She drew back, her eyes wide with sudden terror as she faced her master.
“I thought not,” he murmured. “What a shame. All that effort wasted. Perhaps you need a new partner in your midnight rites, Chabat. Sorchak’s heart was never really in your attempts anyway. He was nothing more than a cheap opportunist, so your loss is not as great as you might think. Do you know what he called you in private?” he asked her, his eyes alight.
She shook her head numbly.
“I have it on the very best authority that he customarily referred to you as ‘that scar-faced hag.’ Does that in any way mollify your grief?”
Chabat recoiled from him, her face suffused with mortification as she realized that she had just been cruelly humiliated in public. She whirled in rage and kicked the dead man in his unfeeling side. “Scar-faced hag?” she shrieked, kicking the body again. “Scar-faced hag? Rot, Sorchak! And may the worms enjoy your stinking carcass!” Then she spun and fled, sobbing, from the room.
“She seems a trifle distraught,” Urgit observed mildly.
Agachak shrugged. “The shattering of illusions is always painful.”
Urgit pulled absently at his pointed nose. “Her distraction, however, raises certain risks here, Agachak,” he said thoughtfully. “The mission of this slaver is vital to both of us, and an hysterical woman—particularly one with the kind of power Chabat possesses—can be very dangerous. She obviously bears Ussa here a certain enmity, and since he was involved in both her humiliation and the death of Sorchak, I’d say that right now the Temple might not be the safest place in the world for him.”
Agachak nodded gravely. “Your Majesty’s point is well taken.”
Urgit’s face brightened as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Agachak,” he said, “what would you say to the notion of my keeping Ussa and his servants at the Drojim until we can see him safely on his way? That would put him beyond Chabat’s reach in the event that her distraction impels her into any kind of rashness.” He paused nervously. “It’s entirely up to you, Holy Agachak,” he added quickly.
“There is much to what you say, Urgit,” Agachak replied. “A small slip here could put you at the mercy of Kal Zakath and me on my knees before either Urvon or Zandramas. Let us by all means avoid those disasters.” He turned to Sadi. “You and your servants will accompany his Majesty to the Drojim Palace, Ussa. I’ll have your belongings sent along later. You’ll be safe there, and your ship will be ready in a few days.” He smiled ironically. “I hope you appreciate our tender concern for your well-being.”
Sadi bowed. “I am overwhelmed with gratitude, Holy One,” he said.
“I’ll keep the Dagashi Kabach here in the Temple, however,” Agachak said to the King. “That way each of us will have in his hands a vital element in the mission to Rak Hagga. It should encourage us to co-operate.”
“Of course,” Urgit agreed hastily, “I quite understand.” He rose to his feet. “The hour grows late,” he noted. “I’ll return to the Drojim now and leave you to your many religious duties, Dread Hierarch.”
“Give my regards to the Lady Tamazin, your noble mother,” Agachak responded.
“I will, Agachak. I know that she’ll be smothered with joy to know that you remembered her. Come along then, Ussa.” He turned and started toward the door.
“May the spirit of Torak go with you, your Majesty,” Agachak called after him.
“I certainly hope not,” Urgit muttered to Sadi as they passed through the doorway.
“Your Majesty’s arrival came at a critical moment,” Sadi said quietly as the two of them led the way down the hall. “Things were getting a bit tense.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Urgit said sourly. “If it weren’t for the absolute necessity of getting Kabach to Rak Hagga, I’d never have risked a confrontation with the Grolims. I’m sure you’re a nice enough fellow, but I have my own skin to consider.”
When they were outside the nail-studded doors of the Temple, the Murgo King straightened and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air. “I’m always glad to get out of that stinking place,” he declared. He motioned to one of his guards. “Go get the horses,” he commanded.
“At once, your Majesty.”
