Kushiel's Avatar

there were three, in the festal hall, then five, then eight. The apprentices came too, the scouts in their bone girdles, preparing for their final ordination.
    And the Tatar tribesmen came in droves.
    Including Jagun of the Kereyit Tatars.
    Rushad heard the rumor first, and I prayed it was not true, prayed that Blessed Elua would intercede. ’Twas to no avail. Nariman the Chief Eunuch’s face told the tale, his fat cheeks quivering with pleasure as he smiled, his pointing finger summoning Imriel to the festal hall. “ You are to attend the Kereyit warlord,” he hissed. “See he is well pleased at the banquet!”
    Imriel’s expression went stony. No one wept for him. I didn’t dare.
    In the long corridor, he walked like a condemned man going to the gallows, and my heart bled for him. Uru-Azag gave me a sympathetic glance. There was nothing he could do, either.
    The festal hall was packed; a full score of us had been summoned. I took my place at the Mahrkagir’s side. By this time, it was well established. He kept me next to him as if I were his Queen, even greeting me with a courtly kiss, his eyes mad and adoring. And at his side, I too presided over hell.
    The Kereyit Tatars had a place of honor at one of the front tables. I knew Jagun at a glance by the way the others deferred to him. He was resplendent in fur-trimmed armor, broad-shouldered with a horseman’s bandy legs, and he shouted his approval when Imriel was sent to attend him, banging a tankard of kumis on the table.
    At least, I thought, the Tatars are not willfully cruel-not like the Drujani, who followed the creed of Angra Mainyu. And not, Elua be thanked, like the Mahrkagir, for whom night was day and cold was hot and atrocity was an innocent pleasure. Still, they were fierce and savage, and I saw the tears of helpless rage in Imriel’s eyes as Jagun of the Kereyit fondled him, roaring with laughter when he resisted.
    “Jagun wants the boy,” the Mahrkagir confided to me, watching it. He laughed. “If he will swear allegiance, all the Kereyit will follow, and the Kirghiz and the Uighur will follow them! We will march upon Nineveh!” His eyes shone. “Khebbel-im-Akkad will fall to us, îshta, and it is only a beginning. We will sweep across the land like a dark wind. You will see.” He smiled at me. “Your fearful gods are impatient to kneel before Angra Mainyu as you are to kneel at my feet. Tell them I am coming, îshta. It will not be long. When Jagun and the Tatars agree, I will come for them, and I will make of their destruction a wondrous ill-deed.”
    “So you will give Jagun the boy, my lord?” I made myself ask him.
    “Not yet.” He shrugged. “Gashtaham says we cannot move until after the vahmyâcam, anyway. There will be more acolytes, after the offering, and more Âka-Magi will be dedicated, who are worth a thousand warriors each-and something else, he says, something special. I thought I knew, once, but that was before ... look, îshta!” He laughed again. “See how your D’Angeline lord Jossalin stares at the boy! I think he is jealous, my Bringer of Omens. I knew he would desire the boy if he saw him!”
    “Send him to him, then.” My voice sounded hollow to my ears. I forced myself to smile at the Mahrkagir. “And then Jagun will be jealous. If his blood is heated, he will be quicker to strike a bargain and be done with it.”
    “It is a clever thought,” he said in approval. “I may do it, soon. Not yet. I want Jagun to keep his hunger. Certain license I have granted him in this hall, but he is forbidden the final prize. There is time, before the vahmyâcam. Then, after it is done, he may possess the boy in full.” He caressed my cheek with cold fingers. “See how much you have taught me of desire, îshta! I have grown wise in its ways.”
    I nodded, closing my eyes against the terrible thrill of his touch. “When is the vahmyâcam, my lord?”
    “Oh, that.” The Mahrkagir stroked my breast, teasing the nipple to erectness and squeezing it hard, laughing softly as I bit back a whimper of pleasure. It was still a favorite game of his. “Ten days.”
    The hall reeled in my vision as I opened my eyes, hazed in crimson, the pulse of desire beating hard in my blood. I gripped the tabletop hard, nails digging into the wood. One of the Âka-Magi came to speak to the Mahrkagir, who released me. The Âka-Magus looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a pleased smile hovering about his lips.
    And Joscelin was