Snare (39 page)

Dawn was turning into morning when they reached the clearing and the compound of wood and vine buildings behind a thorn-hedge fence. As they rode through the gate, Zayn saw a bald man, dressed in a short black smock over leggings, standing in front of the largest building. His captors dismounted and led their horses – and Zayn – over to him.

‘Here he is, Father Sharl,’ the red-haired fellow said. ‘Safe and sound. For now.’

Father Sharl laughed. The crust of growths round his mouth bobbed and quivered. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘For now. The ladies in the congregation are going to enjoy watching this one squirm, aren’t they?’ He raised one hand and saluted Zayn in the Kazraki manner. ‘Welcome, oh blessed one of the gods. You have come to your haven. You have come to gain a glory greater than any on earth. Blessed be your name, and you will live in splendour for the ages of ages. Or that’s what I tell them during the service, anyway. You’re the one who’s going to see if it’s true or not.’

Zayn’s ankles were tied to the stirrups only. He kicked out sideways and nearly caught Father Sharl in the chest. The priest ducked back and spun out of the way.

‘I’m not as old as I look,’ Sharl said, then turned to the red-head. ‘Alayn, cut him down, will you? Let’s bring him inside to meet the god.’

Zayn’s stomach twisted in dread. Two of his captors brought him down, but they left his hands bound in front of him. Sharl and Soutan led the way, while the others surrounded Zayn and marched him into the temple. Morning sun streamed through the windows and lent some of its light to the dais at the far end, enough for Zayn to see the altar. Glittering next to the blood gutter on the stone lay a long bronze knife.

The priests burst out chanting – a deep, rumbling sound that rose and fell in a broken rhythm. They dragged Zayn up the steps and to the front of the altar, then forced him to kneel by kicking him in the back of one knee. This close, he could see the streaks
of dried blood on the altar stone. Behind it loomed an oily green statue of a ChaMeech, haunched and holding a spear.

‘Aggnavvachur,’ Zayn whispered.

‘You’ll meet the old boy tonight,’ Father Sharl said, grinning. ‘In the darkest hour, being as my congregation only comes here when no one can see them arriving.’

Zayn looked at the long bronze knife and began to calculate if he could spring forward and grab it. When he glanced around, he saw that the red-head – Sinyur Alayn, he assumed – had his sword out and ready, and that the three younger priests had fanned out in a semi-circle, ringing him. Apparently this cult had seen other victims become sceptical about the glory ahead of them. Soutan seemed to have gone off somewhere, but a side door opened, and he returned, leading two Kazraks, Warkannan and a beaky young man that Zayn recognized as his nephew.

‘Let’s have a look at him,’ Idres was saying. ‘Is he in here?’

‘Oh yes,’ Soutan said. ‘In front of the altar.’

Warkannan strode over, stepped through the half-circle of guards, and stopped so fast he nearly tripped. For a long moment he stared, simply stared, his lips half-parted.

‘This would be funny,’ Zayn said in Kazraki, ‘if it weren’t going to be fatal.’

Warkannan swallowed heavily, started to speak, glanced at Soutan, at the priests, and finally found his voice at last. ‘No. Not you, Zahir,’ he said. ‘There must be some mistake.’

It was such a perfect Idres remark that Zayn did laugh, a chuckle on the edge of hysteria. He choked it back while Warkannan went on staring at him.

‘No mistake,’ Zayn said at last. ‘I’m the man the Chosen sent, all right, but just to learn something about Yarl Soutan. We didn’t know about Jezro Khan then, and come to think of it, probably no one else but me does now.’

‘Zahir.’ Warkannan took a deep breath. ‘Why?’

‘Why what? Why did I join the Chosen?’

Warkannan nodded.

‘It’s a long story, and I don’t think I have the time to tell you. Do me a favour. Kill me clean, will you? Don’t let the priests hack at me. That knife looks dull.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ Warkannan burst out. ‘Soutan, talk to these damned priests. They’ve got to let Benumar go.’

‘What?’ Soutan stepped forward, his voice rising in alarm. ‘You can’t do that! We’ve got to protect the khan.’

‘Don’t be stupid! Benumar’s not going to harm Jezro.’

‘Besides,’ Soutan went on as if he hadn’t heard. ‘They’ll demand another sacrifice to put in his place. Your nephew, probably – the khan needs both me and you, after all.’

Warkannan’s face drained to ashy grey. He raised his hands and rubbed his eyes, then turned back to Zahir. ‘Why?’ he said again.

