B oaz was given a tumultuous welcome by the city of Percheron. It was not often that the Percherese saw their ruler in person and the first formal glimpse of their new Zar prompted great cheering and excitement. Boaz stood, acknowledging their cries, tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, not at all like his stout father of later years. Although few had ever seen his mother, they knew her by reputation to be an incredible beauty and this young man’s dark curly hair and altogether handsome appearance suggested a resemblance to the new Valide’s famed looks. Many in the crowd had been surprised but also delighted to hear of the young Zar’s proclamation of not one but two public executions so early in his reign. There had been rumors that the young man was studious, bordering on scholarly, and those rumors had gathered momentum, leading to suggestions that he was also squeamish in nature. Several of the more outspoken city leaders had tactfully queried among themselves whether this prince was cut out for the role of Zar and whether he could rule with a firm hand. Others had replied, quite rightly, that his father—so feared in his prime—would have chosen carefully from his many heirs. They argued that Joreb would not have selected a boy unable to summon the kind of strength needed to hold Percheron in his grip.
And now Boaz was seemingly proving his father correct. To onlookers, the young man seemed far from timid as he acknowledged the crowd’s welcome.
“All right?” Pez whispered to his Zar, even though no one stood close enough on the parapet to overhear him.
“Yes, surprisingly. Are you using it on me?”
“Not yet,” Pez lied. “You are handling yourself perfectly. I’m proud of you.” Pez was channeling his magic so gently that Boaz could not feel it. Soon the Zar might be more conscious of the Lore but for now Pez wanted to instill confidence in the young man.
“Should I keep smiling at everyone?”
“Yes, you’re giving them precisely what they want. Soon you should call for silence so that your executioners can proceed.”
Boaz raised a hand and at his signal a hush washed across the crowd. He nodded gravely toward the fearsome-looking palace executioner. “He did this for my father for so many years,” he uttered softly to his friend.
As the man began to announce the sentences, Boaz glanced surreptitiously toward Ana.
“It’s not right that she’s here,” he whispered angrily.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised.”
Boaz grimaced. “I thought that with Lazar’s flogging and subsequent death, it was over between Salmeo and Ana.”
Pez frowned. “Don’t be naive, Boaz. It’s only just begun.”
They stopped talking as a small gate opened in the palace wall and the two victims were led out. Although one walked proudly, the other was jabbering and crying, needing to be all but carried between the two Elim who escorted him.
“Oh Zarab! Poor Shaz,” Boaz whispered, his tone fraught with compassion, and Pez knew the time for gentle channeling was over with.
HEREZAH LEANED TOWARD TARIQ. “Is it really necessary for me to be here?”
“Forgive me for imposing upon your goodwill, Valide. I felt our young Zar needed your support today.”
Herezah stared at the Vizier for a long time, long enough to make him frown. “Tariq,” she finally said, “I don’t know what to make of you anymore.”
“What do you mean, Valide?” he asked softly, ignoring the executioner’s drone below, the apprentice’s hysterics, and the excited whisperings of the crowd.
“I mean that I cannot make you out. There is something about you that doesn’t fit with my image of our Vizier.” He chuckled deep in his throat. She liked the sound of his laugh, unlike anything she’d heard from Tariq in all the years she’d known him. “And there’s that laugh. I’ve never heard you make such a genuine sound of amusement, Tariq.”
“How have I been before, Valide?”
“Like a sycophant,” Herezah answered directly. “I’ve watched you calculate your fake chortles for years. In fact, everything about the Tariq I recall is calculated and controlled.” She shook her head. “Your amusement just now sounded utterly genuine.”
“It was,” he replied, glancing down to where Shaz, upon hearing his sentence, began wailing all the more forcefully.
Beneath her veil, the Valide bit her lip, in thought. “I’ve also never thought you cared much for Boaz.”
“I didn’t.” He smiled at the obvious shock that registered in her eyes. “What I mean is, until a short while ago your son was simply another heir…another prince-in-waiting. Now he is our Zar, the Chosen One. I do care about our Zar, Valide, and I especially care because Boaz is still young enough to need guidance from those who have wisdom to share.”
“You see, Tariq, this doesn’t sound a bit like you,” she whispered.
He smiled once again, flirtatiously, his eyes sparkling as they had never done before. “I can’t imagine who I sound like, then.”
She joined his mood, replying playfully, “It’s as if there’s an intruder. Someone has stolen Tariq’s body.”
Maliz had to temper his desire to throw back his head and laugh loudly. “Perhaps someone has. Would you prefer that I go by a different name?”
Herezah stared at the Vizier quizzically. “No, that will not be necessary. I can’t say I’m not impressed, though. I like the curious metamorphosis you seem to be going through, I like it very much, and I can only put it down to the brew you said you are taking. I see your stoop is all but gone—it is clearly working.”
“Thank you. I do feel stronger than I have in a long time.”
“And I’m especially pleased that your concern is, for once, not selfishly shown,” she added, ignoring his wry glance, knowing he found her hypocritical. “I do think Boaz has been especially brave in his decisions regarding these two traitors—his actions were necessary and he made the right choice, but I know it will take every ounce of his courage to stand here and bear witness.”