Then Urgit turned back to the shaven-headed Nyissan. “All right, you sly fox,” he said in an amused tone, “now perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re doing down here in Cthol Murgos—and why you’ve assumed this pose. I almost fainted dead away when I discovered that the mysterious Ussa of Sthiss Tor was none other than my old friend Sadi, Chief Eunuch in the palace of Queen Salmissra.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They clattered through the deserted midnight streets of Rak Urga with the king’s torch-bearing guards drawn up closely around them. “It’s all a sham, of course,” Urgit was saying to Sadi. “I bow and scrape to Agachak, mouth pious platitudes to make him happy, and keep my real opinions to myself. I need his support, so I have to stay on the good side of him. He knows that, so he takes every possible advantage of the situation.”
“The bond between Church and State here in Cthol Murgos is well known,” Sadi noted as they entered a broad square where flaring torches painted the sides of nearby buildings a smoky orange.
Urgit made an indelicate sound. “Bond!” he snorted, “More like a chain, Sadi—and it’s around my neck.” He looked up at the murky sky, his sharp-featured face ruddy in the torchlight. “Agachak and I agree on one thing, though. It’s absolutely essential to get the Dagashi Kabach to Rak Hagga before winter sets in. Jaharb’s had his people combing all of western Cthol Murgos for months looking for a slaver to slip Kabach through Malloreon lines.” He suddenly grinned at Sadi. “As luck had it, the one he found just happened to be an old friend of mine. I don’t know that we need to let Agachak know that we’re acquainted, though. I like to keep a few secrets from him.”
Sadi made a sour face. “It’s not too hard to guess why you’re sending an assassin to the city where Kal Zakath’s headquarters are located.”
“I wouldn’t advise lingering for any sight-seeing after you get him there,” Urgit agreed. “But then, Rak Hagga’s not a very attractive town anyway.”
Sadi nodded glumly. “That’s more or less what I thought.” He considered it, running one long-fingered hand over his shaven scalp. “The death of Zakath won’t really solve your problem, though, will it? I can’t really see the Malloreon generals packing up and going home just because their emperor’s been killed.”
Urgit sighed. “One thing at a time, Sadi. I can probably bribe the generals, or pay them tribute or something. The first step is to get rid of Zakath. You can’t reason with that man.” He looked around at the bleak stone buildings, harshly illuminated by flickering torchlight. “I hate this place,” he said suddenly. “I absolutely hate it.”
“Rak Urga?”
“Cthol Murgos, Sadi. I hate the whole stinking country. Why couldn’t I have been born in Tolnedra—or maybe Sendaria? Why did I have to get stuck in Cthol Murgos?”
“But you’re the king.”
“That wasn’t by choice. One of our charming customs is that when a new king is crowned, all other possible contenders for the throne are put to death. For me, it was either the throne or the grave. I had a number of brothers when I became king, but now I’m an only child.” He shuddered. “This is a gloomy subject, don’t you think? Why don’t we talk about something else? Just what are you doing in Cthol Murgos, Sadi? I thought you were Salmissra’s right hand.”
Sadi coughed. “Her Majesty and I had a slight misunderstanding, so I thought it might be better for me to leave Nyissa for a while.”
“Why Cthol Murgos? Why didn’t you go to Tol Honeth instead? It’s much more civilized and much, much more comfortable.” He sighed again. “I’d give anything to be able to live in Tol Honeth.”
“I’ve made some powerful enemies in Tolnedra, your Majesty,” Sadi replied. “I know my way around Cthol Murgos, so I hired these Alorn mercenaries to protect me and came here posing as a slaver.”
“And then Jaharb picked you up,” Urgit guessed. “Poor old Sadi, no matter where you go, you always seem to get mixed up in politics—even when you don’t want to.”
“It’s a curse,” Sadi told him mournfully. “It’s been following me for all my life.”
They rounded a corner and approached a vast, sprawling building surrounded by a high wall. Its domes and towers rose in barbaric, torchlit profusion, and, unlike the rest of Rak Urga, it was garishly painted in a half-dozen conflicting colors. “Behold the Drojim Palace,” King Urgit said extravagantly to Sadi, “the hereditary home of the House of Urga.”