‘Why do you even want to know?’ Out of the corner of his eye Zayn could see that Alayn had lowered his sword. He let his voice fade, as if he were so exhausted that he could barely speak. ‘I’ve dishonoured myself, I’ve betrayed you, I was hunting down the khan. For God’s sake, just let them kill me, will you? It’s better all round if they do.’

Warkannan sighed sharply and shook his head. Soutan laid a hand on his arm. The priests turned towards this argument in a tongue they couldn’t understand. Zayn lunged up from his kneel and grabbed the knife from the altar. He had to clutch it awkwardly in his bound hands, and before he could swing it at Alayn, the priests grabbed him from behind. Calmly, in dead-silence, they wrestled him around with the strength born of long practice. Zayn kicked out, broke free, and lunged at Sharl, who lurched to one side and fell. His sword reversed, Alayn rushed over. Zayn tried to dodge, but the heavy sword hilt struck a glancing blow on the side of his head. Alayn had judged his force precisely. Zayn fell, dazed but still conscious and alive. A young priest snatched the knife from his hands.

‘Take him away,’ Sharl snarled. ‘Lock him in the holding cell.’

The young priests surrounded him, lifted him up, and hauled him off. A door behind the altar proved to lead to a stairway. As they started to climb, Zayn looked back and caught one glimpse of Idres, watching with his face twisted in honest anguish.

‘Let me see if I’ve got this right.’ Soutan’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘You want to let Benumar go and ruin everything.’

‘Shut up!’ Warkannan snarled. ‘You’ll get your damned crystals, don’t worry. I won’t insist on taking your trade goods away.’

‘It’s not just the crystals.’ Soutan came close to shouting, then calmed himself. ‘Captain, please! I know you’re upset, but I am
telling you the exact truth when I say that we cannot cheat Sharl out of his victim without giving him another one. He’d never let us leave here alive if we tried.’

‘I suppose I believe that.’

‘Damn you! It’s true.’ Soutan leaned forward, his eyes wide, his hands shaking. ‘Why do you think Alayn’s two men are still here? Alayn would have sent them home if it weren’t for you talking about sparing Benumar. Sharl knows enough Kazraki to figure that out.’

‘All right, I believe you,’ Warkannan said. ‘Let’s see, there’s the three young priests, Sharl himself, and then Alayn and his pair of bodyguards. Then there’s me and Arkazo. I don’t much like those odds.’

Soutan made a gargling noise deep in his throat. His face had gone pale and sweaty.

‘I’m trying to tell you why I’m not going to start a fight,’ Warkannan said. ‘Get control of yourself! The khan needs us, and you know I’d never risk harming Arkazo, either.’

Soutan sighed and wiped his face on his sleeve. They were sitting in the guest house, watching Arkazo pack up their gear. The boy’s shoulders were set, his mouth twisted in a hard line.

‘Kaz?’ Warkannan said. ‘I’ll pack if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I’ll do it.’ Arkazo paused, though, and turned to look at him. ‘I wanted to kill Zayn. I want revenge for Tareev’s death. You know that. But may merciful God forgive me, not like this!’

‘Good for you.’

Arkazo shrugged and went back to work. Warkannan stood up. ‘I’m going to go talk with Zahir,’ Warkannan said. ‘I won’t let him out of his cage, don’t worry. But I’ve got to talk with him, now that I’ve had a chance to think of what I want to say.’

‘I’ll come along and explain things to Father Sharl.’ Soutan rose and joined him at the door. ‘Kaz, I’ll be right back, unless Sharl tries to wiggle out of our bargain. Then I’ll have to stay and argue.’

Arkazo nodded and concentrated on stuffing a shirt into one of the packs. Warkannan hesitated, but he could think of nothing to say that would be a comfort. With a shake of his head he followed Soutan out.

Only later did it occur to him that Soutan had used Arkazo’s nickname.

Zayn had been expecting some sort of filthy cell, but Alayn’s men threw him onto a bed in a small room up above the temple. One of them cut his hands free while another stood guard with raised sword. They walked out backwards, watching him all the while. The young priest slid a barred grate over the doorway, locked it, then stepped back and slammed shut an outer door, made of true-wood. Zayn heard locks snap there, too.

With a grunt of pain Zayn sat up and examined his aching wrists. Red bruises, bloody where the skin had rubbed away under the bindings, ran next to and over the old scars that the ChaMeech had given him. His hands prickled and stung. When he tried to stand, he nearly fell. His head throbbed. He perched on the edge of the bed and began shaking his arms to get the blood flowing into his hands.

