zar.

  “This is Salazin, my Zar. He is the inspiration for this new personal protectorate you now have. I discovered him not so long ago. He is an orphan who learned to tough things out the hardest possible way, Majesty, for Salazin was made deaf and dumb from an early age by an unfortunate illness.”

  “Ah,” Boaz said, nodding. “He needs no maiming.”

  “He is perfect, Majesty, for Zarab made him this way.”

  “And Zarab led you to him, Tariq?” Herezah asked, with a note of irony not missed by the Vizier.

  “I like to think so, Valide,” he said, and smiled privately at how close to the truth he spoke. Zarab had surely led him to Salazin, for Salazin, he hoped, would lead him to Iridor.

  “How did you come across him?” Boaz asked.

  “I was giving alms to some of the orphanages, my Zar, as you have requested. He was from one of the city establishments.”

  “Not the one you aim to close?” Boaz asked mildly.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, Majesty. I paid the orphanage a visit to consider how we would dismantle it, find new housing for its”—he searched for the word, found it—“guests. I needed to consider what would happen to the sisterhood who cares for these youngsters.”

  “Where is this place we speak of?” Herezah inquired.

  Boaz looked at his mother, his glare defying her to make a fuss. “I have promised the Grand Vizier his own villa overlooking the Faranel. He has taken a liking to an orphanage, and although I’m yet to make a final decision, I have given him permission to consider how he will rehouse the present occupants.”

  “Are you talking about the Widows’ Enclave?” Herezah asked, frowning.

  “I think it used to go by that name, yes, Valide,” Maliz answered without hesitation.

  “But that’s for army families,” Herezah protested.

  “Originally, yes,” Maliz said patiently. “But we have not had war in living memory and so now only a few families of the unlucky injured or killed army members live there. The building no longer serves its original purpose, Valide. It’s a huge place for so few people.”

  “But not so huge for one, presumably,” Herezah replied tartly. “My Zar, with your indulgence, I might return to my chambers now. Again, my thanks for including me in this special
ritual.” She bowed, then glanced somewhat angrily toward Maliz before turning back to her son. “Perhaps you’ll take supper with me sometime soon.”

  Boaz stood and helped the Valide to do the same. “I shall look forward to it, Mother,” he said.

  Maliz signaled and two of the Elim were instantly at Herezah’s side to escort her back to the harem. She rehooked her veil across her face dutifully, as she was now leaving the company of the Zar, and elegantly glided out of the room between her burly companions.

  Boaz sighed. “The Valide does not approve of your plan, clearly.”

  Maliz kept his counsel on that subject, schooling Tariq’s features so the Zar could not gauge just how much he wanted that villa. He smoothly changed the subject, gilding the truth as he did so. “Salazin was one of the oldest in the orphanage. I gather from the sisterhood that he has no known living relatives. He has only known silence since an illness claimed his hearing during childhood, I’m told. He makes no sound at all, my Zar. His deafness is profound.”

  “No sound at all?” Boaz repeated, incredulous. “You have tested him?”

  A sly smile crept across the Vizier’s mouth. “I had to, to be sure. I will not go into the detail of it, Majesty, but rest assured that this young man cannot hear and he cannot talk,” He gestured at Salazin. “He will see but he cannot listen in to anything you say, nor can he repeat what his eyes show him.”

  “So he cannot write what he sees either?” Boaz inquired.

  Maliz nodded, reinforcing his lie. “The sisterhood confirms he is illiterate, which is understandable considering his afflictions.”

  “The perfect mute, in other words,” Boaz commented, returning his attention to the bent head of his new protector.

  Maliz nodded. “Indeed, Highness. He is also the strongest of the warriors here, by far the most adept with weapons and with fists.”

  “His age?”

  “From what I can tell, he is around nineteen summers.”

  “Let him stand,” Boaz commanded. An Elim raised the young man to his feet. Boaz reached to lift the man’s chin and looked into his clear gray eyes. “How will he know what is wanted of him?”

  “The sisterhood have their own methods of communicating with him,” Maliz said. “I have been taught its use.” He smiled. “They had no choice but to teach me and now I have schooled all these young men. You, too, can learn it, Majesty. As for this one, he fully understands his role to protect you with his life, my Zar.”

  “If he has no family to give money to, what is his reward for offering his life to me?” Boaz queried. “The others are presumably volunteering because they can offer their families security through the generous gold I presume you have offered.”

  Maliz bowed his head gently. “I did as instructed, my Zar. Each man has been so handsomely rewarded that his family is now well set up for the future. As for Salazin, I cannot say what motivates this one,” he lied. “Except to say that he wishes to serve the Zar. As you sit on your throne by Zarab’s design, Highness. He sees you as our god’s mortal incarnation.”

  “Really? But he was raised by the priestesses—I would have thought—”

  “No, Highness. He despises them, I gather. They are as glad to get him off their hands as he is to leave their care.”

  “But without them surely he would have perished as a child?”

  “I imagine so,” Maliz said airily, as if this were a trivial matter. “It doesn’t make him like them. He is a man of Zarab through and through. That is why he leaped at the opportunity to serve you.”

  “He is that committed?”

  “Oh yes,” Maliz replied, serious now. “But he is not the only one. I must admit I believe Zarab’s hand guided your father in his choice of heir. Most Percherese would feel the same.”

  “I understand tradition, Tariq. I just find it hard to believe that today’s thinking still holds true to this belief.”