The Vizier looked thoughtful. “Boaz will make a great Zar with the right people around him. He has his mother’s extraordinary looks and poise, enabling him to charm people, as well as the warrior bearing of his father for intimidation. It’s a prized mix.”
“I would never have thought it but I think you’re right—these last few days he has reminded me strongly of a young Joreb.”
“We must remember, though, that he is still young enough to be influenced—and we really have no idea who is influencing him.”
Herezah drew back in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing sinister. I may have taken little more than a cursory interest in him previously, but now that he is Zar, I will be taking a far more proprietorial approach on behalf of the Percherese. To whom does he defer? Where does he go for advice? I need to know more about him.”
“You’ve known the boy since he was born, Tariq—you know as well as I that his two great friends are the hated dwarf and the Spur. Now Lazar is gone and my son is left with a half-wit for his closest companion.”
Tariq turned and stared at Pez. The dwarf was standing on one leg, threatening to overbalance into the crowd beneath, clearly in his own world.
“I had Yozem, my crone, do a blood reading on him, you know,” Herezah added casually.
“And?”
“Nothing. Pez is blank to her. She is unable to read him at all.”
“Is that common?”
Herezah snorted. “Yozem has never failed me before.”
“I see,” Tariq muttered, distracted, a vague sense of gentle magic swirling about him. He tried to follow it, lock onto it, but he couldn’t. It was as though it knew it was being hunted. He had no idea where it was coming from. Frustrated, he turned his thoughts to the dwarf. I must take more interest in you too, Pez, he pondered. Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye.
On the wall, still dancing, Pez prayed that the Goddess would protect him from discovery as he carefully channeled his magic.
ALL THE FORMAL pronouncements had been made. Above Shaz’s pitiful moans, the executioner turned to Boaz for the next bit of theater before they got down to the serious business of killing two men.
Boaz took a deep breath. He had one last hope of saving a life today while maintaining a firm ruling hand. “Good people of Percheron,” he began, and the crowd below became silent, “the law of the Zar has been proclaimed. Shaz the Inflictor and Horz of the Elim have betrayed me and they are now under the shadow of death for their treachery. That said, I am mindful of the old traditions of our nation, too many of them lost in recent times. I am hopeful that together we might rekindle some of those rituals observed by our ancestors that have made us the wealthy, educated, and cultured people that we are today.” Whistles and cheers rippled through the crowd.
Boaz raised a hand for silence. “To this end, and as Zar Baelzeemen did three centuries ago, I hand over the power of the Crown to the people.” This won more applause, even though no one in the mob understood what he was referring to.
But the Vizier did. Maliz had lived long enough to have known the reign of Zar Baelzeemen. The demon nodded, coolly impressed. “He’s far cleverer than any of us have credited.”
“What do you know?” Herezah demanded.
“My history—as does your son. The Zar he refers to allowed the crowd to show mercy when there were two or more executions planned for the same day.”
Herezah opened her mouth to reply, then shut it as Boaz began speaking again.
“People of Percheron, if there is ever an occasion during my reign when more than one person is to be executed on the same day, I will allow you to overrule, if you so choose, and show mercy to the condemned. Zar Baelzeemen was a compassionate man and I intend to rule with the same sense of humanity. I cannot forgive these two prisoners for what they have done—I must not, in fact—but you can reprieve one of the sentences if you so choose.
“Show me, my people, if you wish to see Horz of the Elim suffer the consequences of his dark actions,” he shouted, emotion lacing his voice as he silently prayed that the older man might be spared. The crowd roared back its response, their arms raised in unison.
Horz would die today. Boaz swallowed his disappointment. It had been too much to ask for. Still, he continued: “Having heard his deeds, now show me if you wish to see Shaz the apprentice Inflictor pay the price I am exacting for his part in the Spur’s demise.”
There was an embarrassed murmur followed by an awkward silence as only a small number of arms shot into the air.
Pez began clapping from relief but he turned it into a joke, mugging for the audience, making whooping sounds as though he didn’t really understand what his excitement was about. Boaz laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder and the dwarf immediately became still.
“See how he can control him,” Herezah whispered to the Vizier. “No one else can.”
Tariq nodded, intrigued now by Pez. He stole a glance at Salmeo, who scowled in his direction. Tariq smiled back. He knew how much the Grand Master Eunuch would resent the Zar’s overturning of Shaz’s punishment, leaving a loose thread the eunuch would have to tie off later.
“My people have chosen to spare Shaz the apprentice,” Boaz called, suppressing his delight with effort.
The crowd below was not so circumspect and the roar of approval was deafening. Shaz himself looked confused, unable to believe that he had cheated death as it knocked so loudly against his door. He looked at Horz, who nodded, a soft and sad smile about his lips as he silently congratulated the lad. Then the rough hands of the executioner’s aides were pushing Shaz back into the Moon Courtyard. There he began hugging every soldier, every servant, even one of the executioner’s team. Seeing a familiar face in the distance—Teril, one of the youngest apprentices of the Inflictors—Shaz waved, too ecstatic to speak. The lad returned the gesture, motioning that he would see Shaz in a few moments. When Shaz nodded, turning away to hug another bystander, Teril looked away, up to the top of the wall where Pez was doing one of his famous jigs.
