Pez knew the Grand Vizier was looking for any signs that he was being understood, so he sang softly over all the man's words.

"I'm going to be sick," he warned, belching.

"Go ahead, Pez."

Pez ignored him. He thought about screaming but figured it would be useless; they'd just hit him again. He realized both the other men were not far away and there could be more outside. Instead he began to count, in Merlinean, in multiples of eight.

"Pez, who is Lyana?" the Grand Vizier asked reasonably.

Pez belched several times amidst his counting. He really did feel as though he was going to be ill all over Lazar's floor. Blood was trickling into one eye, too. They must have hit him hard enough to open his scalp, perhaps even crack his skull. It hurt enough. Was he drifting again?

"I think you are Iridor and I want to know who Lyana is," Maliz pressed.

In reply Pez spoke louder, managed to break wind twice during his recitation of the Merlinean numerals. He thought about changing into Iridor but that would achieve too little in return for giving the demon proof of what he searched for. In remaining Pez and helpless, he could keep Maliz hunting and desperate. He was glad his body and mind were stronger than the drug.

His captor looked up, frustrated, and nodded, and Pez couldn't help but wonder what that signal could mean. It didn't take long to find out.

11.

Boaz had summoned all of the Pecherese officials and dignatoriesanyone of status who answered to the Crownand now they were all crowded into the Grand Hall of the Stone Palace, their agitation evident, whispering amongst themselves.

The young Zar realized that they were anticipating this to be his declaration of war and they feared the words that would almost certainly signify their own deaths. They believed that the Galinseans would prevail, that no Percherese male would be left alivehe could sense this notion in the room, see it reflected in their stricken gazes.

Boaz bit his lip, vexed that the Grand Vizier was not present. At least the Valide looked stunning, and this gathering was primarily for her benefit. The announcement that Percheron was not going to war tomorrow would bring an equal measure of surprise and assurance for many present.

At this thought his gaze fell upon the large, dark bulk of Salmeo. The eunuch looked smug, no doubt fully confident of his own safety. Boaz was certain the Grand Master Eunuch had already set up his own escape route for when the time came to flee. How unlike Salmeo was to the Elim he ruled; those warriors would gladly give their lives rather than yield their courage. The chief eunuch, by contrast, wouldn't think twice even about the womengirls, in factthat he would leave behind to face the abuse of the Galinsean soldiers.

Boaz blinked as the fat eunuch's gaze met his and he watched with a grinding hate low in his gut as Salmeo's tongue slipped out, wetting his lips in that habitual way. Then the Grand Master Eunuch's head nodded, a soft smile of acknowledgment lifting the rope scar along his cheek. And Boaz felt deep satisfaction that his mother would finally have status beyond Salmeo. What recriminations she might be able to make in this new role against the eunuch would be her business, and Boaz, for one, would turn a blind eye. He looked forward to seeing the effect of his announcement on the Grand Master Eunuch's face, for no one in this room would feel the reach of the Valide's temporary new status more keenly than Salmeo.

He began. "Brothers...and Valide," he said, bowing his head once to his mother. "I have asked you here this morning to share crucial news regarding Percheron's future." He held his hand up for silence as alarmed mutterings rose. "Let me assure you that the Crown is doing everything within its power to avoid war," and then he began crafting the explanation for his departure to the desert in such a way that anyone listening could be forgiven for thinking it was more like a victory address than a prewar speech. Anyone that is, except Salmeo. He alone felt the undercurrent of this announcement and what it could mean.

The Grand Master Eunuch had come to this gathering out of courtesy. He had been asked because of his position and, no doubt, because of his contacts across the realm that could be used to spread the word of the heir he was hearing so much about. But he had no intention of fighting it out to the last, of bravely dying for the harem. Zarab's Fire! He would not put himself at the mercy of the Galinseans, who would likely take genuine glee in further punishing the senior royal eunuch and the keeper of so many beautiful girls.

No, Salmeo was canny enough to know that remaining in Percheron, should the situation escalate to war, would be suicide. And his escape plans were well advanced. He had hoarded and stashed coin at strategic points for easy access and had supplies already in place along the river. He intended to escape by royal barge initially, then switch to a sturdy riverboat that had been positioned at a secret location. He would travel with two well-armed and capable accomplicesnot Elimwho would be responsible for his needs and for rowing him to relative safety. Horses and covered cart would be waiting to whisk him further from Percheron, headed northeast to begin with, then south.

