Before she could find a reply to express her annoyance, he laughed. “Our ways seem strange to you.”
“They seem unnecessarily cruel.”
“Anyone who tried to change them would be regarded as a weakling. Not that I want to change them, of course.”
He was baiting her, and she was not going to be browbeaten like one of his princelings. “You killed your grandfather?”
“Kar did, on my orders. The old rogue knew his time was coming. He’d tried to kill me several times.”
“Rasha said he was an adept.”
“Then he was a mighty ineffective one.”
Or else Azak had been aided by another adept. “This shocks you, Inos.”
“It is not the custom of my people.”
“It is old here. You think like an imp. Many imperors have died by violence.”
“But never a king of Krasnegar.”
“Truly?” Azak said skeptically. “You cannot be certain. Kar can slide a bodkin under a sleeping man’s eyelid. That leaves no mark.”
Inos felt sick. “How many men have you killed?”
“Personally, you mean? In fights or in execution? Fair fights or cheats? Or do you also count those I sent Kar after—Kar or others? I suppose a couple of dozen. I don’t keep count.”
“I’m sorry! I should not have asked. It is none of my business, and I should not judge Arakkarn by the standards of other lands.” She turned her attention to the arid and dusty countryside—the goats roaming the dry hills, the greener valleys falling seaward. Now the haphazard little road ran between dry stone walls and thorn hedges, landscape new to her.
But Azak had not done. “I had no choice.”
“What?”
“Even as a child,” he said softly, his voice almost lost in the clatter of hooves, “I was obviously superior. I had to try for the top or be killed myself. The first attempt on my life was made when I was six years old. There have been two attempts on Quarazak already and he is rubbish, barely above average. His brother Krandaraz has survived three tries so far, and even he does not compare to what I was at his age.”
She was horrified. “Kill children? What good would that do?”
“It would belittle me, of course.”
“It is a barbarous custom!”
“It is very efficient. We measure a man by many things, but his virility and the number of his sons count high. So . . . always many princes. Princes cannot work in the fields. It costs money to support the royal family. This is one way we reduce the burden on the country, and we make sure that the ruler is a strong man.”
“Strong?” she said with her heaviest scorn.
“Strong. He must be able to win loyalty, and that requires excellence. He must have iron nerves. He must be cunning and treacherous and totally ruthless. I am all these things. I may kill or banish Krandaraz eventually, if I think one of my younger sons is better. It is an efficient system, good for the land.”
Before Inos could find an answer to this outrageous rationalization, they rounded a bend and there was a village ahead. “Cover your face,” Azak said, “and do not speak.”
The mud-brick houses had low doors and no windows. Possibly the massive walls kept them cool in this blistering climate, but Inos had seen pigsties with more grandeur. The hamlet merged in all directions into olive trees, and there was a scent of oil in the air, barely detectable under the other stenches. The drone of insects was a constant low undertone.
The royal visit had been expected. The single street was blocked by people, obviously the whole population—every man, woman, and child crouching with face in the dirt as the sultan arrived. He reined in Dread, and Inos halted Sesame a few paces back on his right. Prince Kar’s gray drew level on Azak’s left, and the family men spread out on either hand. Then there was a pregnant pause, while everyone listened to the flies and the muffled coughing of the sick.
“Azak ak’Azakar ak’Zorazak!” Kar proclaimed in an astonishing roar, ”Sultan of Arakkaran, Increaser of the Good, Beloved of the Gods, Protector of the Poor. You may greet your lord.”
The village surged to its feet and cheered until it was hoarse. Kar raised a hand for silence. An ancient headman came limping forward and held out a tray to offer Kar a selection of fruits, pastries, and insects. The prince selected a fig, bit half of it, chewed for a moment, and then passed the rest to Azak, who raised it to his lips. Inos thought he palmed it.
“His Majesty has graciously accepted your hospitality,” Kar announced.
The headman scrambled out of the way as Dread moved forward, Kar’s gray following. Uncertain what to do, Inos stayed where she was, sweating behind her veil but very grateful for its concealment. Apparently she had made the right choice, for the family men did not move either. Azak and his brother rode slowly around—Azak inspecting the village, Kar guarding Azak. The sultan took his time, scrutinizing everything out as far as the trees on either side of the road, although he did not dismount and enter buildings. The inhabitants shuffled their feet in apprehensive silence.
Insects buzzed. In the distance a donkey brayed.
A sudden eruption of barking from inside one of hovels cut off in terrified yelps. Inos realized that there were no dogs in sight.
At last the royal inspectors came back to the same place as before, and the headman returned warily to Kar’s stirrup. “His Majesty congratulates you on the condition of the aces.”
“His Magnificence is most gracious.”
“His Majesty inquires when the pits were dug?”
“Pray inform his Beneficence . . . about three months ago.” Kar’s riding crop slashed across the old man’s face. He did not flinch or raise his hands. He bowed. “I was in error.”
“They will be filled before sundown, and new pits dug. ’Twice as many of them, with the male and female areas farther apart.”
“As his Majesty commands, so it is.”
Azak was staring straight ahead, over the crowd’s heads. He had not spoken, or moved a muscle. The old man’s tongue sneaked out to lick a trickle of blood.
Again Kar produced his astonishing roar. “His Majesty will now receive petitions, on any subject except taxes. All may speak freely, without fear. None but his Majesty will hear the words that are spoken.”
With trembling hands, the headman pulled a dirty scrap of paper from his gown and held it up. The baby-faced prince took it. After a glance he let it fall, and a second slash turned the scarlet stripe into a cross. “I said no taxes!”
The old man bowed again and backed away.
“Any may speak!” Kar repeated, looking at the crowd.
A younger man took one step and then halted, losing his nerve.
“Approach!”
Then he came-legs stiff, head held high, and fists clenched.
His rags were barely decent cowering. He sank down and touched his turban to the ground beside the hooves.
“Speak,” Kar said softly.
The petitioner raised his head to address the horses’ knees. “I am Zartha.”
“You may speak without fear, Zartha.”
Zartha licked his lips. “Two months ago an ox we—my brothers and me . . . our ox was struck by an arrow. The wound sickened and it died.”
Kar stiffened. “Have you the arrow?”
The man scrambled to his feet. Head still down, he held up an arrowhead. The prince beat to take it, looked it over, and glanced to the sultan. There was an exchange of nods. Kar slipped the evidence into a pocket and produced a leather bag. “Did you see who shot this arrow?”
The man nodded dumbly at the shadows on the dust. “Would you know him?”
Another nod.
“He wore green?”
A pause, then another nod.
“You may be called to the palace to identify him. If a summons comes, do not be afraid. It is his Majesty’s wish to punish the guilty, whoever they may be, as well as to recompense the victims. None is above his Majesty’s justice, and none below. He gives you back your ox.” Kar began tossing gold pieces down in the dust, five in all. The crowd oooed apreciatively, and the peasant fell on his knees to gather them up, crying blessings on the sultan.
“Any may speak!” Kar proclaimed again. A long pause . . . The crowd rippled. A couple emerged, with a child walking between then, wrapped in a sheet. She could be no more than ten, too young to wear a veil, but the sheet concealed her hair and shadowed her face. Nevertheless, Inos decided she was terrified. The young father obviously was. The mother’s face was invisible.
For a moment nothing happened, while Inos wondered if she would be able to contain her fury. She feared her veil might burst into flames if she looked at Azak. Then the parents opened the blanket, holding it out to the sides so the sultan could view the girl. They made her raise her arms and turn around.