“Hey, boy, you’re not allowed here! Our Zar is up there,” a soldier commanded officiously, approaching hurriedly. “You’ll get yourself knifed for less.”
“I have a special note for the dwarf,” the lad mumbled. “It’s important.”
The man laughed. “What? And you think the fool can read it?”
The youngster looked suddenly uncertain. “I don’t know. I just promised one of the priests that I’d get it to him.” The lie came easily to his lips. “I don’t care if he understands it or not.”
“Let me see it,” the man said, slightly chagrined at the mention of Zarab’s holy men.
“No, sir. I cannot,” Teril said. “I cannot do that. This is a private note between the priest and the dwarf.” Hurriedly moving on from his lie, he added, “I am wearing my palace uniform. You can see I am allowed to be on the grounds.”
“Show me your mark,” the man said, unwilling to take any chances with the Zar thirty feet above them.
The lad rolled back the loose sleeve of his shirt to reveal the special branding that all palace servants were forced to endure. The man nodded. “Who is your direct superior?”
“Rah,” Teril answered. “I am returning to him once I pass on the note. You can watch me.”
“I cannot let you go up there. No one but the royal party is permitted. But you also may not remain here, so near to the Zar, or it’s my neck in a noose.”
“Will you let me win the dwarf ’s attention, see if I can get him to accept the note?”
“The dwarf wouldn’t have a clue—”
“I know, sir. But I gave my oath.”
“All right,” the man said, feeling a bit sorry for the lad. He had a son of a similar age and understood how important it was to instill a sense of duty into boys of that age. The lad was only trying to see a task to its proper end. Furthermore, all the soldiers were happy to hear of Shaz cheating death; none believed he’d had any part in the downfall of their Spur. It couldn’t hurt to show a bit of the same generosity of spirit that their own Zar was promoting. “Go on, then, see if you can win his attention.”
Teril whistled. As fate would have it, the noise outside the walls had dwindled almost to silence as the crowd waited quietly for Horz to ride the infamous needle. His sound pierced the air. Both figures above heard it and turned. “You’ve been magnificent. Don’t ruin it now. Keep looking ahead,” Pez cautioned his Zar, looking down with irritation to see the young lad beckoning him. “What’s this?”
“Who is it?” Boaz hissed.
“I’ve no idea. I don’t recognize him from here but he obviously belongs to the palace.”
“What does he want?”
“Me, I think. I can’t tell. Shall I find out?”
“No. Let him wait. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I won’t. He’s waving something at me. Let me just get it.” Pez disappeared down the steps, pausing regularly to grab mindlessly at the air and mutter loudly about flying fruit.
“Well, you’re in luck, lad. The fool has fallen for it,” the soldier said as they watched the dwarf descending.
“I like Pez; he’s funny.”
“Funny, yes. He’s also mad. I can’t see what this Zar or the old one could see in having that thing ranting by their sides all day.”
Pez was grinning when he finally arrived. “Is it dinner already? Are we eating the elephants from the zoo?”
“Go on,” the soldier said, nudging the lad.
“Er, Pez, sir,” Teril began, unsure how to appropriately address the court jester.
Pez stared at man and boy, scratching his crotch. “Did you see all those flying pomegranates just now? I had no idea they could sprout wings or talk.”
“The, er, lad has a note for you, Pez,” the soldier said, ignoring the dwarf ’s babblings.
Pez stared at the proffered scroll. “Is this my dinner?”
The man looked at the boy with sympathy. “Just put it in his hand. You can tell your priest that you fulfilled the duty that was asked of you. If the idiot eats it, that’s his problem.”
Teril did as he was told, pushing the scroll into the strangely oversize hands of the dwarf, trying not to gape at the huge knuckles and long fingers. “I was asked to give this to you,” he explained tentatively.
Pez smelled the note and then began to drool from the side of his mouth, his eyes fixed vacantly on something beyond.
“Go now,” the man urged the lad. Hesitating only briefly, Teril hurried away.
“And the elephants?” Pez asked, seemingly returning to himself.
“Soon,” the soldier said, quickly taking his leave as well.
Pez clutched the scroll, feeling a chill crawl up his spine. No one had ever written to him—the only people who would were those who knew the truth about him. That meant someone on the outside of the palace had asked the lad to get this note to him. Was it Jumo? The servant couldn’t write but he could have had it scribed. Zafira perhaps? Or even Ellyana? Well, one thing was for sure: he couldn’t read it now—it would be too obvious. Instead he sniffed it again, knowing others were watching him. Then, after nibbling the edge and spitting the fragments straight back out again, he tucked the note into his shirt and climbed the steps. He had not allowed the Lore magic to wane while he was occupied but he could feel Boaz’s anxiety level increasing. It seemed the executioner’s team was ready to begin.