“Horse piss, sir. The only message was the Angot post seal, and I told you how he did that.” Putting the letter out of mind, Hardgraa turned his attention back to the maps.
Got you now, Libertine Ylo! Always knew your lechery would be the death of you. Acopulo said you’d go to the Evil crotch first.
“We can move up here, checking every house, and drive him over there. Then he’ll be pinned between the mountains and—”
And Thume. Why did that not feel right?
He looked up, searching the ring of faces until he found the local expert. ”Optio? What’s in Thume?”
“Nothing, Sir . . .
“What sort of nothing?”
The youngster looked alarmed. “Just trees and stuff, sir. Nobody lives there. I mean, nobody ever even goes there!”
“That’s all right then,” Hardgraa said. He glanced at the tribune to make sure he was conscious, or as close to it as he ever got. “You can concentrate forces now, sir. We’ll pin him between the mountains and the Thume border. Bring up the VIIth Cohort to close off this sector. Then . . . Optio, is this river fordable?”
“The Brundrik, sir? I suppose so. But there’s nothing on the other side . . . sir?”
Hardgraa was about to ask what sort of nothing, and realized he’d asked that before. Gods, but he was tired! And he’d have to head out at first light. Two days more, Pretty-boy Ylo, and I peg out your hide! Maybe he could steal a few more hours’ sleep. Still, there was something wrong, somewhere, he just knew it.
“Why does nobody ever go there?” he demanded.
“Where, sir?”
“Across the Brun-thing River. Into Thume?”
“Well—There’s nothing there, sir.” The optio was clearly at a loss, as if Hardgraa’s question made no sense.
It did, didn’t it? He thought it over carefully and decided it was the sort of question that usually had an answer.
He leaned his hands on the chart and glared at the youngster. “What would happen,” he said in his most menacing tones, “if I ordered you to ford that river?”
The optio’s chain mail jingled. “I’d-d-d ob-b-bey, sir.”
“And what would happen to you then?”
“Dunno, sir. An uncle of mine did it and came back mad as midges, sir. Know of a fellow went hunting and got his face clawed off. Most don’t come back, sir.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about them sooner?” I-I dunno, sir.”
“Mmph!” Hardgraa looked for the tribune, but he’d wandered away somewhere. He selected a centurion instead—good man, been at Highscarp. ”Tiny, line up some elvish trackers, will you? If the target should make a break for it into Thume, we’ll have to follow.”
To the ends of the earth, Lecher Ylo. To the ends of the earth!
4
To advance up a valley without controlling the heights was normally rank folly, but sometimes a man had no choice. Short of winching everything—including the camels—up sheer cliffs, the caliph had to come this way. He had interrogated his scouts closely and had even ridden ahead to see for himself, escorted only by the horse cavalry of Fifth Panoply. He had returned satisfied. The sides were too steep for a charge, too high for an archery attack. The upper end was closed by a sizable lake, and there would be a steep climb up a tributary valley on the morrow, but that could be managed. Furkar reported no evidence of sorcery at work, except for the Covin’s continuing surveillance. Azak set a guard on the exit and moved his main force into the valley for the night. It was an excellent location. The floor was level and wooded, with a stream providing the first adequate water the army had seen since leaving Quern.
Following his custom, the caliph rode around as camp was set up, inspecting, criticizing, and acknowledging the cheers of his troops. Arriving back at his own quarters, he observed that the seraglio wagons had been arranged to form an enclosure by the stream, with the gaps between them curtained to keep out prying eyes. A ring of armed men surrounded this silken bivouac, all standing with their backs to it and ignoring the shrill squeals emanating from within.
So his women were enjoying a bathe? Azak told his bodyguard to stand down and ducked through the draperies to enjoy the view. At his appearance, of course, they all prostrated themselves. The sight of seventeen bare bottoms in the air was intriguing—sixteen? One woman had merely turned her back and sat down. That one was a wench of a different color, of course. He signaled to Nurkeen that the festivities should continue, and he continued to watch with approval as the girls began showing off for him; all but that one, who remained where she was. Her defiance intrigued him far more than all the juvenile gymnastics of the others. He began to feel quite aroused. Inosolan was the only woman who had ever humiliated him. Tonight he would administer another rebuke.
At sunset Nurkeen informed Inos that she was his Majesty’s first choice for the evening. Somehow Inos had expected that. She braced herself to endure more hurt, more humiliation. She had absolutely no way of escaping the constant surveillance, and she could acquire no weapon. Her only satisfaction would be to minimize Azak’s enjoyment, and so far her success in that direction had been nonexistent. In Quern she had struggled and he had overpowered her. In his tent, two nights ago, she had remained completely passive, so he had thrown her around. The end result had been the same either way—he was just too big, too strong. She could win no points in this game, except to conceal her fear and distress.
She might refuse to obey the summons, of course, but then she would just be carted to his tent bodily, like a parcel. Or he might even come and abuse her before the rest of his women. That would be no answer. When she had been suitably adorned and perfumed, she set off submissively with Nurkeen and an honor guard, walking into the night.
Someday, by all the Gods, he was going to pay for this! The journey was short. Even in her all-enveloping wool robe, she shivered in the sudden chill of a desert night. Camels bellowed in the distance, and she could hear the thousands of men and horses but she heard those every night. Scenery she had seen only rarely since her imprisonment. Steep mountains framed the valley; the sky over them was afire with stars. Odors of sage flowed down from the hills to blend with the smoke of innumerable fires. Thume, she recalled, was always beautiful. The evil at its heart was human.
The caliph’s tent was very large. The guards remained outside; Inos entered with Nurkeen. Azak was not there. The interior was opulent, with bright-hued rugs and silk hangings, warmed by braziers and lit by lanterns attached to the many poles. Thick quilts had been piled for the royal bedding, and a meal spread out on a cloth nearby. There were damask cushions and two solid chests for documents; no other furniture. “Give me your robe,” Nurkeen said. ”His Majesty will return shortly, I expect. Warm your hands.” Filmy red eyes peered out over her yashmak: “I suggest you strive to please him this time, and avoid unpleasantness.”
Inos said nothing.
The old hag departed, leaving her standing there, garbed only in a swirl of obscenely transparent gauze. Her face was still purple from his last wooing; her shoulder still hurt.
As soon as the tent flap fell, Inos stepped over to the display of food, seeking a weapon. She found nothing more dangerous than a small silver spoon, not even a knife for peeling grapes. She eyed the braziers, but they were cunningly crafted of fretted bronze. If they fell over, the coals would not spill. she might contrive to set the tent on fire, but that pettiness would not harm Azak and he had a million cruel ways to retaliate.
Shamed by her fear, vulnerable in her state of undress, she settled cross-legged in a corner and wrapped herself in a quilt. She had to wait a long, nerve-wracking time. That was probably deliberate. Eventually, though, she heard hooves outside, and gruff Zarkian voices. Then he entered, throwing off his cloak. He wore his usual green-loose trousers and shirt. Across his wide chest the emerald baldric of Arakkaran glittered like a river of green fire. That alone would purchase her whole kingdom, and he was liberally draped with other jewels. When she had first known him, he had preferred to sport the sash as a belt, wrapped many times around his waist. It would not go many times around now. He seemed larger every time she saw him, for he had added beef to his great height. He would be almost a match for the largest jotnar in Krasnegar, even Kratharkran. He was not sporting any weapons. Azak, unfortunately, had brains.