Boaz clapped his hands, enjoying the tale. "What happened to Maliz?"

"No one knows. His is a murky history. The old stories say he was turned into a demon. Some believe he still works through others."

"What, today?" the Zar asked, incredulous.

The dwarf nodded. "They say he never died, that his spirit lives on. He just moves from one body to another."

Boaz grinned, impressed. "That sounds rather terrifying."

"Believe me, it is."

"How could he do that?"

"Maliz practiced the Art Noira"have you heard of this?" Boaz shook his head. "Well, suffice to say it is an unpleasant pastime. His bargain gave him everlasting life."

"And Zarab? What did he get out of the pact?"

"The destruction of the religion of the Mother Goddess. Now Percheron prays to Zarab."

"Oh, I see. How very neat."

Pez ignored the flippant remark. "There's a catch, though. Zarab knew the Goddess would rise again, so Maliz's everlasting life was inextricably linked to her."

Boaz frowned. "I don't understand."

"Well, it is because of this link that Maliz can continue to live. It is said that he moves through bodies awaiting the coming of the Goddess, watching and studying who it might be. There will be signs of coursea"Iridor, for instancea"and then once again they will battle it out."

"Iridor?"

"Surely you've seen all the images of the owl around our city?"

"Of course. That's Iridor from the old stories?"

"From Percheron's history," Pez corrected, wondering if his tale was falling on deaf ears.

Boaz's eyes shone. "A brilliant story."

"It's so many centuries old, it feels like folklore," Pez cautioned.

"We still have priestesses, though."

"Indeed they exist, but very few. They remain powerless, though always believing that the Mother will rise again. They are tolerated because most in Percheron hardly know the history and don't care about the women who keep to themselves and keep the ancient unused temples in good orderafor posterity."

"So do you believe Maliz exists, Pez?"

The dwarf hesitated. "Yes," he answered truthfully. "I think he is always watching, waiting."

"You believe he continues to reincarnate himself so that he can watch for the Goddess?"

"He doesn't reincarnate himself, Boaz. He simply claims a fresh body as his old one begins to perish or become too frail for his needs. He is unnecessary as long as she is powerless. As her power increases, so does his."

"So how can either win if each one's power is balanced by the other?"

"They are not equal. At present the balance of power is with Zarab, but that might change as each of the two rivalsa"Lyana and Maliza"has helpers of a sort to assist them to outwit the other."

"Oh?"

"The Goddess, for example, has Iridor. He too only comes into fleshly being as a herald of her arrival. He is her messenger, and as Iridor gets closer to incarnation, Maliz gains strength and goes looking for his new body, new victims to pull into his web."

The mention of claiming bodies had pricked Boaz's interest further. "Could Maliz be anyone, then?"

"Presumably," Pez said carefully.

"Me?"

The dwarf frowned uncomfortably. "I would know if you were," he finally replied.

"Why?"

Pez shook his head. He began to hum to himself. "I just would," he said in a singsong voice.

Boaz ignored Pez's antics. "So he's always alive, then. Always looking for the next victim?"

"You could say that."

Boaz didn't mean to tease but it was rare for Pez to seem in the slightest ruffled, and he pushed his advantage. "Could he be you?"

Boaz had meant it playfully, to loosen Pez's lips again, but the dwarf looked up, alarmed, the mask momentarily gone. Then, within a blink, the vulnerability was gone and Pez was laughing. "No, child. I am too stupid-looking for Maliz to want this body." Pez suddenly became conspiratorial and surprised his companion by radically changing the subject. "Boaz, do you know your mother is welcoming forty-two of the girls from which she hopes one day you'll select your wives?"

Boaz scowled. "I'm not ready to, erayou know."

Pez laid a reassuring squat hand on the boy's good arm. "I know. But she must prepare them for the day when you are ready, so they're brought in very young and taught everything they need to know about palace etiquette and you. Some girls will be marked as special and they will learn their letters and language, dance and poetry."

"I'm not sure I'm interested in girls," Boaz replied glumly.

"I suspect you will be soon. Shall we spy on them?" Pez asked, a glint of wickedness in his yellow eyes.

"What?"

"I know a hiding place. We can watch the girls being presented to your mother. No one need know. Perhaps we can pick out a couple of beauties for you." Pez nudged the Zar, who laughed unconvincingly "You're mad, Pez."

"Apparently I am," and the jester pasted his face with the grin of a lunatic.

