Sanctuary

“That’s not what I meant.” Hengriff stood, letting his imposing bulk impress itself on the more numerous but shorter Khurs. His obsidian gaze briefly swept the assembly before fixing on Sahim. “Tell the elves their protection is an increasingly heavy drain on the royal coffers. Instead of apologizing, raise the fee you charge them for the right to remain here. Turn this misfortune into a fortune, Mighty One.”

For the first time that day, Sahim-Khan smiled, a slow grin of delight. “You’re a crafty rogue, my lord. Are you sure you aren’t some part Khurish?”

No answering smile came to Hengriff’s face. He merely sat down again, the heavy chair creaking under his weight.

Sahim ordered the high priest of the Temple of Torghan [brought before him. Soldiers had already collected him, and soon he stood before his khan. A sharp-faced former nomad named Minok, the priest, like most Khurish clergy, was beardless and kept his hair cropped close to his scalp. Ritual tattoos were visible at the wrists and neck of his plain cotton geb. Alone among all the Khurs in the room, Minok showed no fear of Sahim-Khan. He made proper obeisance to his liege, but looked Sahim in the eye when he spoke and did not waver when the Than denounced the devotees of the god for their attack on the elf queen.

“Men of the desert have noble souls, Great Khan,” Minok said proudly. “It is too much to expect them to look the other way while foreigners multiply and flourish in our land. Give the word, Great Khan, and the Sons of the Crimson Vulture will sweep the laddad contagion from all of Khur!”

Sahim-Khan appeared to weigh this proposal with due care. Intimates of the palace knew better. The priesthoods commanded the loyalty of thousands, but Minok’s followers had embarrassed the Khan. Whether or not he extorted a greater fee from the Speaker, Sahim did not take kindly to any challenge to his authority. Servants and guards in the throne room began quietly to wager on how long the priest of Torghan would live.

“Your patriotism and piety do you credit, holy one,” Sahim said at last. “I will consider what you have said. In the meantime, it is the will of your khan that the laddad not be molested. Restrain your devotees, priest, or I will. Is that clear?”

All Minok could do was agree to the order. He was surrounded by the Khan’s partisans. Sahim dismissed him, and the proud priest backed out of the room, bowing as he went. Once he disappeared through the double doors, Sahim nodded to soldiers waiting by the exit. They slipped out. Coins surreptitiously changed hands throughout the room. The priest of Torghan had even less time than most had thought.

Sahim sent the geel-khana on their way, too. As they. departed, he realized the usual crowd at court was short by one-his eldest son, Shobbat, was not present. Curiously, this pleased Sahim. The heir to the throne of Khur was not known for offering sage counsel to his father (not that his father would have accepted any), so Sahim had placed him in charge of the repair work on the palace. He must be busy elsewhere in the sprawling, half-ruined complex. This new diligence was refreshing. Sahim would make a khan out of his wastrel son yet.

When most of the audience had gone, Sahim addressed Hengriff. “What do your people make of this new agitation, my lord?”

“You said it yourself, Mighty Khan. Patriotism and piety. The people of Khur tire of the elven pestilence.”

Sahim shrugged. “A few fanatics. They will obey my decrees, or suffer the consequences.

“Hatred of the elves will spread, Great One. Mark my words.”

Sahim had no doubt of that. He knew the Nerakan greased palms all over Khuri-Khan, buying goodwill for his Order and ill will for the elves. Slyly, he asked, “Should I loose Holy Minok and his followers then?”

Hengriff cleared his throat, the sound like a panther’s snarl. “The zealous, once unleashed, are difficult to rein in.”

His meaning was abundantly clear. If the Torghanists were allowed to rid Khur of the elves, they might not stop there. The Khan himself might not meet their standards of purity.

“Better you should expel them yourself, Great One,” the Knight added. “The land would resound with your name for having rid it of their haughty presence.”

Sahim thanked the Nerakan emissary for his insight.

Hengriff bowed low and departed, taking with him the trio of drably dressed men at his back. No amount of broadcloth or linen could disguise the breadth of their shoulders or the watchfulness in their eyes. playing the game as he did, Hengriff never went anywhere without bodyguards.

Weary of the demands of court, the Khan withdrew to a small side chamber. The milling crowd of supplicants, lackeys, and sycophants bowed as he left.

The room he entered was lit by a single oil lamp; otherwise, it was dark as a crypt. Sahim shrugged off his heavy court robes, letting them fall to the floor, and scratched his sides. His ribs had been itching for an hour, but he could hardly sit on the throne of Khur and scratch like a mongrel dog. With more care he removed the crown of Khur and set it on a table, then applied his fingernails to his itching head.

As he poured himself a libation from an urn, something stirred in the room’s darkest corner. Sahim didn’t bother to look up. That distinctive, vaguely unpleasant odor could belong to only one person.

“Come forward. Don’t skulk in the corner like a rat,” he said, and drained his goblet.

A hunched figure limped toward the light. The figure was wrapped in a bulky brown robe whose deep hood hid its features completely. Long white fingers, the knuckles prominent showed briefly before they vanished into the copious sleeves. Sahim eyed the ragged robes and shook his head.

“Don’t you feel stifled in that garb, Faeterus?”

“On the contrary, Mighty One. I find it chilly here.” The voice was dry, hoarse, and whispery with extreme age. “I first came to Khur for its climate, you know:’

“And when was that, snow-for-blood” “Long before your time, Great Khan. Long before.”

Sahim snorted. Even he, born and bred to the climate, thought it oppressive. This shuffling mage had been his hireling for a year, and Sahim still found it absurd that anyone could bear to go about so heavily dressed.

He poured another draft of wine. “You heard the audience?” The ancient nodded, a rustling movement of the layered hood. “So, what say you to Lord Hengriff’s notion? Pretty justice, don’t you think?”

Faeterus shifted from side to side, as though his crippled legs pained him. “Justice and money cannot exist together, Great Khan. Better to let the Sons of the Crimson Vulture wash their hands in elven blood. When all the laddad are dead, you can claim their treasure without further ado.”

The golden goblet halted an inch from Sahim’s lips. His black brows lifted. “What? You propose I exterminate your own people, the most ancient race in the world?”

A rasping sound, either laugh or cough, issued from the depths of the hood. “They are not my people. I am a race of one.”

“Well, whatever you are, for now you’re mine, bought and paid for. And I have a task for you: find out who attacked the elf queen, and why. Whether it’s Minok and his Torghanists or Hengriff and Nerakan steel, I want to know.” He set down his empty cup. “Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Mighty One.”

The wine had warmed Sahim’s blood. Even in his sleeveless shift, he found the chamber too hot, too close. The smell emanating from his hired sorcerer was stronger now, musty and sour like the odor of the city’s vast underground cistern where he lived. Sahim fought down a quick wave of nausea. A living body shouldn’t smell like that. Faeterus stank not of flesh, but of old bones slowly disintegrating.

There was a knock on the chamber door. The muffled voice of a court lackey called for permission to enter. Even as Sahim replied, Faeterus faded into the shadows again.

The lackey delivered his news and departed quickly, knowing the word he brought would not be welcome. Minok had managed to evade the guards.

Sahim stepped into the elaborate puddle of his court robes. As he began to dress, he realized Faeterus had gone.

The room had another door, opposite the one Sahim and the lackey had used, but it was always kept locked. Of course, such impediments meant nothing to Faeterus. Locked doors, thick walls, deep chasms-nothing hindered him. He went where he willed.

Perhaps he should give Faeterus the task of silencing Minok, Sahim reflected as he settled the crown upon his head again. They both seemed to possess a talent for disappearing into thin air.

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