Why had she not foreseen this? And none of her Kinvale training had explained how to handle a giant barbarian swordsman intent on wooing. Think, woman! Think!
“What of your sons?”
“They can take their chances, as I did. My father died when I was seven. He was poisoned.” After a moment, Azak added, “Or I could send for them, if you didn’t mind.”
God of Fools! She was trembling, and his grip on her shoulders would tell him that. Marry Azak? He was a barbarian! A peerless specimen of manhood, maybe, but a killer. Ruthless. Deadly.
“Azak, this is very sudden. I have never even considered such a possibility. It has never crossed my mind.”
“Then why do you snap at Fooni so much?”
Incredible arrogance! “Because she is a nasty, ill-mannered little slut. Not because of you, I assure you! I was snapping at her, as you put it, the first day we met.”
“Yes.”
Azak thought she was jealous of Fooni? Nothing she could say would change that-she had never met a man so stubborn . . . or maybe one . . . Was she fated always to consort with obstinate men? She shied away from that line of thinking, and that comparison.
“What are you suggesting?” Her voice came out much too shrill.
“That when we go before the wardens to ask for justice, we go as man and wife. My curse lifted, your throne restored. I will relinquish Arakkaran for the woman I love.”
Love? How to explain the problem tactfully? There wasn’t any tactful way. Despite the chill of the wailing wind, she was sweating. “Love? Azak, Rasha’s curse has deprived you of—”
He squeezed so hard that she yelped. His eyes seemed to flash in the dusk. His red beard bristled.
“Do you think I don’t know the difference? Of course I need a woman. Desperately! I burn for the touch of a woman, my hands on her body, her flesh against mine. But what I feel for you is something else, something more, something I have never known till now. It is love! It is as the impish poets say, both joy and agony together. I can think of nothing else. I have eyes only for you. I am miserable except when I am with you. I will do anything, just to see you smile. This has never happened to me before.”
Probably it had never happened because any other woman he had ever wanted had been his for the taking. Why had Inos not seen that this might happen? She had worried that she had no hold over Azak. Now she had too much of a hold over him. Love spurned could turn to hatred.
“I have never met a woman like you, Inos!” He was almost shouting. ”That day you rode Evil, I could not believe it. I had not known a woman could behave like that. Your courage, your spirit—” He released her shoulders. “Why do you think I came?”
“Wh-what?”
“To tell the wardens that there is a sorceress in Zark?” He sneered. “Do you think I could not have trusted Kar with that message?”
“I. . .” Inos was speechless.
“And do you think I would have trusted Kar with you?” Why had she not seen that? Blind, foolish, stupid!
Azak sank down on one knee. “Inosolan, my beloved, will you marry me?”
She muttered prayers to all the Gods. When had Azak last knelt to anyone? What would he do if she refused? His intensity terrified her. He was a killer. He was capable of anything. She might learn to love a hard man, a fighter, but only if he had some gentleness in him somewhere. And some respect for her womanhood. Azak had neither. A djinn? Who would reign in Krasnegar-the queen or her husband?
Azak’s arrogance had no limits at all. He knew he was the ultimate male. He would never understand a woman refusing such a mate.
“Azak, when I marry, I must not jump into . . . I mean . . . Oh, Azak! Please stand up.”
Reluctantly he rose, towering over her again. Trust in love! the God had told her.
It was crazy, but it was also horribly logical. Azak was a perfect solution to Krasnegar’s problem. After all the trouble with legionaries, and perhaps with jotnar, the city would need a firmer rule than Holindarn’s. The ideal monarch would be strong, impartial, and experienced. Azak was all of those. Gods!
Think, woman, think!
“Azak, there are too many things we don’t know! Krasnegar may have been seized by Kalkor, or taken over by the Impire, or razed and butchered. The wardens may not want to help.” He started to speak and she shouted,
“You expect me to marry a man who can’t even touch me? Who can’t kiss me, or hold my hand?”
He groaned, as if in pain. “A promise—”
“No! You are being unfair.”
“Tell me that you care, then.”
Not looking at him, Inos said, “I admire. you. I am very grateful for all your help, and I promise I will think very hard about this. Anything more . . . I need time to think. Please, Azak?”
He sighed, and shivered.
“I shall start spitting ice soon. Let’s go down,” she said.
“Yes.”
He took her by the hand, and they started down the slope. There were weeks and months of desert ahead of her and Azak would be at her side all the way.
She did not love Azak ak’Azakar. Not now.
Could she learn to do so? Or could he persuade her? She had watched wooing done at Kinvale, she had seen maiden won against long odds. Hearts could be won, or won over. Love Azak? She did not think she had ever known love, not real love. Maybe if . . . but he had only been a stableboy. What would Foronod and Yaltauri have said to a stableboy! None of the eligible young men at Kinvale . . . Andor had been a delusion.
In a daze, Inos stumbled at Azak’s side as they descended the rubbly slope, back to the tents.
What greater proof of love had any man ever offered a woman? He would relinquish Arakkaran for her, leave his homeland, his throne, his unbounded wealth and unlimited power . . . for her! How could any woman refuse such a love?
Trust in love! the God had said, and at last she understood that cryptic edict.
The God had been speaking of Azak, and Azak’s love.
Wilderness were Paradise:
A book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou,
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
— Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§ 12, 1879)
TWELVE
Take the cash
“Think the Old Man’s going to drop anchor?” Ogi whispered, his imp’s nosiness making him twitch like a dog scenting rats. The captain had just gone by.
“Likely,” Kani mumbled with his mouth full. “He looks almost as old as Rap, here.”
They and a group of others were seated along the gangway, eating sausage and biscuit with their knees up and their backs against the cabins. Some were off duty; some, like Rap, were still too sick to work. On the benches before them, healthier men were rowing their hearts out, timing their stroke to the brutal swell for which Dyre Channel was famous.
The air was warm and still and muggy, with a thin drizzle keeping everything soaked, and clouds hanging just above the masthead. Even in the shelter of the awnings, water dripped everywhere. The storm had blown itself out before it smashed Stormdancer into the iron toes of the Mosweeps, but Rap had not been dry since he came back aboard; nor had anyone else. By nightfall they would reach Thuli Pan.
Rap was going to live. He was as weak as a sick chicken, still prone to sudden spasms of fever and ague, but definitely recovering. Some of the crew were in even worse shape, and everyone agreed that there was a sickness aboard, because no one wanted to admit to being felled by mere thirst and exhaustion; or even near drowning, as in Rap’s case. No one had died. Most were on the mend.
And Rap had just been insulted, so he must give a suitable reply. He spoke around a wad of half-chewed sausage. “Kani . . . I wasn’t eating, I’d feed your guts to the gulls.”
The sailors considered the threat and decided it was adequate. “Do it as soon as we get to Durthing, “ Ogi suggested. “He needs it. Four days now, maybe?”
“Five, more like,” Ballast said in his guttural troll voice. Kani wiped a glitter of rain off his silver mustache. “More. Number One says he’s going to lay over a day or two in Thuli.” Everyone groaned. Rap ate in contented silence, knowing that someone would start explaining something to him shortly. Kani did. “Some of the passengers may quit there. Can’t say I’d blame them after this trip. That means looking for replacements, but most folk’d rather sail than go by galley, ‘cept through the Nogids, see? Either way, we go on to Finrain. On Kith, see? We drop the rest there and carry on to Durthing.”