Unholy War (40 page)

‘It is Kazim Makani. I come in peace,’ he added, because he knew the skiff-pilot would fear the worst.

‘Kazim?’ Molmar replied hoarsely. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see you.’
Actually, Elena told me to observe only, and if it had been anyone else but you, that’s what I’d still be doing …

Molmar took a deep breath. ‘They say in Halli’kut that Kazim Makani has sipped from forbidden cups and is no longer our brother.’

Molmar had not been among those who had been here in Decore, when Gatoz had beaten and attempted to rape Elena. Kazim had killed Gatoz, and many others with whom he’d sworn brotherhood, including, most painfully, his friend Jamil. But the skiff-pilots present that day had escaped to carry the tale of his sin to the rest of the Hadishah.

‘Will you let me explain?’ he asked, afraid Molmar would refuse.

Molmar considered for a long time, while the fire spat and crackled behind him. At last he said, ‘Very well, Kazim Makani, explain to me. Why did you kill your sworn commander Gatoz, your blood-brother Jamil, the Scriptualist Haroun, who was your close friend, and all these others? Those who escaped said you betrayed us for a woman – and not just a woman, but an infidel mage accursed by Ahm? So yes, by all means, explain!’

Kazim exhaled in relief. He sat, to reduce the threat he posed, while Molmar leaned watchfully against a pillar. ‘Please, Molmar, for the sake of what we have shared, believe me: I swear on Ahm Himself that all I say is true.’ He paused to collect himself, then related how he’d awakened as the captive of Elena Anborn – how he’d seen her disgorge from her mouth an insect-creature that had apparently been possessing her; how he had gradually come to understand that far from being an enemy of the shihad, she too wished to fight against the Dorobon. He told Molmar of the understanding she and he had reached – it helped that Molmar himself was also a mage; he understood how the gnosis could be used. ‘Then Gatoz came, and he thought only of humiliating her, then sending her to the breeding pits.’

Molmar himself had been born in a secret Hadishah breeding house, a place where captured magi were bred to serve the shihad. ‘Were you fornicating with this infidel woman?’ he asked bluntly.

‘No,’ Kazim insisted, ‘though Gatoz and Jamil and everyone else thought I was. They thought I was a stupid boy being led around by my balls – but I swear to you it was not true.’

‘ “Was not”. So you are with her now?’

‘Yes.’ He lifted his chin. ‘As a man, having made an adult’s choice.’

Molmar said slowly, ‘There are rumours, that she and another are plaguing the Dorobon.’

‘We are. She and I, together.’

‘Is one of her worth more than Gatoz, Jamil and all the others?’

‘Such equations did not enter my head; what Gatoz was going to do was evil.’

‘If you still measure a matter of such import in such a way, then you are still a boy.’

‘No,’ Kazim said simply, ‘I am not. I use different scales to judge such matters, that is all.’

‘The loss of so many has been a catastrophe for the Brotherhood,’ Molmar told him. ‘Our ability to operate in Javon has been severely compromised.’

‘Then blame Gatoz. He could have embraced Elena Anborn as a comrade in arms; instead he chose abuse and subjugation. The world is better without him.’

‘Gatoz was a hard man, and—’

‘Call him what he was!’ Kazim said angrily. ‘Gatoz was a sadistic bully allowed to run amok!’

‘War makes heroes of such men,’ Molmar admitted. ‘That is our world. I am not proud of everything I have done.’ His face became reflective. ‘But we do what we must in service of a higher cause.’

‘And I have not betrayed that cause, Molmar – what I have done has helped that cause, that I swear. The Javonesi want the Dorobon gone, and Elena Anborn has become Javonesi. She speaks their tongue, and ours. She understands the shihad; she has shed blood in its service.’

‘So you say – but can I believe it?’ Molmar looked at Kazim sadly. ‘What would your father say if he knew?’

‘I believe that he would be proud of my choices and my actions,’ Kazim told him firmly.

‘I don’t know, Kazim … I want to believe you, but you have caused so much damage. The survivors who fled said you were burning like an afreet, that you slaughtered our brothers without pity.’

‘I did
nothing
without pity,’ Kazim countered. He raised both hands, palms outwards, and stood. ‘Molmar, I want to be able to talk with you freely, to fly together, as we once did. I want to be able to work with the Brotherhood in future, to fight side by side. But there is one factor that prevents Elena and me from moving more openly among the Jhafi, and that is the fear of reprisals. I am here tonight to ask you, please, to tell your captains that we wish to work together.’