EACH MAN WHO HAD secured his quota of girls was required to present them to the Valide. Lazar stomped gloomily through the corridors lined with marble sculpture. Snatches of torch-lit gardens and tiny, exquisite courtyards could be glimpsed through the latticed walkways; the sounds of cicadas singing and fountains gently gurgling permeated the heavy evening air scented with jasmine and honeysuckle. But the Spur was blind to the beauty of the palace tonight.

His mind was filled with worry for Ana, wondering how he might help ease her into palace life, the prison to which he had sentenced her.

There was no way out for her now. Ana had been whisked away by guards before Lazar could say good-bye. The young woman had turned solemnly as she was led away and her sad gaze had held him as though she could actually touch the deep pool of sorrow he thought he hid so well.

Bah! he said to himself. What you need, Lazar, is a soft bed, a good woman for the night, and several carafes of wine. No better way to drown your sorrows. But the words sounded as hollow in his mind as the click of his boots on the marble floor.

He was the first to arrive at the Choosing Room because he was the only man sent out to find suitable girls who had the run of the palace. Like Pez, Zar Joreb had granted Lazar access to the entire palacea"except, unlike Pez, Lazar was forbidden to enter the harem. The others would probably be gathered in the Moon Courtyard, the first entry point into the palace proper, awaiting their escort of eunuch guards.

The Choosing Room was the chamber where the new odalisques were brought to be looked upon and judged. The chamber had been opened only once in the last few decades and Lazar could tell that a veritable army of slaves had been sent in to air, clean, and freshen the room. Now all the shutters were open and the glass lanterns were clean and lit; formal seating had been arranged, including a thronelike setup, presumably so Herezah could play at being a queen and forget that she too had once been brought here as a young slave.

He could feel the bitterness welling up again, knew he must get a grip on it before proceedings began. He emptied his minda"something Jumo had taught him to doa"and focused on the ancient, intricately painted friezes around the walls. He had never visited this room before, and although he recognized the pattern as being common enough in Percheron, now that he was concentrating on it, he realized it wasn't just an abstract shape but in fact was the curve of a cowrie shell. Painted in soft hues, the design rolled elegantly around the walls, framing arches and windows, small recesses and the great doors that had guided him into the chamber. And now that he studied them he noticed that the doors themselves had the same sweeping curves of the shell hammered out of the bronze they were fashioned from. The walls were washed in shell pink and the floors were a pinkish marblea"all in all a thoroughly feminine hall, Lazar decided, impressed.

His pleasure was interrupted by the swish of silks and a voice he knew and despised. "Ah, Spur Lazar," Salmeo lisped. "I hope you've found our boy some beauties to bed."

"Not so fast, Grand Master Eunuch. Boaz will choose his time."

The eunuch licked his lips and Lazar hated the way his pink tongue flicked through the gap in his teeth. There was something quietly obscene in the gesture. "I noticed you admiring the decor," the eunuch said. "It signifies the female forma"did you know that, Spur?"

Lazar shook his head and strolled away as if his interest had been caught by something on the other side of the chamber.

"Ah yes," the huge man continued, following him, "this chamber is dedicated to women. It is where they are formally given into the care of the harem; their last contact with men." He giggled and covered his grin with his huge hand. "But of course they've known no men," he added as if in self-admonishment.

Lazar made a soft growling sound of disgust at this sudden affectation. He'd heard enough stories to know the chief eunuch took his own cruel form of pleasure at the expense of the harem women. Except there were no longer any women in the harem; they were still essentially children, who needed protecting and nurturing. He wanted to laugh at himself for his own ridiculous sentimenta"it was so ironic, since he was one of the perpetrators who had brought children to the palacea"and moved farther away, not wanting to smell the fragrance of violets that Salmeo habitually blew over all those he spoke with.

"Spur, Salmeo."

Lazar turned to find Tariq bubbling over with self-importance.

"Are you required here, Vizier?" Lazar asked, his tone as casual as he could achieve. "Surely your expertise is needed elsewhere?"

The man swelled with pride. "You're right, of course, Spur. But the Valide is keen for me to see all aspects of the palace workings. Establishing a harem is fundamental to the smooth running of the new Zar's reign. She believed it worthwhile that I be present." He shrugged, feigning gentle modesty at her order.

The jewels on his split beard were now accompanied by tiny bells that tinkled as he moved and Lazar was reminded of another reason why he wanted to be gone from the palace. What would happen to Percheron in the hands of Herezah and this supercilious fool? He forced a smile to cover his disgust and breathed a sigh of relief as a gong sounded somewhere close, distracting his companions' attention.

"The Elim come," Salmeo said.

