B oaz’s complexion had turned so pale Pez wondered if the boy would pass out. The Zar was staring fixedly ahead, his eyes glazed. Pez increased the wave of magic and his friend seemed to recover some equilibrium.
“Pez,” Boaz muttered, swaying slightly. “How can I let an innocent man die?”
The dwarf ignored the question and increased his channeling. Boaz was going to have to learn about situations of intolerable cruelty.
Pez looked down and felt his own gut twist at the sight below. Horz—naked except for a small piece of linen tied around his hips—was being laid out on the ground.
“I’ve read about this in the books in the library. Do you know it was invented by one of the Zars?” Boaz seemed mesmerized and repulsed at the same time.
Pez could feel the boy leaning into the magic, trying to take more because of his fear. “Boaz, you must teach yourself to let go,” he cautioned. “I have you. You are safe. I can make you blind to it if you wish, but I think that would be cowardly. Think of Odalisque Ana standing over there alone, watching her uncle die hideously. She has nothing to help her, save whatever courage she can muster from within.” It was the right thing to say. Boaz stood straighter, taller, at the mention of the girl’s name. “Now let go as I say, and I will keep you safe. You will not disgrace yourself.”
“What about Ana?” the Zar whispered, taking deep slow breaths.
Pez felt the greedy grip on his magic lessening. “Ana is strong. Her hatred for Salmeo will get her through this.” Boaz nodded thoughtfully, and Pez felt further lessening on the hold. There was no more time. He had to move quickly. “Now, Boaz, I must go.”
“Go?” Boaz exclaimed.
“Hush, child, I want to say good-bye to Horz.”
Boaz looked chastened. “He’s a good man. I had hoped they would pardon him. Can your magic not help him too?”
“No, I won’t use magic,” Pez replied, keen to be gone. “You stand there and focus on me. I’ll be near Horz so it will look as if you’re watching the condemned man. The Lore will not fail you, Boaz. Trust it.”
The Zar nodded miserably. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
“I think he already knows.”
FOUR MEN TOOK HOLD of the bindings around Horz’s wrists and ankles and pulled, tightening the straps, so that the Elim was now spread-eagled on the ground. The executioner looked up to his Zar, who sadly lowered his head as the signal to proceed.
The hush in the crowd was so thick it was oppressive as Pez emerged from one of the gates, snarling and running at the onlookers, who backed away, unsure. Was this part of the entertainment? Or was it just the oddity of the infamous dwarf? It was not often that they got this close to the Zar’s famed jester but his reputation preceded him; he was known to be contrary, one moment happier than the birds at dawn and the next dark and angry like a gathering storm. And it looked to them as though dawn had come and gone—the storm was surely brewing. Pez was hissing at everyone, including the executioner. “I want to kiss him good-bye,” he suddenly moaned, breaking into sobs. He kept repeating it, furious, like a child determined to have his way.
The executioner had been handed a thick, vicious pole, sturdy and fearsome. It had been sharpened to a savage point and the executioner positioned the sharp end between Horz’s spread legs, just moments away from impaling the trembling yet silent man of the Elim.
Pez increased his volume until he was shrieking.
The executioner, unusually rattled by the dwarf ’s behavior, turned once again to his Zar for approval. The young man, standing alone, trembling in tandem with the man about to die, nodded and the executioner stepped back, allowing Pez his request. Everyone near the front of the mob and those on high watched the dwarf change instantly from hysterically angry to smiling and serene. He bowed to his Zar, then to the executioner, before waddling over to kneel by Horz and whisper close to his ear.
“You are the bravest man the Zar knows,” Pez said. “Go to your god with a clean conscience, friend.” Pez silenced any reply by placing his mouth on the lips of the innocent man.
When he lifted away Horz stared back at him in shock. The dwarf had tricked them all these years! He was as sane as Horz—the Elim heard it in the words, could see it in the intense yellow gaze of the man.