Molmar stood too. ‘Kazim, I will report everything you have said. That is all I can promise.’

There was no brotherly farewell, no hearty embrace. Wariness hung in the air between them. But there was hope, Kazim thought, and for now, that had to be enough.

‘May I contact you again?’ he asked just before he walked away.

Molmar paused, then nodded.

*

Two days later he and Elena trapped and killed another cohort of Dorobon soldiers on the Hytel Road, hoping to mislead their hunters into believing that they were staying in that area. Then they flew southwest, towards Lybis.

*

Cera Nesti wasn’t sure why the idea hadn’t occurred to her before.
Probably some hope I’d be able to use them again myself one day
, she admitted to herself. But telling Francis about the secret passages that riddled the palace had worked: he had been appalled, and his clever friend Craith Margham had immediately resolved to use them himself, but Roland Heale had stepped in and curtailed that idea, instead insisting they were all blocked up.

Gurvon Gyle had first denied all knowledge of them, and then been forced to admit that he’d known all along. All in all, it had been quite amusing. More importantly, it now meant Cera could enjoy the solitude of her room without fearing she was being directly spied upon – though a mage could still scry her.

The Kore had a rite called Confiterium: any sin confessed to a priest by a true believer could be absolved after some form of penance. Confiterium was said to bring closure and release. Revealing the secret passages to Francis had felt that way to her.

I spent too much of my life sneaking around
, she reflected.
Perhaps I should confess that to a Kore priest.

Apparently her act of cooperation had started a train of thought in the king’s mind, because a week later, shortly before she was to leave for the Beggars’ Court, Francis entered her chambers unannounced, not something he did often. Cera, dressed in violet, was perched on a stool ready for Tarita to pin up her hair and do her make-up. She regarded him in the mirror with some surprise. He had lost a little weight he didn’t need anyway, and his brow was becoming lined and his eyes dark from lack of sleep. He was clearly worried, perhaps even frightened, but he sought to conceal it behind his usual bluster.

‘What exactly can an Imperial Legate do?’ he asked, trying to act as if he really didn’t care about the answer, but was vaguely curious.

Her eyebrows shot up.
He’s asking
me
for advice?
She answered quickly, before he changed his mind. ‘It’s an advisory role, with the ability to step in on “high matters” – things affecting the security of the empire.’

‘That’s what Craith says – but Gyle seems to think
everything
is a high matter.’ He struck a pose, looking out the window. ‘I suppose he would, when he’s up from the gutters.’

‘Get the statutes out,’ she replied.
I doubt Gyle has made his way up from any gutters – he’s a half-blood mage.

‘I’m not a Kore-bedamned clerk,’ Francis sniffed. ‘I want to know the answer, not look for it.’ He
tsked
vexedly, and made as if to leave.

It was the first time he’d ever asked her about policy and she wasn’t about to let that pass, especially when there might be some reciprocal gain for herself. ‘ “High matters” is a term describing Imperial jurisdiction, and it was left deliberately loose,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It’s only ever been invoked in cases involving matters of war or trade directly relating to the empire or its allies.’
Ha, I am still la Scrittoretta!
‘He can’t use it to dictate your policy domestically, or your relations with, say, the Harkun nomads. He can’t dictate your appointments, nor can he overturn your legal judgements.’
If you ever made any.
‘You’re still the king.’

He nodded peremptorily. ‘Of course I am.’ But he was hovering now, torn between need and pride. ‘He’s proposing sending
my
legion to the Rift forts. He says they need field experience.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘They’re getting plenty of that on the Hytel Road. Tell him to send Canestos: her people are causing trouble, so sending them somewhere isolated would be better for all.’

There had been more incidents regarding Canestos’ ‘children’. Though she couldn’t help but sympathise with them, they were a big problem in a country as traditional and conservative as Javon.

‘But Sir Roland agrees.’

‘Roland Heale,’ she interjected contemptuously, ‘has gone from being a Dorobon warhorse to Gyle’s trick pony. You’ve lost his loyalty.’

‘Heale? But he’s been with the family all his life!’ Francis sounded shocked.

