This was one of three wagons used to transport the royal seraglio when the caliph campaigned—a small part of the royal seraglio, apparently. Only the most favored concubines had been selected. They were all greatly impressed by the honor. They were all very young and lovely. Except Inos.
She gritted her teeth as she listened to their inane chatter. She kept her own council when they praised their lord the caliph and congratulated themselves on their good fortune in being allowed to serve him. Inos puzzled them greatly. She answered all their questions—and told them nothing, because they had not known what to ask. They were barely aware that there was a world beyond the harem walls, or people other than djinns.
At times they puzzled Inos. They could be as vicious as adders in their talk, and once in a while would fly at one another with nails slashing, yet there was a strange innocence about them. They were pets, like fish in a bowl. Since childhood they had been taught to believe that their only purpose in life was to please the caliph and breed him sons. They saw no world beyond Azak. He was their God. How could they possibly be happy with minds so stunted? But they were happy. By and large, Inos had never met a group of people so content.
She preferred the company of these juvenile rabbits to that of their supervisor—Nurkeen, keeper of the caliph’s women. Nurkeen was almost certainly one of Azak’s innumerable sisters, and she was a poisoned prune of a hag. Nurkeen was no rabbit. Nurkeen and Inosolan were fire and oil. Fortunately, at the moment Nurkeen was riding in one of the other wagons.
There had been a brief stop at noon. Zarga, who was all of fifteen, had been summoned to the caliph’s tent. Now she was reporting to her companions. He had been very happy with the progress of the army. He had been jovial, also very energetic and demanding. That was always a good sign. She had pleased him and given him great satisfaction. He had said so.
They always said that. Mindless little idiots!
He might even send for her again this evening. They always hoped that—twice in one day was a lifetime triumph.
He had wrapped the emerald sash around her naked body before he coupled with her. That was a very great honor. The others all hastened to claim that he had done that with them, too, many times.
The wagon rumbled forward, tipped, straightened, lurched. Outside, in the fresh air and sunshine, soldiers were singing a marching song as they trudged. Its theme was the glory and invincibility of the caliph.
Zarga glanced pityingly at Inos. “It is very foolish to resist him,” she said primly.
“I daresay,” Inos retorted through her swollen lips. “It was because I would not resist him that he struck me.”
The others all looked puzzled. “But if he told you to resist, then why did you not resist?”
“Just chicken, I guess,” Inos said grimly. Her shoulder was the worst, but she had other sore places and few of them were the fault of the wagon. “Is it true he uses magic to maintain his virility?”
Squeals of shocked denial . . .
No one had ever suggested such a treasonous idea in Inos’ hearing, but the remark was enough to bring the conversation around to sorcery. She was a captive and must endure what her captor dealt out, but in the process she was taking the opportunity to learn as much as she could about Azak and Azak’s rise to omnipotence in Zark and Azak’s use of sorcery. Azak would probably have been very surprised to know how much his concubines could reveal of his affairs when Nurkeen was not around.
What use this information might ever be, Inos had no idea, but one thing she knew for certain—some day she would get even with Azak ak’Azakar ak’Zorazak. One rape on a desk and two in his tent, and the tally sheet was likely to grow longer before this journey was finished.
6
For months Rap had lived in a world where sorcery must be handled like gold in a back-street tavern, hoarded and concealed, to be expended only in dire need. Thume was not like that. The Thaile girl had already flaunted power around him—to restore his strength and clothe him—and now she released it in a thunderbolt.
The sun-baked beach vanished and the sounds of the sea were cut off as if by an ax. He staggered with shock as he found himself within a massive jungle, a giant tangle of ancestral tree trunks and sodden undergrowth. The air was as clammy and heavy as a wet sponge, the light a faint greenish glow in primordial gloom, all sound muffled. He heard Kadie whimper close by and wanted to grab her up in his arms, but he resisted the impulse. Kadie was going to need slow care and love and much patience. At the moment she seemed happier with the Thaile girl than with him; that rejection tormented him, but he would not distress her more by interfering. Dimly he made out his two companions, and then a cliff of ancient, crumbling masonry, shrouded in moss. The pixie was already entering down a slippery ramp of humus, leading Kadie by the hand.
Rap followed, into a wet, black crypt. Two corner doorways led through into another chamber, which was brighter only because it was not entirely dark. The flagstones were cold and gritty under his sandals. Blank walls soared up into darkness. He paused, awestruck by the grim majesty of this ancient shrine. Here was sanctity, and sadness, and unutterable authority. Whatever he had expected in Thume, it was not this. He could not have expected this anywhere.
“What is this place?” His voice came out in a whisper, as if afraid to ruffle the dread stillness.
“It is the Chapel,” Thaile murmured. “I think Kadie and I had best wait here, King Rap. You are expected.”
Indeed he was. He had an eerie sensation that the building itself was conscious of his presence. Its windows were gaping wounds, irregularly shaped and positioned, toothed with broken fragments of stone tracery. The proportions were all wrong, somehow sinister. As his eyes adjusted to the faint glow penetrating the jungle outside, he saw that there were no furnishings within the Chapel, other than one small chair in a far comer. An indistinct figure sat there, waiting for him. With a conscious effort, he began to walk.
Then he located the core of the mystery, the source of all this sanctity and power. Sorrow poured out from the fourth corner, radiating from the ground itself. His hair stirred as he registered the anguish and undertones of rage. Whatever it was, it knew he was there. It resented him.
With measured step he approached the woman on the chair. Had he not been told to expect a woman, he would not have known her sex. She was muffled in a dark robe and cowl, and she did not show in the ambience at all—strange indeed! He could not explain that, but he remembered Shandie’s story of the woman who had appeared to him with word of Wold Hall, and he knew that the circle had closed. That mystery was solved at last.
When he had met Lith’rian they had bantered with the ritual greetings of various races. Who could know the greetings of the pixies, which had not been heard in a thousand years? And who could ever use levity in this awful place?
He stopped a respectful distance from her and bowed low. “My name is Rap. I come in peace.” If she was mundane, why did his farsight not penetrate her garb? If a sorceress, why was she not visible in the ambience? What was she?
For a long moment she sat silent. Then her voice came like a whisper of wind in trees. “I am the Keeper.” She lifted a hand from her lap and laid back her hood.
Instantly Rap knew what she was. The haggard face, the tortured eyes, the raw suffering—he had never seen their like, but he recognized them at once. Things became much clearer.
He sank to his knees and bowed his head in homage. She sighed. “You know me for what I am.”
“Lady, I do. I also knew five words once.”
“For how long?”
“A few months.” He cringed at the memory. “And you?” he whispered.
When her reply came at last, it was even softer. “Seven years.”
He could not imagine what seven years of such an ordeal would be like, nor what they would do to a living being. Her every moment must be torment, a struggle merely to continue existing within the suffering flesh. A demigod never slept.
“You are not welcome here,” she said. “But you know why I have come.”
“The follies of the Outside do not concern us.”
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