The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (29 page)

‘And?’ she said.

‘Well, I am confused about why the wind claws needed to be tricked and why you desired that the vizier of Jaa leave Kessia,’ Zel continued politely.

Zel had been present when Saara had instructed her younger sister Lillian to enchant Dalian Thief Taker into hunting down Jennek of the mist, a strange old Karesian with Fire Giant blood. The goal had been to cause the spiritual leader of the city to leave in search of another old-blood, though Zel had been unable to discern why his mistress had done this.

The vizier was called Voon of Rikara. He was chief adviser to the emperor and a man whose word could sway all but the Seven Sisters. Voon had left Kessia shortly after the old-blood had been killed and the common belief was that he’d had a spiritual crisis of some kind, but Zel knew his departure had been a deliberate design of the enchantresses.

Saara smiled tolerantly and gently patted Zel on the cheek. ‘It’s really very simple, young Zel. With no old-blood to counsel him, Voon cannot hear the will of Jaa. Now, do you remember when we spoke about exemplars?’

Zel nodded. ‘Yes, mistress, they were the Giants’ commanders in the Long War. The knowledge of them and their purpose is hidden from most men because the gods dislike their intentions to be known.’ Zel recited this verbatim from the time he’d been schooled by his mistress on the nature of the gods. ‘But if we all serve Jaa, why would it be necessary to remove the only man in Karesia with a direct conduit to the Fire Giant?’

‘You’re still young, Zel, and though I trust you as only a mistress can trust her slave, I cannot tell you everything,’ she said, peering into his eyes. ‘If you had the chance to live free and whole without the influence of those who would seek to use you, would you take it?’

‘I’m not sure I understand, mistress.’ Zel shook his head and screwed up his face in confusion. ‘I’m your slave and exist only to serve your needs,’ he said with genuine sincerity.

‘But I am a human of the lands of men. The beings that try to control us are neither of those things. They are Giants of their own realms and lack understanding of our lands.’

Saara had spoken of this before and Zel had come to accept that the Seven Sisters had a different perspective on the gods from that of the common people. Saara generally referred to them as Giants, and was less than happy to acknowledge their divinity. Zel had always imagined that this was a luxury afforded only to the highest followers of Jaa, but he was unsure where this belief had come from. The Seven Sisters were the priesthood of Jaa, much as the clerics of Ro or the priests of the Order of the Hammer were the servants of the other gods.

Saara sensed Zel’s confusion and patted his cheek again, more tenderly this time. ‘My dear Zel, the day may come when the world will not be as you imagine it. On that day, you will understand; until then, you must listen and learn all you can.’

Zel had left the bedroom door open and a loud bang on the outer doors of Saara’s apartment caused both mistress and slave to jump.

‘I think the Thief Taker may be getting impatient, mistress,’ said Zel as he climbed off the bed.

‘Well, perhaps making him wait will help him to learn his place,’ Saara replied with an arrogant smile.

She slid gracefully to the floor and stretched her arms and back, leaning forward in a pose that would have caused many men of Karesia to feel uneasy. Her naked body was toned, with little fat, and she bore a tree-shaped scar on her lower back. Zel had asked her about it before and had been told that it was a darkwood tree, and that all the Seven Sisters had a similar mark.

Dalian banged loudly on the outer door a second time and Saara glared across her apartments angrily. ‘Zel, please go and tell the wind claw that I will be with him presently and that his insistence is beginning to irritate me.’

Zel made his way to the apartment doors and gathered himself, adopting his customary expression of serenity, before he opened the door and smiled. The wind claws both looked irritated, though Larix stood further back and appeared less keen to knock on the door.

Dalian, however, had an imperious expression on his face and looked down his nose at Zel. ‘Must we wait all day, Kirin?’

‘Not all day, no. I shouldn’t think you’ll have to wait much longer, master,’ Zel replied with a shallow bow.

Dalian stepped closer towards him, trying to exert his authority over the slave. Zel merely smiled, not letting the wind claw intimidate him.

‘Dalian, there’s no need for you to wait, I can see the enchantress on my own,’ Larix said in an attempt to calm his companion.