Extraordinarily enough, he might actually be heading in the direction of home. Whether he got back to his village was left to be seen and he didn't much care if he did or not. That place wasn't truly home anymore but simply the country in which he had been born before being captured by slavers. He had been taken at the age of four with his father and older sister, seven at the time. The children had watched their mother's throat slashed open with such force it had nearly taken off her head when she'd fought back against the attackers. He wondered at the luck of his two older brothers to be playing in the cave network above their village at the time of the raid. And he had watched with wonder the fight go out of his fathera huge, proud man, leader of his tribeas the slavers had systematically begun killing a child of the village each time he refused to cooperate. In the end his father had had no choice but to capitulate to their demands; the three members of their family had been selected to go with the caravan back to Percheron. The slavers had not been Percherese, of course, but that mattered not to the young boyPercheron was the destination and that made it the culprit in his shocked, immature mind.

Salmeo's father had died of an infection from one of the wounds he had sustained in the initial brawl following the attack on the village, although his youngest son knew the truth, had watched as the chieftain deliberately pushed his chained hands into the decomposing bowels of a large dead animal their captors had forced him to lie next to. Salmeo could still remember the powerful stench of rotting meat, could still recall the moment when his proud father had smeared those huge hands, now dripping with the creature's waste, into his wound, his eyes full of apology to his son.

"Look after your sister," were his last coherent words to Salmeo. The chieftain had begun his slow descent into death during the course of that night, and two days later their captors had left him on the path, still bound, to die alone in terrible pain. He mercifully had slipped into a delirium by then, but Salmeo had looked into his father's blood-filled eyes and seen the flare of pride that the chieftain had somehow beaten the slavers. That moment of despair for Salmeo but triumph for his proud father had shaped the boy. Just a few years later, when a cleric was proclaiming him "of age" and Salmeo realized what was to happen to him, he had sworn that he would rise above being simply eunuch; he would carve his own position, his own base of power. He might bow to a new royal, but privately he would never give loyalty, and everything he would do in the future would be for his own gain. He hated the world for what it had done to his family; he especially hated the Percherese and their pampered Zars. Salmeo smiled; now, almost five decades later, he had been true to that promise. He had even killed his own sister, slipping out from the palace before she was to be bedded by a man who had recently purchased her. He had kissed her gently good-bye and strangled her as she slept, for fear that she might become a plaything for a filthy Percherese. She had certainly been beautiful enough to catch the eye of a wealthy man and she had been just ten, ripe and already long-limbed and graceful as a ferez deer. He remembered brushing his fingers over her lids to cover those once laughing liquid eyes, dark as the feathers of a crow she had once kept as a pet. She was a chieftain's daughter and she had been forced to be a servant, but she was bed slave to no one. He had seen to it.

In his own particular way, over the years, he had stayed true to his oath, disrupting the life of the royals as best he could. He had been there when Zar Koriz had infamously died by the banks of the river after eating the poisonous bloatfish. No one knew that the Zar's fine knifework had been flawless in removing the deadly fish liver but that a young, fleet-footed Salmeo had ensured that a little of the liver was tossed back into the food and eaten by the Zar. And Joreb? Oh, he had bided his time. When the Zar had chosen to display his prowess on the horse and had come uncharacteristically unstuck, Salmeo had seized the chance he had waited on for decades, and poisoned Joreb. A tiny amount of drezden added regularly to the Zar's food had worked wonders; the physics, too frightened for their own lives, had not picked up on the poison trail and had never made the connection that the Zar had been murdered. This recollection made Salmeo think about his most recent use of drezden. Such a pity, he thought, that someone had been wary enough to spot his favored poison in the Spur not so many moons ago. He had gotten away with it, regardless, but the death of cringing Shaz, the young inflicter who had known too much, had been necessary. Again Salmeo's patience had been rewarded. He had waited for the chaos of the first Galinsean delegation to distract everyone at the palace and then it had been so easy to contrive a drowning for the hapless Shaz. It had been reported back to his masters, of course, that he had drunk too much liquor one night with his winnings from a game of krosh, either falling into the harbor or being pushed by disgruntled losers of the game. Either way Salmeo's secret was safe. Another loose end tied off.

Salmeo actually smiled at his own cleverness, although the expression died on his face as he came out of his private thoughts and registered the last few words of the Zar's most recent sentence. Had he heard right? It seemed the Zar was mindful that not everyone would believe what he had just said and was reinforcing the point.

