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uaging。 Far from the desert； the desert lay inside him like a wound or a weight； as it lay inside them all。
The white moon was overhead； the blue just rising； a crescent。 With the city lights behind him the stars were fierce and cold above the lake。 Clarity； that was what they meant to him。 That was what he needed tonight。
He listened to the waves striking against the pier beneath his feet。 Once； a pause； again。 The surging rhythm of the world。 His thoughts were scattered； bobbing like the boats； refusing to coalesce。 He was in some disfort physically but that wasn't important。 Weariness mostly； some bruises； a gash on one calf that he had simply ignored。
The afternoon's challenge in the lists had been effortless； in fact。 One of the things with which he was having trouble。
There had been five against the two of them； and the Karcher had chosen four of the best captains in Ragosa to join him。 There was a visible anger in those men； a grimness； the need to prove a point and not just about wages。 It had been contrived as a display； an entertainment for court and city； not to…the…death。 But even so； eyes beneath helms had been hard and cold。
It ought never to have been so swift； so much like a dance or a dream。 It was as if there had been music playing somewhere； almost but not quite heard。 He had fought those five men side…by…side and then back…to…back with Rodrigo Belmonte of Valledo； whom he had never seen in his life； and it had been as nothing had ever been before； on a battlefield or anywhere else。 It had felt weirdly akin to having doubled himself。 To fighting as if there were two hard…trained bodies with the one controlling mind。 They hadn't spoken during the fight。 No warnings； tactics。 It hadn't even lasted long enough for that。
On the pier above the cold； choppy waters of Lake Serrana； ibn Khairan shook his head； remembering。
He ought to have been elated after such a triumph； perhaps curious； intrigued。 He was deeply unsettled instead。 Restless。 Even a little afraid； if he was honest with himself。
The wind blew。 He stood facing into it； looking north across the lake。 On the farther shore lay the tagra lands where no one lived； with Jalona and Valledo beyond。 Where the Horsemen of Jad worshipped the golden sun the Asharites feared in their burning deserts。 Jad。 Ashar。 Banners for men to gather beneath。
He had spent his life alone； whether in play or at war。 Had never sought a pany to mand； a coterie of sub…manders； or even； truthfully； a friend。 panions； hangers…on； acolytes； lovers； these had always been a part of his life； but not real friendship…unless one named the man he had poisoned in Cartada。
Ibn Khairan had e over the years to see the world as a place in which he moved by himself； leading men into battle when necessary； evolving plans and courses for his monarch when asked； crafting his verses and songs whenever the patterns of life allowed space for that； linking and unlinking with a succession of women…and some men。
Nothing for very long； nothing that went too deep。 He had never married。 Had never wanted to； or been pressured to do so。 His brothers had children。 Their line would continue。
If pressed； he would probably have said that this cast of mind； this steady； ongoing need for distance； had its origin on a summer's day when he had walked into the Al…Fontina in Silvenes and killed the last khalif on a fountain rim for Almalik of Cartada。
The old； blind man had praised his youthful verses。 Had invited him to visit Silvenes。 An aged man who had never wanted to ascend the khalif's dais。 Everyone knew that。 How should a blind poet rule Al…Rassan？ Muzafar had been only another piece on the board； a tool of the court powers in corrupt； terrified Silvenes。 Dark days those had been in Al…Rassan； when the young ibn Khairan had walked past bribed eunuchs and into the Garden of Desire bearing a forbidden blade。
It was not hard； even now； to make a case for what he had done； for what Almalik of Cartada had ordered done。 Even so。 That day in the innermost garden of the Al…Fontina had marked ibn Khairan。 In the eyes of others； in his own eyes。 The man who killed the last khalif of Al…Rassan。
He had been young then； rich with a sense of his own invulnerability and a dazzled awareness of all the shimmering possibilities the world held in store。
He wasn't young any more。 Even the cold； this keen wind off the water； knifed into him more sharply than it would have fifteen years ago。 He smiled at that； for the first time that night； and shook his head ruefully。 Maudlin； unworthy thoughts。 An old man in a blanket before the fire？ Soon enough； soon enough。 If he lived。 The patterns of life。 What was allowed。
e； brother； Rodrigo Belmonte of Valledo had said today as five hard men with swords had walked forward to encircle the two of them。 Shall we show them how this is done？
They had shown them。
Brother。 A golden disk of Jad on a chain about his throat。 Leader of the most dangerous pany in the peninsula。 One hundred and fifty horsemen of the god。 A beautiful wife； two sons。 Heirs to be taught； even loved perhaps。 Pious and loyal； and deadly。
Ibn Khairan knew about that last； now。 Only stories before。 Nothing like it； ever； in a lifetime of bat。 Five men against them。 Trained； magnificent fighters； the best mercenaries in Ragosa。 And in no time at all； really； they were down； it was over。 A dance。
Usually he could remember each individual movement； every feint and parry and thrust of a battle for a long time afterwards。 His mind worked that way； breaking down a larger event into its smaller parts。 But this afternoon was already a blur。 Which was a part of why he was so unsettled now。
He had looked at Belmonte after； and had seen…with relief and apprehension； both…a mirror image of that same strangeness。 As if something had gone flying away from each of them and was only just ing back。 The Valledan had looked glazed； unfocused。
At least； Ammar had thought； it isn't only me。
There had been uncontrolled noise by then； delirious； deafeningly loud。 Screaming from up on the walls and from the royal stand by the lists。 Hats and scarves and gloves and leather flasks of wine sailing through the air to land about them。 It had all seemed to be ing from a long way off。
He had tried； out of habit； to be sardonic。 〃Shall we kill each other for them now； to set a seal on it？〃 he'd said。
The men they'd defeated were being helped to their feet； those who could rise。 One man； the Karcher； had a broken arm from the flat of a sword。 Another was unable to stand； they were carrying him away on a litter。 A woman's pale blue scarf； drifting down through the sunlight； had fallen across his body。 Ammar could only vaguely remember having faced the man with the broken arm。 It had been at the very outset。 He could not clearly recall the blow； the sequence of it。 Too strange； that was。
Rodrigo Belmonte had not laughed at his attempted jest； or smiled； standing beside him amid that huge and distant noise。
〃Do we want a seal on it？〃 he'd asked。
Ammar had shaken his head。 They had stood alone in the middle of the world。 A s