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f all we have been。〃
His chancellor said nothing。 The king； after a pause； said； 〃Mazur； are there not some things we have made here； some things we have done； that are worthy to have been in Silvenes； even in the golden age？〃
And Mazur ben Avren； with rare emotion in the deep voice； replied； 〃There has been a king here； at the least； my lord； more than worthy to have been a khalif in the Al…Fontina in those most shining days。〃
Another silence。 King Badir said； at length； very softly； 〃Then speak no more； old friend； of my losing you。 I cannot。〃
Ben Avren inclined his head。 〃I will speak of it no more；〃 he said。 〃My lord。〃
They finished their wine。 The chancellor rose； with some difficulty； and bade his king good night。 He went down the long palace corridors； his slippers silent on the marble floors； walking under torches and past tapestries； listening to the rain。
Zabira was asleep。 She had left one candle burning on a table with a flask of wine and another of water； and a glass for him； already filled。 He smiled； looking down upon her…as beautiful in sleep as she was awake。
The northerners； he thought； the desert tribes： how could they even prehend a place and time…a world…that had produced a woman such as this？ She would be a symbol of corruption for them both。 They would kill her or degrade her； he knew。 They would have no idea what else to do with Zabira of Cartada or the music that she made； moving in the world。
He sat down with a sigh in the carved； deep…cushioned wooden chair he'd missioned from a Jaddite craftsman in the city。 He drank a glass of wine； and then； eventually； another； not really sleepy； deep in thought。
No real regrets； he told himself。 And realized it was true。
Before he undressed for bed he went to the inner window and opened it and looked out； breathing the night air。 The rain had stopped。 Water dripped from the leaves of the trees to the garden below。
A long way to the south and west another man was awake that same night； beneath a very different sky。
Past the peaks of the Serrana； past Lonza； huddled and afraid behind its walls； waiting for the Valledans to e； past Ronizza whose lacework was known through all the world； past arrogant Cartada in the valley of its power where the red dye was made； past Aljais and the canals of Elvira； and Silvenes where ghosts and ghostly music were said still to drift among the ruins； past； even； Tudesca at the mouth of the Guadiara； where ships put out to sea with the wealth of Al…Rassan and brought eastern treasures home。
Past all of these and beyond the waters of the straits； outside the walls of Abirab at the northern tip of the Majriti sands； Yazir ibn Q'arif； lord of the tribes of the desert； Sword of Ashar in the West； breathed the salt air from the sea and； sitting alone on an outspread cloak； looked up at a clear sky strewn with the stars of his god。
The Zuhrites had been taught by the sage who had e to them that there were as many stars as there were sands in the desert。 Twenty years ago； new to belief； Yazir used to try to prehend what that meant。 He would run grains of sand through his hand while gazing at the heavens。
He was beyond such testing now。 Understanding of the god was only for one such as Ashar； worthy of the gift of vision。 What could a simple warrior do but bow his head and worship before such unimaginable vastness？
Stars of the heavens like the sands of the desert？ What could any man do but humble himself and serve； praying by day and night for mercy and grace； understanding that he was only a part…less than a grain in the drifting sands…of the larger； unheard purpose of the god。
How could men grow swollen with pride； nourish delusions of their worth or the worth of the frail； vain things they made； if they truly believed in Ashar and the stars？ That； Yazir ibn Q'arif thought； was a question he would like to ask the kings of Al…Rassan。
The night was mild； though Yazir could sense a hint of winter to e in the wind from the sea。 Not long now。 Two moons were riding among the stars； the blue one waxing and the white one a waning crescent in the west beyond the last of the land。
Looking at the moons； he was thinking about the Kindath； as it happened。
He had only met one of them in all his life； a barefoot wanderer in a belted robe who had e ashore years ago at a trading station on the coast east of Abeneven。 The man had asked to meet the leader of the tribes and had been brought； eventually； to Yazir。
The Kindath had not been a man as most men were； he was not even typical of his own people。 He had said as much to Yazir at their first meeting on the sands。 Hardened by years of travel； his skin burnt dark and weathered by wind and sun； he reminded Yazir of no one so much as ibn Rashid； the wadji who had e to the Zuhrites long ago…heretical as such a thought might have been。 He had the same long； untended white beard； the same clear eyes that seemed to look at something behind or beyond what other men saw。
He was journeying through many lands； the Kindath said； writing of his travels； recording the glorious places of creation； speaking with men of all faiths and beliefs。 Not to preach or cajole as the wadjis did； but to deepen his own sense of wonder at the splendor of the world。 He laughed often； that Kindath traveler； frequently at himself； telling tales of his own ignorance and helplessness in countries of which Yazir had not even known the names。
He spoke； during his sojourn with Yazir's people； of the world as having been made by more than one god； and as only one dwelling place among many for the children of creation。 This was heresy beyond prehension。 Yazir remembered wondering if even to hear it condemned him to the darkness far from Paradise when he died。
It appeared that there was a sect of the Kindath； an ancient tribe； that taught of these other worlds scattered among the stars； far beyond the moons that wandered the night。
Ashar's starry visions had been right； the traveller confided to Yazir； but so were the wiser prophets of Jad； and so； in truth； were the Kindath sages who had seen goddesses in the moons。 All these teachings revealed a part…but only a part…of the mystery。
There were other deities； other worlds。 There was one god above all； ruler of stars and sun and moons； of all the worlds。 No man knew the name of this most high lord。 Only in the world that had been made first； the world all others…including their own…had followed into Time was that name known and spoken。
Only there did the Supreme One allow knowledge of himself； and there the gods did him homage。
They had broken bread together for several mornings and nights； and spoken of many things。 Then the Kindath traveller had begged leave to go alone from Yazir's camp that he might travel the vast and mighty Majriti desert and worship the splendor thereof。
Ghalib； who had been listening to some of what had been said over the past days； had asked Yazir's permission…unusual； for him…to follow and kill the man because of his impieties。 Yazir； torn by the burden of a host towards a guest and the spiritual duties of a leader to his p