The Thief Taker didn’t move his eyes from Zel and he spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Your mistress should remember to treat Larix with the same respect with which she’d treat me. Is that clear?’

* * *

Larix the Traveller sat on a low reclining chair. He didn’t lean back or relax, but merely perched on the edge of the chair, a controlled look on his face. Zel placed a jug of sweet desert nectar and two glass goblets on the table and then went to stand behind Saara. Larix averted his eyes from the enchantress and kept his gaze directed at the floor. It was a common tactic with those who sought an audience with the Seven Sisters, as general wisdom held that the Sisters required eye contact in order to enchant people. Zel knew that this wasn’t the case, but he also knew that Saara liked men to think that it was.

‘My lady, I bring news from the north,’ Larix began.

‘Really? News from the north. I see,’ Saara replied with just a hint of mock naivety. ‘Please tell me your news from the north.’

Larix looked briefly up, before pursing his lips and looking back down at the floor. ‘Your sister Ameira sends word that her work is nearing completion in Ro Canarn, and Katja sends word from Ro Tiris that they have begun capturing risen men and have located the Ghost. It seems that whatever designs you have in Tor Funweir are proceeding smoothly.’ The words were spoken plainly, as if Larix did not know the meaning behind the Sisters’ actions and was merely presenting facts as he had been told them.

‘I sense your confusion, sweet Larix,’ Saara said in a low, husky voice. ‘I believe I also sense your disapproval.’

The Traveller shook his head and suddenly appeared to be in some discomfort. Zel noticed Saara smile and saw her slender hand make subtle patterns in the air between them. Larix held the sides of his head firmly and involuntarily looked up, locking eyes with Saara for the first time. The enchantress opened her mouth and breathed out, a gentle distortion of the air, visible as it passed from her lips across the low table to Larix. As she worked her subtle magic, Zel wondered if Larix knew he was now in thrall to two of the Seven Sisters.

‘Larix the Traveller, warrior of the wind claws, you are a loyal and dutiful servant of Jaa…’ she closed her eyes and let out a small whimper of pleasure, ‘and you should be rewarded for your faithful service. The view from my window is most enchanting, please go and see for yourself.’

Larix now looked with blank eyes at Saara. His hands had fallen limply by his sides and he was entered into a trance. With little pause, he stood and walked directly to the open window which looked out over the meditation garden ten floors below. Placing both hands on the windowsill, he peered down. Saara did not stand or turn to look at him, but continued to moan in pleasure as the feeling of enchanting another filled her body.

She squirmed slightly in her chair and breathed the words, ‘The garden is beautiful, dear, sweet Larix. You must take a closer look.’

Larix the Traveller didn’t look back, he simply hefted himself up on to the window ledge and flung himself out, making no sound as he fell until his life ended with the sound of the impact below. Zel heard screaming from the garden and ran to the window. Ten floors below he saw the smashed body of the wind claw lying across the rim of an ornamental fountain. His blood was spreading into the water and the dark red formed an ugly contrast to the light-coloured blooms of the garden.

A sound from his mistress made him turn back and he saw her writhing with pleasure on her chair, eyes closed and in a state of bliss. Zel considered saying something, but thought better of it and turned back to the window. A small group of people had gathered round Larix’s body and several guardsmen were trying to make sense of what had happened.

‘Zel, come away from the window,’ said Saara between deep, pleasurable breaths. She had exerted herself considerably and looked flushed. Her slave moved quickly to kneel on the floor in front of her.

‘Are you well, mistress? Perhaps another short rest might be in order,’ he said with concern.

She smiled thinly. ‘I think I am, but thank you for your concern. Maybe just an hour or two would be wise.’

Zel’s mind swam with questions, but he thought of his duties first. He must ensure that Saara was well and rested; questions about Larix’s death would have to wait. His mistress would tell him in good time, he thought, as he poured her a glass of desert nectar and stood before her with his head bowed. Saara took the glass and drank deeply of the sweet liquor, panting between mouthfuls. She let Zel take her arm as she swayed towards the bedroom, gently pushing him away at the edge of the bed.

