Her eyes closed, then flickered. A long, broken sigh came from her throat. Talisman ran to the bedside, untying the cord that bound her wrists. Her eyes opened, and a scream formed. Talisman hugged her to him. ‘It is all right, Zhusai. You are back with us!’
Nosta Khan moved to the bedside, and placed his hand upon her head. After a moment he said: ‘She has returned. This is Zhusai. I shall now cast spells to prevent any re-entry. You did well, Talisman, to deceive her.’
‘I did not deceive her,’ replied the Nadir coldly. ‘I shall fulfil my part of the bargain.’
‘Pah! That is insane. An army is marching upon us and the destiny of the Nadir rests in your hands. This is no time to play the man of honour.’
Talisman walked to the far wall and picked up his dagger. Slowly he moved towards Nosta Khan. ‘Who is the leader here?’ he asked softly, his voice cold.
‘You are, but. . .’
‘Yes, I am, you miserable worm. I am the leader. You are my shaman. I will tolerate no further disobedience. I do not play at honour. It is what I am. My word is iron. Now and ever more. We will go now to the Shrine. You will summon Oshikai, then do what you must to send Druss and myself into the Void. Is that clear, shaman?’
‘It is clear, Talisman.’
‘Not Talisman to you!’ thundered the warrior. ‘Now is it clear?’
‘It is clear . . . my Lord.’
‘Why do you hold to my hand, po-et?’ asked Niobe, as she and Sieben walked the ramparts of the western wall. Sieben, his passion spent during the last two hours with her, gave a weary smile.
‘It is a custom among my people,’ he said, lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing them. ‘Lovers often walk hand-in-hand. It is, perhaps, a spiritual joining; or at least a touching that proclaims a couple are lovers. It is also considered pleasurable. Do you not like it?’
‘I like feeling you inside me,’ she said, withdrawing her hand and sitting back on the battlements. ‘I like the taste of your tongue upon mine. I like the many delights your hands can conjure. But I like to feel free when I walk. Hand-holding is for mother and small child. I am not your child.’
Sieben chuckled, and sat back admiring the way the moonlight made her long hair shine. ‘You are a delight to me,’ he said. ‘A breath of fresh air after a lifetime in musty rooms.’
‘Your clothes are very pretty,’ she noted, reaching out and stroking the blue silk of his shirt. ‘The buttons contain many colours.’
‘Mother-of-pearl,’ he said. ‘Exquisite, aren’t they?’ On an impulse he pulled the shirt over his head and stood bare-chested on the wall. ‘Here. It is yours.’
Niobe giggled, then removed her own shirt of faded green wool. Sieben stared at her full breasts, and saw that the nipples were erect. Arousal flared afresh within him. Stepping forward he reached out to caress her. Niobe jumped back, holding the blue silk shirt to her body. ‘No,’ she said. ‘First we talk.’
‘Talk? What do you want to talk about?’
‘Why no wife for you? Your friend has wife. And you are old.’
‘Old? Thirty-four is not old. I am in the prime of my life.’
‘You have balding patch at the crown. I have seen it.’
Sieben’s hand swept up to his blond hair, pushing his fingers through to the scalp. ‘Balding patch? It can’t be.’
Her laughter pealed out. ‘You are peacock,’ she said. ‘Worse than woman.’
‘My grandfather had a full head of hair to his death at ninety. Baldness does not run in our family.’
Niobe slipped into the blue shirt and then moved alongside Sieben, taking his arm and pulling his hand from his hair.
‘So why no wife?’
‘It was a joke about the hair, yes?’
‘No. Why no wife?’
‘That’s a difficult question.’ He shrugged. ‘I have known many beautiful women, but none I would wish to spend my life with. I mean, I like apples, but I wouldn’t want to live on a permanent diet of them.’