“Inos!” she said. “Your Majesty! Even if we are right, and his Greatness is a . . . has been deceiving us . . . at least we have his protection at the moment. This is notorious bandit country, Sire; you told us so yourself, and—”
“They will certainly not be looking for victims heading in that direction.” Azak’s voice was a deep certainty in the darkness. Then he added thoughtfully, “I wonder how many of the legends are spread around for just that purpose—to keep the caravans from seeking ways around the Slaughterhouse?”
Kade tried another tack. “But travelers in Thume vanish and are never seen again!”
“Not necessarily. I have heard minstrels talk of it. Third Lionslayer’s father crossed Thume, so he says.”
“But what good will it do? Surely the fastest way to Hub—”
“The fastest way to Hub is a ship from Ullacarn,” Inos agreed, sounding excited. Her logic was often shaky; it became notably precarious when she was excited. “But if we are still in Rasha’s clutches, then she will make sure we never get near a ship in Ullacarn. She will certainly never let us appeal to the Four, Aunt. She has been meddling in politics—abducting me from my kingdom, interfering in Azak’s rule in Arakkaran. The wardens will squash her, and she knows it! We can travel to Hub through Thume, can’t we?”
“If we are not molested,” Azak agreed. “A month’s ride, perhaps, to Qoble. We can be there before winter closes the passes. “
Another month on a camel! Or was he thinking of horses? Kadolan wanted an armchair, a stationary, down—filled armchair. And there was no guarantee that the wardens would be of any assistance, anyway. This was all just a dream of idealistic youth. These two youngsters could not believe that the world could be a place of injustice, which it certainly was, much of the time. The Four might well spurn their pleas without a thought, or decree some solution even worse than the present situation, murky though that seemed.
“A month?” Kadolan protested, knowing that all her protests were vain, but determined to try. “By then Nordland and the Impire will have come to some agreement about Krasnegar, and—with all due respect, Sire—the emerald sash of Arakkaran may well be gracing some other ruler. The wardens will dismiss your petitions as historical curiosities!”
“Perchance! “ Azak said equitably. “Then I shall merely ask that they remove my curse, so that I may marry your niece. That matters more to me than all the kingdoms in Pandemia. “
There was a pause, when Inosolan should have agreed, and said nothing.
Kadolan reached for another arrow, and there were only two left in her quiver. One of those she must not use, so she tried the other. “But to anger a sorcerer?”
“Personally I should like to disembowel him with a gardening fork! ” said Inos. “Horrid old fat fool, messing around with my mind! I am not going to hang around here so that Rasha and Warlock Olybino can marry me off to a goblin. Can you get us out of here, First Lionslayer?”
“Your wish is my command, my love. “
“Are you coming, Aunt?”
Kadolan sighed. “Yes, dear. If you insist,” she said, and she left the other argument unspoken. For weeks that giant young djinn had been wooing Inosolan as best he could, but for a Zarkian male to be seen spending time in the company of a woman, and especially his supposed wife, was to risk seeming unmanly. Thus Azak’s courting had been seriously handicapped. Now he would have Inosolan all to himself, from dawn to dusk, uninterrupted. True, he would still be hampered by his inability to touch her—what a blessing that curse was!—but she would have his undiluted attention.
Inos had been handling him very well. She had neither spurned nor encouraged. She had been tactful and kind, promising nothing, committing to nothing. The poise she had learned so well at Kinvale had stood her in good stead so far. But she was very young; she was homeless and friendless, and in great need of support. Alone with Azak for an entire month or longer, could even Inos continue to resist his logic, his persistence, his undeniable charm?
Kadolan was not a gambling person, but she knew a long shot when she saw one.
5
Day dawned through a strangely undesertlike fog. It might have been a cloud, for by then the travelers were already high into the hills.
Departure from Tall Cranes had been a very educational procedure. Inos had listened in fascination as Azak reduced both hamlet and caravan to utter confusion. Although the visual detail had been obscured by darkness, she had been able to make out enough from the sounds alone.
The famous Code of the Lionslayers had proved to be much less reliable than the proverbs about not trusting djinns. Gold and promises had worked their usual wonders. Although she did not hear the actual words of treachery, Inos could guess that exiled princes would readily succumb to offers of future royal status in the court of Arakkaran—even though they had no reason to expect Azak’s pledges to be any more reliable than their own oaths. However he did it, Azak prevailed and Elkarath was betrayed.
If the villagers had guards of their own posted, then the lionslayers dealt with them—Inos preferred not to know—but probably the foxes had not expected danger from the chickens. Most of the men were absent, anyway.
The camels had been freed of their hobbles and bells, and driven from their paddocks. By dawn they might be anywhere. The rest of the livestock—mules, cattle, horses, even poultry—had also been chased out into the night. Some had tried to follow the fugitives for a while, but had eventually given up. The lionslayers had loaded their familes and taken off south, to Ullacam. When the old sheik awoke, he was going to have much to keep him occupied—marooned and defenseless amid a very hostile population. No one was going to be starting a pursuit for quite some time.
Mules would be better than camels in the mountains, Azak had said, so it was from the back of a mule that Inos greeted the dawn. A mule was not a smooth ride, but the tough little beasts had climbed and climbed and climbed without protest. Already Tall Cranes was a long way back and a long way down.
The night wind had gone, or else it was confined to the valley and the mule train was now above it. A pearly glow filled the air, and she could smell dampness for the first time in weeks. Delicious! The mules’ small hooves clopped on a smooth stone surface.
“A road?” Inos said.
Azak and his mule loomed large and dark at her side, just foggy enough to hint that they were not quite corporeal. His red-bearded smile was visible now, but she had been hearing it for some time in his voice.
“The road to the city, certainly. We have been following it for an hour. It comes and goes. See?” The paving vanished below a bank of sand.
Inos twisted around and confirmed that Kade was in view now also, although misty. She waved and received a wave in reply. Wonderful old Kade! Inos herself sat the lead mule of a string of four, with her aunt bringing up the rear. Azak had kept his mount free, and rode ahead or alongside, as the terrain dictated. Even mules did not argue with Azak ak’Azakar.
Escape! Freedom!
Boulders and a few scraggy bushes appeared out of the fog, paid their respects, and withdrew to the rear like a procession of courtiers. The light was growing brighter, the fog drifting. A few minutes later, the pavement was back again. After a furlong or so, the mules reached a gully where it had been washed away, but Azak found it again on the far side.
He was very pleased with himself. He had reason to be. The current confusion in the Oasis of Tall Cranes did not bear thinking about—meaning that it was very enjoyable to think about. Revenge!
Weary as she was, not having slept all night, Inos could still convince herself that she was thinking more clearly than she had done in weeks. She said so. “I feel as if my mind has been wrapped in a blanket! Sleazy, deceitful old man! Everything feels sharper and clearer.”
“Then you agree to marry me?”
She parried with a jest, and won a laugh. Azak seemed to be feeling the same sense of relief she did. He was flippant and high-spirited. He was totally unrecognizable as the saturnine sultan who had ruled a palaceful of ferocious princes by brute terror. He was in love.
She had seen the same transformation happen at Kinvale, although never on quite such a scale. A man in love reverted to boyhood. He rediscovered fun and frolic, and cheerfully played the fool in ways he would never otherwise have considered. She had seen a normally lordly tribune leap into a fish pond to recover a lady’s hat. Temporary mating plumage, the girls had called it among themselves. It suited Azak. It made him seem much more credible as a husband in Krasnegar. But how long would it last after the courtship was over?