Zel closed the door quietly as Saara lay down on her bed. The slave knew that using her powers was an exhausting activity and that she’d be too fatigued to rise from her bed for several hours. He did worry, however, that Dalian Thief Taker would return to find out what had happened to Larix and that the enchantress would have to rise early to deal with the wind claw.

Saara had already told Zel that, depending on what news she received, they would probably be taking a trip to Tor Funweir in the near future; he’d even heard his mistress talking to a whip-master of the Hounds about the pack of soldiers that would be accompanying them. Exactly why Saara was planning to sail across the Kirin Ridge to Ro Weir with ten thousand Hounds was not clear. Zel did not think it an invasion, nor did he think they’d be occupying the city. From what he could gather, the king of Tor Funweir had given the Hounds permission to cross the sea and the whip-master had begun preparing his pack several weeks ago. Zel thought it inconceivable that such a build-up of soldiers would remain invisible to the Ro, so they must be compliant to some degree.

Of the Seven Sisters, two were currently in Tor Funweir and the other four were in Kessia awaiting instructions from Saara. The news Larix had delivered was clearly favourable and the final stages of a long game were being played out in the lands of men.

* * *

Several hours passed before Saara rose from her bed. Zel had been sitting on the balcony of their apartment watching the scene build up around the dead body of Larix. Guardsmen had arrived quickly and ushered away the various onlookers; the residents of the building – rich merchants for the most part – had begun to leave when they realized who had died. The death of a wind claw was not an insignificant thing and many had simply wanted to distance themselves from the scene.

The body had been removed within the hour and several guardsmen had tentatively enquired after Saara, though most had simply knocked and left when Zel didn’t answer the door. Zel thought that his mistress was the only person in the building not to have been spoken to by the city officials. He had witnessed the questioning take place, with only a vague level of interest, as if the guardsmen knew that sooner or later they would have to speak to the enchantress.

Dalian Thief Taker had not reappeared and Zel hoped he wouldn’t learn of his companion’s death until later, allowing Saara time to be fully rested before the inevitable confrontation. Zel had to admit to himself that he was afraid of the wind claw and would rather not have to explain to him how Larix had fallen to his death.

‘Zel, has the commotion played out yet?’ Saara asked as she entered the sitting area and took her place on a luxurious couch. She was wearing a thin silk dressing gown and had a look of natural beauty about her.

‘Not yet, mistress, I think the guardsmen are just wasting time interrogating the residents until they can speak to you. I’ve ignored their knocks at the door so far,’ the Kirin slave replied, turning to smile broadly at Saara.

‘Very well, maybe you could go and summon the head guardsman for me and we can sort this out quickly, before…’ she paused, looking at the sundial positioned next to Zel on the balcony, ‘my appointment at the Well of Spells.’

‘At once, mistress,’ Zel said with a nod of his head which flowed into a deep bow of respect.

He backed away from Saara and opened the apartment door. Stepping out on to the landing, he was greeted by four guardsmen waiting nervously outside. They had been quiet as they waited and Zel thought they must just be staying on the off-chance that the enchantress would be willing to speak to them. They looked up as the slave emerged and smiled serenely at them.

‘My mistress would like to speak to whichever of you is in charge,’ he said with a shallow bow.

The guardsmen looked at each other before one of them moved to the railing that overlooked the garden and shouted down to his commander. ‘Master Lorkesh, the enchantress wants to see you,’ he said loudly.

The other men were relieved that they would not be required to enter Saara’s rooms and Zel thought he heard a quiet prayer to Jaa from one of them. Common men of Kessia were deeply superstitious, a predilection actively encouraged by the wind claws and the Seven Sisters, who both understood that Jaa valued fear above all things.

The man called Lorkesh walked slowly up the stairs to the tenth floor, where Zel waited. The slave continued to smile calmly and enjoyed the thought that he was making the guardsmen nervous by maintaining direct eye contact with each of them. Zel was proud of the sinister air he’d cultivated since he had begun working for Saara.

It took some time for Lorkesh to reach the tenth floor of the building. He was older than the men outside the apartment and was wheezing as he emerged at the top of the staircase.

‘Why is it that people of station always feel the need to stay as high up as possible?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Is the ground somehow offensive to important people?’