  Maliz was astounded. He had not taken into account how protected and thus ignorant the royals had become. “My Zar, with your indulgence, I might suggest that your life is too sheltered. We must rectify this.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, Majesty. We should let you meet some more of your people so that you may know how close to Zarab they truly believe you are. You are answerable only to our god—surely you know that?”

  Boaz nodded. “King of Kings, Mightiest of the Mighties,” he said wearily.

  “Salazin has been raised in a cloistered environment, so his faith is strong. To him you are the embodiment of Zarab himself.”

  “It strikes me as odd, Tariq, that the sisterhood would raise a child to believe so strongly in Zarab, when they themselves worship Lyana.”

  Maliz quickly stifled the anger the mention of her name roused in him.

  “I mean,” Boaz continued thoughtfully, “the Goddess is everything to them, even though her time is long past.”

  “Majesty,” Maliz began carefully. “The sisterhood knows that the very existence of the orphanage is due to the indulgence of the Zar. Their time is long gone. They may not subscribe to the belief, but they certainly understand that, outside of their few remaining numbers, Percheron worships Zarab. They would have no housing, no sustenance for themselves or the families they care for, if not for the Zar’s benevolence. They appreciate that these children need to be raised in the Percherese manner, despite the faith they privately practice.”

  “You’re saying this is their work, nothing to do with faith.”

  Maliz nodded. “That’s a reasonable way of putting it, Majesty, although I might term it as their vocation. Their faith is sadly misplaced but it is also private. We tolerate their silent beliefs and they are allowed to pursue their vocation in caring for the sick, the lonely, the needy, the desperate, the orphaned, and so on, which the royal coffers make possible.”

  “And I am very happy to continue providing,” Boaz replied firmly. “I gave a promise to a sister once that I would care for the temple and I have no intention of breaking my word.”

  Maliz bristled beneath the calm exterior of Grand Vizier Tariq. It galled him that any Zar would offer any form of protection to the hateful sisters of the Goddess. “Nor would any of us expect you to, Majesty,” he said, affecting a soft tone of injury. “All I am saying is that their beliefs remain private. They are not in a position to convert disciples to their broken faith, Majesty. They serve Percheron by caring for those in need.”

  Boaz looked again at the still figure of Salazin. The man had not moved, not so much as blinked, in the time they had talked over and around him, and about him. “Your plan for Salazin?”

  “He is the most complete of all the warriors we have chosen, Majesty. I would make him your most personal of all the servants. My desire is that he protect you every hour, every minute, of the day. Whilst you go about your day, he will be your shadow. And at night, my Zar, whilst you sleep, he will watch over you.”

  “When does he sleep?” Boaz asked facetiously. “And when I wish to have time alone?”

  “I would not advise it, Highness.”

  “Is that so?” Boaz asked, amusement in his voice as he stepped down from his podium and stretched. “Well, Tariq, I can assure you that there will be occasions when I demand privacy that not even a deaf and dumb man can provide. As you’ve rightly pointed out, he still sees.”

  Maliz caught on swiftly. “Of course,” he said, bowing his tall frame in gentle apology. “In which case, my Zar, Salazin will be directed to search the chamber first before waiting just outside.”

  Boaz nodded. “Let him rest, get acquainted with the palace. When does this begin?”

  “Immediately, my Zar. The others will need to heal, but Salazin will take up his duties from this evening, with your permission.”

  “As you choose, Vizier,” Boaz said. “And now I need to take some air…alone.”

  Maliz bowed, as did the mute warrior, remaining prostrate until the Zar had departed. When the two men were alone Maliz beckoned
to Salazin, who followed him to a small room attached to the main chamber.

  The demon signed: I lied about your ability to read and write.

  The mute nodded.

  Maliz continued: The game has begun. You report to me on everything. Everything! His moods, who he sees, whatever he does, I want to know about it.

  Salazin smiled.

  More importantly—far more important than the Zar, in fact—I want to know everything about the dwarf named Pez.

  Salazin answered: It will be done, master.

  Maliz nodded slowly. The mute would, he was sure, deliver Iridor. He was convinced he could sense the aura of Iridor hovering nearby the Zar. He had no idea yet who it could be, but he could not dismiss it. His instincts kept bringing him back to the dwarf. Maliz knew Iridor was far too wily to be the half-wit he knew Pez to be and yet…once, during his freedom—before he had cast out Tariq’s soul—he had felt Iridor’s presence strongly, and to his greater shock, he thought he had also felt the presence of the Lore. He had tried to lock onto it but it had disappeared instantly and he had not been able to trace it back to the person wielding it. And Pez had acted strangely in Boaz’s presence when both Maliz and Tariq had been watching the young Zar. Yet Maliz knew this theory had no real substance. Well, now Salazin would spy constantly, and if Pez was indeed Iridor, the demon could destroy him—and by turn the Goddess, whoever she was—before she had even the chance to rise again.

  Maliz’s smile turned nasty. He patted Salazin on the arm and signed: Tonight you begin your life’s most important task for Zarab.

  7

  Ana now shared a sleeping chamber with only one other girl. History had shown that youngsters put into one main chamber tended to achieve nothing other than a lack of sleep. And although tradition had it that older women preferred congregating together for sleeping, many of the odalisques in this harem were still children. Even most of the older ones remained immature and giggly, with years of growing up to do before they could be considered sedate members of the harem.