"Yes, brothers, you heard me correctly. I am leaving our realm in the very capable hands of the Valide, who has my authority to rule by proxy until I return. Forget that she is female, that she is my mother, that she belongs to the harem. From today, she is your Zar and you will obey her. She has my instructions and I trust her implicitly not only to follow them but to rule well in my stead. Anyone found to be defying the Crown Valide, as she is to be addressed, will face death upon my return. So, my brothers, I implore you to help her through this highly difficult time. Do as I say and spread word through Percheron that I go in search of the filth that has defiled my wife, stolen the heir of Percheron, and insulted my reign. I will bring him back for your pleasure and let the people decide his fate. His name is Arafanz...let everybody know."

Salmeo didn't hear any more. He couldn't care less about Ana, or the heir, or which renegade was insulting whom. But he did care about his own huge neck and how it was threatened right now by the woman staring down from the dais, directly at him, and clearly smiling behind her veil.

Pez was gasping for breath. Physical pain was not something he had had to face much of during his time in Percheron and he had always felt safe in the knowledge that the Lore could protect him anyway. Not now, it couldn't, not with Maliz bending over him. He knew that if asked, he would not even be able to describe the pain racking his small misshapen body.

The Grand Vizier had screamed at him throughout the shocking agony he had inflicted upon Pez, but though his body now lay slumped, broken, slashed in places, and even partly dismembered, he had given the demon nothing but nonsense. He had wondered, amid the exquisitely bright pain, how he'd become so brave. He'd had nothing but willpower and the memory of Zafira's courage under the same torment. But it was that thought of Zafira that had urged him to utter the few words he did. Perhaps some small good could come out of his death.

The blood loss had to be enormous. He could feel himself floating. He wished he could let go and simply float away but Maliz ensured the pain was sufficient to bring him back to the nightmare.

"Well!" the Vizier said, holding up Pez's little finger, bloodied and hacked from his hand. "That's the last of them," he said, throwing it aside to land near the other nine, discarded on Lazar's tiles.

"What did he say?" a new voice asked.

"Not that it's any of your business as a hired thug, but he told me that the Valide was made pregnant by the Spur in the desert but is hiding it well. I'm being led to believe that Lyana is connected to the Valide...does that make sense?" he asked, the sarcasm bitter and cutting.

"None of it. But I think he's dying."

"That's the point." Maliz sneered.

"You never said anything about killing the royal's dwarf."

"I'm not sure I ever mentioned killing you either," Pez heard the Grand Vizier reply and assumed he had dragged a blade across the man's throat, for fresh blood gushed over Pez before the man collapsed on top of him with a strangled groan.

He heard, rather than saw, the Grand Vizier stand up from his grisly work as the man's accomplice ran in.

"Are you going to kill me or get paid twice as much?" the demon demanded. "Your friend's always been a liability. Finish the job and have his share." Maliz was only barely controlling his anger, Pez realized, and inwardly he found a dull spike of humor as he understood that the demon was confused. His mind was likely racing back to the desert, wondering how true the dwarf 's claim might be. Pez hadn't admitted knowing anything about Lyana but the mere suggestion of intrigue was leading the demon's overactive mind to make assumptions.

Pez didn't hear the second thug reply but he presumed money spoke louder than the threat of death because the dead companion was suddenly being dragged off him. Pez played dead himself. He couldn't be far from it anyway.

He heard a guttural roar before feeling a rib crumple inward as the Grand Vizier kicked him, no doubt in deep frustration. Fortunately his head was turned to the side, so Maliz did not see him squeeze his eyes tighter as a new wave of pain coursed through him. He prayed to Lyana for a quick death.

"Wrap him in that rug and toss him into the sea. Get someone to clean up this mess. No evidence of bloodshed. Be quick!" the Grand Vizier said with obvious disgust. "What a waste of my time!"

The burly accomplice began to roll Pez into the blood-soaked rug. It took every ounce of the dwarf 's determination, holding the face of Lyana in his mind, not to scream out in agony.

"What did you want from him?" the man asked. "Everyone knows he's a half-wit."

"Feebleminded or notI needed to know which."

The man laughed, the sound dull through the rug. "You believed he could be sane?" he asked incredulously, and chuckled again.

"Not after what I just did to him, no," Maliz said, his tone as sharp as his hidden blade. "Get rid of him and your friend here." Pez heard what had to be a pouch of gold hitting the floor. "There's plenty more of that if you keep your mouth shut. If you don't, you'll be dead before you have a chance to spend the first karel. Be warned."