‘And he’s been overlooked and taken for granted, and then shunted aside for your friend Craith, whom you love so much.’

Francis looked stung. ‘What do you mean?’

‘
Sol et Lune
, open your eyes, Francis! Margham distracts you with hunts and Heale kowtows to Gyle on every matter. They see what’s happening: they tried to warn you, but now they’re just trying to preserve themselves.’

‘No – they are my loyal friends!’

‘Francis, a king doesn’t have
friends
: he has
dependents
! He has
adherents
! Loyalty is bought. And they’ve seen how you reward it: you cut off the heads of the men who supported your own mother against Gyle! That’s the lesson you taught them: that loyalty to the Dorobon ends in death. So they’re toadying frantically to Gyle instead.’

‘So are you,’ Francis snapped. ‘Gyle made me marry you, and he saved you from my mother … You are as much his creature as anyone.’

‘In saving himself, he had no choice but to save me. Of course I was relieved, but I didn’t mistake that for anything but circumstance. I owe him no gratitude. And as for marrying you … do you think I
wanted
that? Wake up, Francis! He’s flooded Javon with his friends and stolen yours! He’s ruling without a crown, but sooner or later he’ll want the whole thing: crown, title, the lot.’

‘But Mater-Imperia Lucia is my friend! She—’

‘Your
friend
? Your
mother
was her friend, and Lucia did nothing to support her. Meanwhile Gyle’s men are ransacking
your kingdom
and sending everything of value to Kaltus Korion. That tells me Lucia doesn’t care who’s in charge, so long as the Crusade is well-supplied.’ She met his eyes and said bluntly, ‘By the end of the Moontide, your soldiers won’t even remember your name. They’ll all be mercenaries in Gyle’s pay.’

His stricken face told her that her words had sunk in. His cheeks flushed and sweat broke out. ‘I am a Dorobon,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I am a pure-blood, born of the Blessed. I am
invincible.
’

You pathetic little boy.
She struggled to contain the thought that maybe the time had come to follow the examples set by Heale and Margham and the rest and make peace with Gyle.
At least Gyle understands my usefulness.
But her whole soul rebelled at the thought of putting herself in the service of –
in thrall to
– the man who’d wrought so much evil on those she loved.

Abruptly Francis’ face changed again as he remembered who he was and who she was. He looked down at her disdainfully, then, with the faintest gratitude, announced, ‘You will present yourself in my chamber tonight.’ He spoke as if he was bestowing alms on the desperate.

Sheer loathing of his arrogant contempt drew her words out before caution could check them. ‘My lord, I’d rather not,’ she said angrily, then caught her breath.

Tarita, watching silently, sucked in her breath and went still.

Francis had started turning away; now he swung back to her, his expression puzzled. ‘What did you say?’

She stood.
He heard me. He just wants me to back down
. ‘I said that I’d rather not.’

They’d not had physical contact for weeks now, but that had been on the pretext of being his choice. This was different: she’d outright refused him. Men could beat a wife for that and few would look askance. For a few seconds she feared the worst as he raised a fist, then he blinked and lowered it. ‘But … Are you ill? Are you bleeding?’

This was her opportunity to plead an excuse, but she found she could not. ‘No. I simply do not wish to go to your room.’

‘You’re my wife and you will do as I say.’ His priggish face was torn between anger and dislike. ‘You swore on the
Book of Kore
to obey me and you will, you fat … ugly …
mudskin
.’

She flinched at each word, then stuck her chin out. ‘You promised to “honour” me. I’ve seen no sign of that.’

She heard Tarita gasp and felt her own heart thundering. Her whole body was sweating as if she were standing before a furnace, soaking into her dress so that it felt as if it had doubled in weight. Her knees shook, but she stuck out her chin defiantly, feeling oddly strong amidst all this weakness.

He raised his hand again. She offered her cheek.
I dare you.

‘I have every right to you,’ he snapped. ‘I am a pure-blood mage of the—’

‘I don’t care about all that. I don’t want to lay with you.’

His jaw dropped and his hand quivered, fingers still open, the muscles twitching.

She put her hands on her hips, feeling recklessly brave. ‘So unless you want to add rape to your sins, go away and leave me alone.’ Her voice shook while she said it, but she could feel her spine stiffen inside. She lifted her eyes back to his, and locked on.
Blink first, you weak, weak, weak bastido
.