Footsteps sounded louder, and low murmuring voices of men could be heard. Six spotters, as Herezah called them, were led in, blindfolded, flanked by twelve guards, all distinctive by their loose, pristine red uniforms. Each guard had his head shaveda"there was no mistaking the Elim. The spotters themselves were mainly merchants, and among them was a man Lazar was acquainted with. Bosh could supply almost anything anyone could ever want, legal or illegal. Finding young girls for a harem would have been easy for him. Lazar had had his run-ins with him over the years, thanks to the man's natural tendency toward breaking laws, but Bosh was good-natured enough and Lazar would rather deal with ten or even twenty of his kind than one of Salmeo's or Tariq's.

"Why the blindfolds?" Tariq asked.

Lazar refused to answer the mindless question but Salmeo was more enlightening. "Although the Choosing Room is not technically within the borders of the harem, it remains close enough that traditional precautions are still taken. These men have no idea where they are right now and they will never find out. The blindfolds will be removed once the great doors are shut and returned just before they open and the six are escorted back out." Salmeo's smile was predatory. "You are most fortunate that we did not provide similar treatment for you, Vizier." Though the words were delivered lightly, the undercurrent in Salmeo's tone was all too clear.

Salmeo gave a sign and the great doors were closed with a deep clang. The blindfolds were removed and the spotters blinked, got their bearings; Bosh saw Lazar immediately and nodded.

"Welcome, brothers," the Grand Master Eunuch said. "May we offer you some refreshment?"

Curtains at the back of the room were pulled apart and a small stream of servantsa"all malea"flowed smoothly into the room and around the newcomers. Each held a golden tray upon which sat great goblets, dewy on their sides from the iciness of the beverage they contained.

Bosh stepped over to Lazar. "Do you know they lug blocks of ice and sometimes snow from the Azareems, across thousands of leagues, just to chill the palace beverages?" he declared in wonder.

"So I've heard," Lazar replied in a voice to deaden all awe.

The wealthy trader raised his goblet. "To the new harem, then. Zorash!"

Lazar couldn't bring himself to toast the very thing that was making him feel so disturbed. "To beautiful women," he offered instead, and Bosh drank with him, winking as he did so.

"I'm surprised you were asked to get involved in this task, Spur," the man commented.

"So was I. Excuse me." Lazar nodded and moved away.

Bosh was not upset by the Spur's abrupt manner. Everyone in Percheron knew him to be a difficult man who rarely involved himself in anything deeper than cursory conversation. The man shrugged, approached another of the merchants, and was soon comparing notes on the quality of the girls.

Lazar wondered where Ana was, wished again he could change everything that had happened since he'd arrived on that ridge in the foothills. He should have left the tranquil scene as he'd found it; listened to his heart and turned for home.

He had a vague feeling of impending danger. A sense of something dark building, gathering, forming itself. And he was afraid that he was at its center.

9.

Pez led Boaz through a maze of corridors the boy was sure he had not traveled before. Now that he thought about it, his world was so small. Life in the palace might well be grand but everything about his existence was controlled by his mother. Herezah authorized everyone who was responsible for his getting up and going to bed, being bathed, fed, educated, even choosing where and with whom he played, when younger.

He and Pez were thumbing their nose at traditional rules and Boaz knew he had agreed to this lunacy only because he was angry with his mother. It felt satisfying to act independently without worrying about the consequences. I am the Zar after all, he told himself.

Mind you, now that they were herea"in what was the most dangerous part of the whole of Percheron if you were an intact malea"he didn't feel quite so keen to snub authority or risk the certain wrath should anyone, not just his mother, find out. He wanted to say as much, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his friend hissed a warning.

"Now silence, Boaz," Pez urged. "We're about to enter the realm of the harem."

Boaz took a sudden fearful breath. "It's forbidden, Pez."

"Not forbidden to me," the little man said, grinning wickedly. "And let's not forget who you are."

"Nevertheless," Boaz protested, grabbing his friend's short arm, "I cannot. My mother woulda""

"What? Kill you? I think not. Not when you are the source of her status."

"Well, she'd never forgive me."

"What if I told you I could ensure that you were never seen?"

"I should not believe you." Boaz laughed.

"Then you must trust me. I will not lead you into trouble, Boaz. I am leading you toward enlightenment."

Before the Zar could reply, a boy of about his age rounded the corner.

"Zar!" he exclaimed, cringing instantly into a bow.

Pez sighed. That was that, then. Lucky they hadn't actually crossed the official, invisible line that separated the harem from the general palace.