He didn't hear anything further. Presumably the Grand Vizier had left. Within minutes after being heaved onto the shoulder of the paid thug, Pez felt himself falling. He was barely conscious now but just aware enough to realize he had obviously been tossed over the side of Lazar's balcony. As he fell into the sea he had only a moment to send his undying faith to Lyana with his apology for failing her once again. Death had come sooner than expected.

Although the rug absorbed a lot of the impact, he felt the last of his intact bones sigh and give way just seconds before he began to drown and Lyana welcomed her most beloved disciple to her dark and icy depths.

And as Pez's drowning began, the skies overhead darkened with uncharacteristically heavy clouds that momentarily obliterated the sun, plunging the city into gloom. At the same moment many Percherese would later swear an earthquake began as a series of tremors, adding yet more terror to the already besieged land. The initial cracks that had curiously formed down the great giants who guarded the harbor now widened alarmingly and some believed their precious icons were preparing to crumble and crash into the sea.

But the giants were not disintegrating. Instead they bellowed in anguish to the only person they knew would hear.

Lazar, sitting on a horse, awaiting the arrival of his Zar, seething that Pez was not present as they had arranged, had looked up, surprised, as the heavens darkened without warning. A minute later he was overwhelmed by the outpouring of grief that hit his body so hard he had to dismount, half falling to the ground as Beloch and Ezram groaned into his mind: Iridor dies!

12.

Ana was leaning comfortably against Arafanz's chest as he reached his arms around her to hold the reins, guiding the camel on its plodding journey across the sands.

She had fully lost track of how long she'd been at the fortress now, but her taut, swollen belly told her that enough time had passed to be nearing the end of her pregnancy. And although the passage of time had been vague for her, she was aware of the subtle change that had washed over her during her confinement. Curiously, for the first time in her life she felt at peace. Since the day in the cave when the glittering pillars had welcomed her, Ana had felt as though she belongednot to anyone in particular, but to this period in time, to this place...especially to the desert. If not for the quiet pain of losing Lazar for the second time, Ana would say she was happy...truly happy.

That early, horribly insistent nausea of her pregnancy had passed and her baby had begun to move inside her a couple of moons earlier. Low in her body she had felt the faintest of flutterings. At first she thought she was imagining it but it recurred, becoming stronger. Consciousness? Her baby had become a person! The fluttering that she had convinced herself was a tentative unfurling of a hand had now evolved into something more dramaticakin to an awakening. This baby seemed to be constantly on the move, one moment low, the next high in her chest. She was explaining it now to Arafanz.

"Feel here," she said, taking his hand and guiding it to her belly in what was a familiar gesture.

"Ah, that feels decidedly like an elbow," he replied, genuine pleasure in his voice.

"Very good. I forget you're an old hand at this."

She couldn't see him shrugging but felt it. "I didn't take enough notice of Razeen growing in my wife's belly. I regret it deeply. Now that I share this baby's growth with you, I realize it is something magical, something every father should participate in."

Ana sighed. Even though she had quipped that she still felt like a child herself, this child coming into her life made her feel suddenly very grown up. And in truth she was thoroughly enjoying this maturity. It helped that the enforced separation from the harem and everything that had become so familiar to her gave her enormous pleasure as well. She felt at peace. "That's a good way to describe it. My child seems to know precisely what to do and when. It's a magic only it understands."

"The baby and your body are one, Ana. Don't forget that your body also knows what to do. It possesses its own knowledge of how to nurture the babe, keep him safe, nourish him. I am sure he hears your voice and knows you already." He paused, adding a moment later, "To be a mother is to be closest of all to Lyana."

She snuggled farther back into the security of his chest, privately amazed by how comfortable the two of them had become when they were alone together. "Yes. I wish I understood what she wants from me."

He leaned his chin on her head. "We shall see what your role is in due course, although I say again that it is the son you carry that is of most interest to Lyana."