“Shh,” was all Pez would say, a finger to his lips, and then he was cavorting away, grinning and clapping. “I kissed him,” he boasted, and his bemused audience could only shake their heads as they watched his short figure cartwheeling and skipping back to the small palace gate, finally disappearing through it.
Their attention diverted by the dwarf ’s madness, no one saw Horz die as he bit down on the pellet Pez had passed into his mouth. The poison was swift; his heart stopped in a matter of seconds and he sighed softly to his death with his eyes open and not so much as a twitch of his bound limbs. It was a peaceful, painless end—and cheated the executioner of Salmeo’s victory.
Everyone marveled as the brave Elim didn’t even struggle when his torment began. Their awe at his courage when he didn’t scream as the pole was rammed into him was so palpable it was like a living, breathing entity of its own. A few people were violently sick as the executioner used a huge mallet to ease the pole’s passage through Horz’s body, and even two of the men stretching his limbs looked away when the tip of the pole burst through flesh and bone, emerging at Horz’s shoulder. The shrieks of disgust in the crowd quieted, at last, to reverence. Condemned as a murderer, Horz would live on in the history books as the Elim’s most famed warrior, almost godlike in his stoicism.
“Raise him,” the executioner called, as taken aback as any member of the crowd by Horz’s lack of protest or struggle.
Horz was raised, impaled on the pole, which was now set into the ground. He would remain there for three days until the smell of his corpse offended the palace and then he would be removed to a special mound on the fringe of the city where he would rot fully, reminding the Percherese for a long time of their Zar’s intolerance of any treachery.
ANA HAD CLOSED her eyes to the terrifying scene below and refused to open them even when the fragrance of violets told her that Salmeo was leaning close.
“Your uncle is a stunningly brave man,” he lisped. “Not even a sound. I must say that impresses even me and I’ve seen the bravery of the Elim over the years.”
“I hope his spirit never lets you rest easily again,” Ana replied.
Salmeo laughed, although he was infuriated by the proceedings. Not only had Horz died courageously but Shaz had been released. The boy now posed a very real threat to the eunuch, knowing what he did. Fortunately Salmeo knew just what would make him feel better. He licked his lips. “Come, Ana, you will learn that I am not threatened by spirits. Now let us really begin your training as a slave. I have so much in store for you.”
IN THE KARAK, on the way back to his wing of the palace, Boaz felt what was a mild headache gaining in strength.
“It’s the after-effects of the Lore,” Pez said matter-of-factly. “You should tell your aides that you wish to be left in peace.”
Boaz shook his aching head. “I am humbled by Horz’s bravery.” He stared absently into the silk screen that hid him from the view of palace passersby.
“We all should be. I told him what you said,” Pez lied.
“And?” Boaz asked eagerly, desperate for some relief from his guilt.
Pez took pity on the boy. “He offered thanks.”
There was a difficult silence between them as Boaz thought about the brave Elim. “I am going to see more of this in my life, aren’t I?” he asked eventually.
“You will see suffering, yes.”
“Next time I will be as brave as the Elim. I will emulate Horz and not call upon the Lore.”
Pez nodded in approval. “I am proud of you for that.”
Boaz sighed. “It’s over, then.”
“What is?”
“The business with Lazar.”
“Not for me,” Pez muttered bitterly, quietly enough that Boaz could not hear. He called for the Elim to stop, tumbling out of the karak before the men could fully halt. Laughing maniacally, he stuck his head back through the curtains.
“What was that for?” Boaz whispered.
“You need time alone. Rest. I shall take supper with you later if you wish.”
The Zar nodded absently. “Can you get a message to Odalisque Ana for me?”
Pez nodded, the mention of a message reminding him of the folded note pressed against his chest. “Of course.”
“Tell her I’m sorry she had to witness that. Tell her I will keep my promise about the picnic.”
“I’ll go and find her for you now.”
Boaz touched the little man’s gnarled, clawlike hand. “Thank you, Pez.”