Dave Duncan – The Living God – A Handful of Men. Book 4

Quarazak was waiting now for permission to speak. Azak did not tell him to take the solitary chair. Only Furkar ever sat in that chair.

“This,” Azak said softly, “had better be good. Very good.”

“It is, Sire. You will approve.” Ruby eyes twinkled.

Play my own game at me, will you? Oh, he was sure of himself! He was afraid, of course. They all were, always, but Quarazak was much less afraid at the moment than he usually was, or ought to be.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“I brought a prisoner, Sire, one you will wish to interrogate yourself.”

Azak spread his hands on the desk. He should have done that sooner. “A prisoner? I can think of no prisoner who would justify your presence here at the moment except perhaps the imperor himself.”

His son chuckled very softly, deep in his throat. “Hardly.”

“Or perhaps the sorcerer Rap of Krasnegar.” Now there would be an ally!

“No, Sire, but you are close.”

The old wound in Azak’s leg twinked as all his muscles stiffened at once. ”Who is this prisoner?”

“His wife.” Quarazak smiled in triumph. “Your wife, of course, by the laws of Zark.”

7

The Inosolan problem ached in Azak’s mind all the rest of the day, throbbing like a festering wound. Had he been asked beforehand, he would have said that the chances of Inosolan ever returning to Zark were so slight as to be nonexistent, like loyalty among djinns. The timing was so suspicious that coincidence could be ruled out absolutely. What did her arrival have to do with his invasion, though? He could not even guess who had instituted this: Rap himself, or the imperor, or the Almighty? Where did dwarves come into it, or goblins? There was certainly sorcery involved somewhere. Motive, means, culprit all of them enigmas.

Several times he found his mind wandering away from the endless flood of detail flowing across his desk. Inosolan! How could it be Inosolan? It must be an illusion, a trap of some sort.

Quarazak had been sure. He had insisted that she was the woman he had seen at the wedding, so many years ago. On the ship he had questioned her closely, but he said he had used no violence, only threats. He had threatened to have her raped by every man in the fleet, but he had not shaken her story. She was Inosolan. She had business with the caliph, which she would divulge to no one else, and the caliph had a triangular scar on his ribs, about here. Which he did, although it was almost invisible now.

Sorcery! It had to be sorcery.

Azak had sent Furkar off to investigate in person and had then attempted to push ahead with his work. The day before launching the largest war of the century was no time to be woolgathering about a marriage twenty years old, a marriage that had never even been consummated.

Yet, whispered a small voice of temptation.

Quarazak had made the correct decision. Azak had told him so—that he could not fault anything his son had done in a very unexpected situation. As wife of the sorcerer, the woman was of vital importance; as former wife of the caliph, she must be treated as a state secret, concealed from public knowledge. Surprisingly, Quarazak had made a difficult decision correctly, which Azak would not have expected of him.

And Quarazak had replied, “Thank you, Father,” in a very annoying way. Then he had bowed and withdrawn to return to his post.

It wasn’t exactly the way he had spoken that had been so accursedly annoying, it was the way Azak himself had reacted. He had been very tempted to call the boy back and give him command of the Sixth Panoply instead of Tharkan. That would have been a breach of security, for the enemy must continue to think that the navy was doing something important enough to require the personal attention of the eldest—imps were much more impressed by eldest sons than djinns were.

It would have also been a breach of personal security. Throughout Zarkian history, any ruler who had ever begun to feel sentimental about his sons had arrived early for his appointment with the Gods. A firstborn had very little advantage over his brothers, but he did have some, and to provide him with any opportunity at all for military glory would always be rank suicide—the kid would be checking out the seraglio by nightfall. No, Quarazak must do his duty afloat. They also serve who only block the light.

Paperwork! Why must a man who had conquered a world spend all his time chained to a desk when he would rather be out hunting, or reviewing the troops, or dallying in the women’s quarters? To top off all the requirements on the caliph’s time that day came news that his viceroy in Charkab had been assassinated. The culprits would be assuming that the forces he had left in the south were not adequate for massive reprisals. Well, that was true at the moment, but Quarazak’s deception would not be needed for more than five or six days.

Azak dictated orders for the fleet to proceed to Charkab thereafter. After due consideration, he stipulated that the town be razed and the surviving inhabitants enslaved. That would keep all the other cities quiet until he returned.

At noon, as was his wont when he was not hunting, he retired for a rest. Usually he enjoyed a woman at this time, but today he- did not feel in the mood even for that. Doubtless that was the reason he was unable to sleep. Grumpily he ordered his handmaids to prepare his bath. After that, he went back to work.

Inosolan! The only woman he had ever taken to wife and he had never even kissed her.

Yet, said the little voice.

What folly was this? She must be forty. Thirty-six. Six years younger than you.

He had never made love to a woman older than thirty. He retired them then if they had been fruitful, or else gave them to his sons.

A trembling herald from Third Panoply reported that half the water skins had been filled and one-third of them were leaking already. Azak sent queries to all other panoplies and ordered requisitions of barrels, wagons, more draft animals.

Furkar returned at last. The woman was telling the truth, he said.

Azak leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at his court sorcerer while he thought about that. Furkar was the only man in Zark who was not afraid of him. Probably Azak ought to be afraid of Furkar, but he wasn’t. Partly that was mere fatalism-he would die when the Gods decreed, like any other man. Partly it was because he knew Furkar to be utterly dedicated to the cause.

Long ago, impish soldiers had killed Furkar’s father. He detested the Impire just as hotly as Azak did. They had made common cause against it. Furkar had made it all possible, Furkar and his votaries—Azak did not know who they were or how many of them there were, and he never asked. Without that sorcerous assistance, Azak would long ago have died as an obscure sultan. He would never have made reality out of his empty claim to be caliph. He knew that and Furkar knew that. Probably no one else did, though, and certainly no one in Zark would ever dare whisper it.

Furkar had not taken the visitor chair reserved for him alone, so he did not intend to stay long. He wore black, always—a trailing black kibr, and even the agal binding his black headcloth was itself black. Azak had never seen anything of him except his hands and face. They were paler than most, but otherwise unremarkable, except that he was clean-shaven. He looked about twenty-two or -three, but he had looked like that when Azak had first met him, nineteen years ago. He was a sorcerer.

He never smiled. He seemed to have no outside interests, no friends, no interest in women or boys. He never, ever smiled. “You understand, Majesty” he said in the soft tones of the desert men, “that I used a bare minimum of power. The Covin is still probing.”

“I do understand. We agreed. What of her companions?”

“They are in the lowermost dungeon. It is shielded.” Azak nodded. ”Then there are sorcerers among them?”

Furkar’s face did not change expression. “If you wish me to take the risk, I shall do so.”

“Risk?”

“I did not enter the shielding. Together they could be strong enough to overpower me.”

Azak pouted. He detested sorcery, but it was a necessary evil. “Of course. No, I do not wish you to take that risk. Our entire venture depends upon you and your, er, associates. I shall see the woman as soon as I have time. You have no clue as to her purpose in coming here?”