Ana didn't think so but kept her own counsel as she wondered at which point over the past few moons she and Arafanz had become close friends. All animosity had disappeared. Now they ate together of an evening, took regular walks, and especially enjoyed these rides alone. She watched from the rooftop of the fortress as he continued to train his men for the coming battle and he was always aware of her presence, acknowledging her with a glance, a brief wave, sometimes that rare smile. They were actually never long apart these days. But the knowledge of what Arafanz planned for the palace and all attached to it sat like a festering sore in her thoughts. She picked at it often, felt it bleed along with her sorrow for Boaz and all his dreams for Percheron. Yet she hated herself for allowing it to scab over so easily when Arafanz permitted his caring to shine through and charm her. These quiet times alone with him away from the fortress were special; when it was like this, she didn't see him as Lyana's zealot but simply as a man, with all the usual frailties and desires. She sensed he was allowing himself to cleave far closer to her than he knew he should. There had been moments when what was disguised as simple, polite gesturesa guiding hand, a helping arm, moving a wisp of hair from her face, or more recently, briefly massaging her back when she mentioned how much it achedfelt tender, meaningful. Right now, her leaning in so carefree a way against his broad chest, his chin resting casually atop her headanyone could be forgiven for thinking them lovers. If she was honest, this shift in their relationship frightened Ana. She loved Lazarthat would never changebut it scared her that she could harbor such intense fondness for someone else.

There! She'd allowed it out into her mind. She was attracted to Arafanz in spite of the darkness she attached to him; she would be lying to herself if she admitted anything else. The attraction, she knew, had a lot to do with her longing for Lazar; the two men were very similar. But Arafanz had qualities of his own that she found irresistible, especially his vulnerability. For all his arrogance and unswerving faith in himself...Arafanz was mortal. He was prone to all the same temptations of his men, even though he had convinced himself he was impregnable to any attack, especially any weakness in his heart. She sensed, rather than knew, that Arafanz was in love with her. He had never voiced anything along such lines but her intuition told her he only barely controlled his feelings. She wanted to hate him as completely as she had when she had first met him but she had seen a different side to him that she enjoyed. And now, with the birth of her child almost upon her, Arafanz had become her closest confidantthe friend she trusted.

He gently squeezed her shoulders. "Are you all right? You're very quiet."

"I was just thinking about us."

"Us?"

"What is this relationship between us, Arafanz?"

His hands stopped working. "I don't understand."

"You do. You're being coy. And there's no need to because there's only us. You are my captor and yet you go to such lengths to give me freedom. You are my enemy but you are also my close friend. When we met, you treated me with scorn and yet why do I feel something else blossoming between us? Is this a deliberate ploy or can you not help our bond either?"

His large hands returned to massaging her neck through the linens of her sand veil. It felt wonderful and she wished she could ask him to pay attention to her lower back, which was particularly painful today. She hadn't yet mentioned the soft bands of pressure that came now and then, moving up and down her belly. She had to assume these were early warnings of what was to come when her son was ready to enter the world.

Arafanz's voice was thick with emotion when he finally replied. "I want to be impartial about you, Ana, but that is not as easy as it seemed to be before I'd met you. Ellyana should have warned me."

"Is that why you kept me locked up and remote?"

Again he didn't answer immediately. "You are too insightful. Yes, I didn't want to know you. I just wanted to follow my cause, keep to my set path. We have been building toward this for too many yearssince the day you were born in factbefore, even."

Again the mention of his knowing of her birth staggered her inwardly. But she kept her poise. "Is that why you punished those men?"

"Not entirely. I did need to show you how committed we are to Lyana."

"Not entirely?"

"I was angry. Hurting you, threatening you, did help to make me feel immune to you."

She gave a soft anguished groan. "It's so wrong. I wish we could give those men their lives back."

"They gave them willingly."

"To Lyana perhaps. But you made them sacrifice their lives for no gain in the cause to which they pledged their lives."

He held a long silence this time before clearing his throat. "You shame me."

"You didn't need me to do it. You've felt the shame anyway."

"You know me too well."

"I hardly know you at all."

"That's where you're wrong, lovely Ana," he said, stroking her aching back.

She arched it, unsure whether her reaction was from pleasure or fright from enjoying it, an attempt to escape his touch.

He was about to say more when the skies deepened above them. "What" Arafanz began.

And Ana shrieked as a sharp pain seared through her belly, and her babyshe knew it was the child even though her head told her it was impossibleopened a passage into her mind and spoke to her in an ancient tongue. "Iridor dies. It is not his time." The voice was beautiful but anguished and it tore at Ana's heartstrings.

Disoriented, Ana overbalanced, while Arafanz, in an effort to prevent her injuring herself, slid off the beast with her, toppling below and breaking her fall as they hit the soft sand.

"Ana...Ana!" he shouted, terror infusing them both.

She hadn't realized she had screamed Lyana's name just before they fell but she could hear it echoing off the rock face.

"Please," Arafanz begged, scrabbling out from beneath her, "tell me what is happening. Have your pains begun?"

She didn't know what to tell him. She shook her head in silent fear as tears leaked out of her eyes and dampened her hair. Surely Pez was not dying?