Sunlight came through a barred window and cast a pattern of stripes on the red and gold carpet. On the walls hung tapestries of geometric designs in blue and white. A silver pitcher of water and a silver cup stood on a small table, inlaid with mother of pearl. Either the priests wanted their sacrifices to leave life with pleasant memories or they used this room themselves at times. He suspected the latter. Once his hands had recovered their feeling, Zayn poured himself water, hesitated, then drank. He was too thirsty to worry about possible drugs, and the water tasted sweet enough. It helped settle his head; he poured more, tried standing, and found he could walk if he did it slowly.

Cup in hand, he went to the window, which proved to be some twenty feet above the ground. He could see the buildings of the compound, a priest strolling across the lawn in the sunlight, and then the dark encircling forest, rising up higher than his prison. Above, the sun shone in a clear sky. The dark hours of the night, or so the priest had said, would see his death. He had a while yet to figure some way out.

Zayn was just finishing a third cup of water when the outer door swung open. Warkannan stood behind the grate, a nervous Sharl at his elbow.

‘Come to say farewell?’ Zayn said. ‘One last curse before we part?’

‘Stop it, Zahir!’ Warkannan snapped. ‘This is no time for your stupid jokes. Do you think I like this?’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Good. I came to apologize. No man should have to die like this, least of all you. I’m sorry.’

It was so like Idres, that apology. Zayn turned away and with some effort managed to set the cup down. His hands were shaking again.

‘I should apologize to you,’ Zayn said. ‘Idres –’

‘Don’t! Just tell me why.’

Zayn walked over to the grate and held out his hand.

‘A bargain,’ Zayn said. ‘I’ll tell you why if you answer my question.’

Warkannan reached through the bars and clasped his hand. ‘Fair,’ he said. ‘Go on and ask it.’

They shook hands, then stepped back apart.

‘Are you going to try to put Jezro on the throne?’ Zayn said.

‘Of course. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘True enough. So you’re taking him to Andjaro, right? You’ll have no trouble raising troops there.’

Warkannan nodded, staring at his face as if he could read secrets upon it. ‘The most peculiar thing about this,’ Warkannan said, ‘is that I wanted to find you. Back home, I mean, when I heard that Jezro was alive. I figured you’d want to join us.’

Zayn winced. ‘It’s a good thing you didn’t.’

‘A good thing? For us, yes, but I’m surprised you’d see it that way.’

‘You know something? So am I. You know something else? I’m the reason you weren’t arrested. My officers – they asked me about you. I told them that you were the last man on earth to turn traitor. Guess I was wrong.’

For a moment Zayn thought Idres would break down and weep.

‘Gemet turned traitor long before I did,’ Warkannan said at last. ‘He murdered his own brothers. He’s betrayed every precept the Prophets ever laid down for a ruler. And now he’s bleeding the common people white. I can’t stand for that.’

‘You, from your family? Worrying about farmers and shopkeepers?’

‘The family doesn’t come into it. I’ll tell you something, Zahir. You’re the one who taught me to respect the so-called common people. After I got to know you, I had to change my ideas about who was worthy of what.’

Zayn winced and looked away.

‘Gemet’s done a good many more disgusting things than we have time to list,’ Warkannan went on. ‘You know it as well as I do.’

‘Including using the Chosen? Well, in a little while there’ll be one fewer of us for you to worry about.’

‘If I had the slightest bit of choice, I’d never leave you here. Do you believe me?’

‘Yes, I do, actually.’

Father Sharl grabbed Warkannan’s sleeve as if to break into the conversation. Warkannan shook the hand off and gave him a look of such contempt that Sharl backed away.

‘All right, it’s my turn for the question,’ Warkannan said. ‘Why, Zahir? In the holy name of God! Why would you let yourself get sucked into that slimy pack of paid informers?’

‘God comes into it, all right, or at least His mullahs. Now, how do I put this?’

Warkannan crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

‘You know about the forbidden talents, don’t you?’ Zayn began. ‘The twelve times twelve demon-spawn talents?’

‘Yes, who doesn’t?’

‘Well, I carry them, or some of them, I should say. They’re the mark of the Chosen Ones. Everyone thinks the name means chosen by the Great Khan, but no, that’s not it. We were chosen by Iblis, or so they told me.’

Warkannan grimaced at the mention of that evil name. ‘Your memory,’ he said. ‘That damned phenomenal memory of yours.’

‘That’s one of them, yes. And damned is the right word.’