First he must get the emperor to agree to use the pattern. It was a risk, feeding the Storm with pattern-symbols; everything must be timed with care.
‘Duke?’ Azeem continued to wait in the doorway. ‘I asked whether there was anything else I could do for you.’ Krys and Indri, Didryk’s guards, stood behind the vizier, peering in.
Didryk looked around the room, rubbing at his wrist. Wine and food had been provided, the wine in a delicate glass, the food on a silver tray. He did not think it would be poisoned. The emperor would not have gone through so much pomp just to bury some pika seeds in his dinner – but perhaps Kavic had thought the same thing before he died. ‘Azeem,’ he said, picking up a fig from the tray though he lacked all hunger, ‘if I may ask, how did my cousin die?’
Azeem stepped further into the room and folded his hands over his dark robes. ‘A terrible sickness swept the palace at that time, Duke, a sickness that turned men pale and robbed them of their wills. Many died during that time.’
‘And my cousin Kavic, he went pale?’
The vizier bowed his head. ‘Many people did.’ His obfuscation was practised and perfect.
Didryk popped the fig into his mouth and motioned for Krys and Indri to enter. The fruit had too many seeds; he choked it down. It was then he noticed a Settu board on a low table. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘they have left me a game to play. Do you know Settu, Lord High Vizier?’
‘Of course – I did not expect that you would.’
‘Arigu taught me.’ Didryk gestured at the board and sat at the table, pushing his chair back enough that his knees would not knock against Azeem’s. He was tall, even for his own people, and anyone who was not Fryth made him feel a giant.
Azeem settled across from him and began setting his own pieces on the board. ‘Arigu taught you? I thought he was your prisoner.’ Behind him Didryk’s guards took up position at the door.
‘He was, but of course we had no prison for him. We ate, played Settu, talked and drank all together.’
‘I see.’ Now the vizier would be imagining what kinds of things they had talked about, especially during long nights when there was plenty of drink. He would look at Arigu and wonder if his ale-filled mouth had turned traitor. That pleased Didryk.
The game was set and it was Didryk’s option to place the first tile. He set a soldier piece in front of Azeem’s Tower.
‘That is a bad move,’ said Azeem. ‘One soldier cannot hold against the Tower. Since the game is new to you, I will allow you to take it back.’
Didryk smiled and withdrew the piece, putting down his River instead, creating an obstacle for Azeem’s soldiers. ‘Better,’ said Azeem, placing a Pillar. ‘I wonder, did you ever win against the general? He is said to be one of Nooria’s greatest players.’
‘I did not.’ Didryk pushed forward a Rock. ‘Though Chief Banreh won a match against him.’ Didryk had no sense of Banreh’s fine mind at the moment, only the pain that roared along his nerves.
Azeem’s nose twitched at the name.
‘Have you ever won a game against the emperor?’
Azeem’s hand hovered over his tile, then he pushed it forwards. ‘I have never played against the emperor, may the gods continue to shed their light upon him.’
‘Is it not allowed to play against the emperor?’ Didryk moved his soldier piece again.
Azeem set out his first mage. ‘No one would gainsay the emperor, should he invite a person to play.’
‘So he does not play?’
Azeem reached for one tile, then changed his mind. ‘I have not seen him play Settu, Duke.’ He put a soldier into play and lifted his eyes to Didryk’s face. ‘Are you well?’
‘I am very well.’ Didryk touched his pattern-mark. Removing it would make everything easier, and yet he did not want to. He wanted to know when the pain stopped and Banreh died.
‘I do not think you will win this game.’ Azeem surveyed the board.
Didryk shrugged. ‘I am learning.’ They played a time in silence, the tiles moving into place. He knew that if Azeem were to make his Push he would win, but he would not fell every tile – the grand vizier wanted to stretch out the game until he knew he could win them all.
‘I think you are greedy,’ Didryk said, pouring himself another glass of wine.
‘I am thorough,’ said Azeem, his brown eyes taking in Didryk’s expression. ‘May I ask you something?’
Didryk motioned his permission.
‘What is it like to worship a dead god?’
‘I do not.’ Seeing Azeem’s wrinkled brow he added, ‘That is a misunderstanding common to those who live outside the empire. I understand why you think He is dead – because He is not alive either.’