Sanctuary полностью

“I can only repeat: There is no proof Lady Kerianseray or any other elven warriors have harmed a single nomad. No one has offered the slightest evidence an atrocity has even occurred. If it has, the Great Khan should look elsewhere for culprits—Neraka, perhaps.”

Lord Hengriff also was present on the rooftop. The representative of the Dark Knights stood a few steps away, among a crowd of other foreign dignitaries he overtopped by head and shoulders. His dark face was expressionless as a mask, even when the Silvanesti noble invoked his country’s name.

“The truth will be known,” Sahim declared. “I believe in the will of the gods.”

In reality Sahim-Khan believed in nothing but Sahim-Khan. As always, his mind was busy considering how best to make use of the current situation. Morillon’s threat to fight for water might prove a useful lever for prying more money out of Neraka. Sahim sought out Hengriff in the crowd, only to discover the bull-voiced warrior had slipped away unnoticed. Such discretion was remarkable in so large a man-remarkable and unnerving.

“Mighty Khan, the gates?” the Silvanesti lord was saying.

He was a persistent snake. Sahim had to credit him for that. Next to round, bewigged old Zunda, Morillon looked trim, cool, and elegant.

Sahim settled himself back in his throne-not the heavy, priceless Sapphire Throne, which never left the audience hall—and arranged his white and gold robes. Thus seated, he was a head taller than the standing elf. He made the most of his advantage, looking down his nose at Morillon.

“Zunda, how long till sunset?”

“One hour, Mighty Khan,” the vizier replied promptly. He’d long ago learned to have a multitude of disparate facts to hand, even one which his master could easily know for himself, simply by looking over his shoulder at the lowering sun.

Sahim mulled the answer in silence for moment, then barked: “Commander of the Guard!”

The quick flash of surprise on Morillon’s face was most gratifying. The laddad wasn’t as sure of himself as he appeared.

General Hakkam came forward. Armor clanking, he knelt before his lord. “Commander, take what troops you need and clear the city gates of all malcontents,” the Khan said. “If they resist, put them to the sword!”

Hakkam’s weathered face showed even more surprise than the elf’s, but he acknowledged the command immediately. Before he could rise to go, Sahim spoke again.

“However, the gates will remain closed.”

It seemed all in the crowd were holding their breath. None could fathom what the Khan was up to. From the look on Morillon’s face, it was obvious he, too, was at a loss.

“As you must certainly recall, my lord,” Sahim said, “elves are not allowed within the city after nightfall. The Khan of Khur cannot allow his defenses to be compromised. The malcontents and rioters will be cleared from the gates at once, and the gates will open as usual—at sunrise tomorrow.”

General Hakkam departed.

Morillon expressed his gratitude. His words carried no trace of irony.

“Justice is the cornerstone of khanship,” Sahim said, allowing his amusement to show. It was not a pleasant expression. “The merchants in the souks must trade. I’m sure they miss their laddad customers.” He put a hand to his lips, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You had best warn your Speaker. Keeping sufficient troops on the gates to ward off rioters will be a drain on my treasury. I will of course be forced to institute a new tax.”

An awed hush fell over the rooftop garden. Morillon’s breathing seemed suddenly loud. All of his diplomatic training was required to keep him from shouting. “What tax, Mighty Khan?” he asked.

“Henceforth, all persons entering Khuri-Khan to trade must pay an entry tax.” He glanced at Zunda. “One gold piece per head.” The vizier lowered his eyes and nodded, ever so slightly.

The amount was ridiculous, exorbitant, and fell especially on the elves, who entered frequently for trade purposes. Morillon’s Silvanesti aplomb failed him utterly. His mouth fell open. Sahim smilingly assured him the tax was only temporary, until the troops could be returned to their barracks.

Morillon bowed stiffly. “I will convey the Great Khan’s words to the Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Will Your Mightiness receive the Speaker to discuss the matter of the alleged massacre?”

Sahim waved a hand magnanimously. “I need no reassurance, my lord. The word of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars is more than enough for me.”

Pale, tight-lipped, Morillon swept out, ignoring the stares of Sahim’s uncouth courtiers. Another so-called tax! This was the second time the Khan had insulted the Speaker to Morillon’s face. The Silvanesti was a lifelong servant of the throne of the Stars and his patience was nearly at an end. Sahim-Khan didn’t know it, but he’d made a lasting enemy of Lord Morillon this day.