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ailment of the head and chest； he had explained。 He was shivering like a girl。 Ghalib's contempt was obvious to Yazir； but this man from across the straits would not see that either； even with Ghalib's veil lowered。
Yazir had long ago realized…and had tried to make his brother understand…that the softness of life in Al…Rassan had not only turned the men there into infidels； it had also made them very nearly women。 Less than women； in fact。 Not one of Yazir's wives would have been half so pathetic as this Prince Hazem of Cartada； his nose dripping like a child's in the face of a little wind。
And this young man； lamentably； was one of the devout ones。 One of the true； pious followers of Ashar in Al…Rassan。 Yazir was forced to keep reminding himself of that。 The man had been corresponding with them for some time。 Now he had e himself to the Majriti； a long way in a difficult season； to speak his plea to the two leaders of the Muwardis； here on a blanket before flapping tents in the vast and empty desert。 He had probably expected to meet them in Abirab； or Abeneven at worst； Yazir thought。 Cities and houses were what the soft men of Al…Rassan knew。 Beds with scented pillows； cushions to recline upon。 Flowers and trees and green grass； with more water than any man could use in his lifetime。 Forbidden wine and naked dancers and painted Jaddite women。 Arrogant Kindath merchants exploiting the faithful and worshipping their female moons instead of Ashar's holy stars。 A world where the bells summoning to prayer were occasion for a cursory nod in the direction of a temple； if that much。
Yazir dreamed at night of fire。 A great burning in Al…Rassan and north of it； among the kingdoms of Esperana； where they worshipped the killing sun in mockery of the Star…born children of the desert。 He dreamed of a purging inferno that would leave the green； seductive land scorched back towards sand but pure again； ready for rebirth。 A place where the holy stars might shine cleanly down and not avert their light in horror from what men did below in the cesspools of their cities。
He was a cautious man； though； Yazir ibn Q'arif of the Zuhrite tribe。 Even before the foul murder of the last khalif in Silvenes wadjis had been ing across the straits to him and his brother； year after year； beseeching that the tribes sweep north across the water to a burning of infidels。
Yazir didn't like boats； he didn't like water。 He and Ghalib had more than enough on their hands controlling the desert tribes。 He had elected to roll small dice only behind his veil…akin to a cautious play in the ancient bone game of the desert…and had allowed some of his soldiers to go north as mercenaries。 Not to serve the wadjis either； but the very kings they opposed。 The petty…kings of Al…Rassan had money； and paid it for good soldiers。 Money was useful； it bought food from north and east in hard seasons； it hired masons and shipbuilders…men Yazir had reluctantly e to realize he needed； if the Muwardis were to have any more permanence than the drifting sands。
Information was useful； too。 His soldiers sent home all their wages； and with these sums came tidings of affairs in Al…Rassan。 Yazir and Ghalib knew a great deal。 Some of it was prehensible； some was not。 They learned that there were courtyards within the palaces of the kings； and even in the public squares of cities； where water was permitted to burst freely from pipes through the mouths of sculpted animals…and then to run away again； unused。 This was almost impossible to credit； but the tale had been reported too many times not to be true。
One report…this one a fable； obviously…even had it that in Ragosa； where a Kindath sorcerer had bewitched the feeble king； a river ran through the palace。 It was said that there was a waterfall in the sorcerer's bedchamber； where the Kindath fiend bedded helpless Asharite women； ripping their maidenheads and laughing at his power over the Star…born。
Yazir stirred restlessly within his cloak； the image filled him with a heavy rage。 Ghalib finished cracking beetles； pushed the earthenware dish away； pulled up his veil and mumbled something under his breath。
〃I'm sorry？〃 the Cartadan prince said； leaping at the sound。 He sniffled。 〃My ears。 I'm sorry。 I failed to hear。 Excellence？〃
Ghalib looked at Yazir。 It was increasingly evident that he wanted to kill this man。 That was understandable； but it remained a bad idea； in Yazir's view。 He was the older brother。 Ghalib would follow him； in most things。 He narrowed his eyes in warning。 Their visitor missed this of course； he missed everything。
On the other hand； Yazir abruptly reminded himself； Ashar had taught that charity towards the devout was the highest deed of earthly piety； short of dying in a holy war； and this man…this Hazem ibn Almalik…was as close to being truly devout as any prince of Al…Rassan had been in a long time。 He was here； after all。 He had e to them。 They had to take note of that。 If only he wasn't such a sorry； emasculated excuse for a man。
〃Nothing；〃 Yazir grunted。
〃What？ I beg…〃
〃My brother said nothing。 Do not trouble yourself so。〃 He tried to say it kindly。 Kindness did not e naturally to him。 Neither did patience； though that he had been at pains to teach himself over the years。
His world was different now from when he and Ghalib had led the Zuhrites out of the west and swept all the other tribes before them； leaving the sands blood…red where they passed。 More than twenty years ago that was。 They had been young men。 The khalif in Silvenes had sent them gifts。 Then the next khalif； and the next； until the last one was slain。
There was still blood on the sands； most years。 The tribes of the desert had never taken easily to authority。 Twenty years was a very long time to have held sway。 Long enough even to build two cities on the coast； with shipyards now and warehouses； and three more cities inland； with markets； where the gold of the south could be assembled and dispersed in the long caravans。 Yazir hated settlements； but they mattered。 They were marks of endurance on the shifting face of the desert。 They were a beginning to something larger。
The next stage of permanence for the Muwardis； though； lay beyond the sands。 That much was being more and more clear to Yazir as the seasons and the stars turned。
Ghalib flatly rejected the very thought of leaving the desert life he knew； but not the idea of a holy war across the straits。 That idea he liked。 Ghalib was good at killing people。 He was not a man well…suited to leading the tribes in peacetime； or to building things that might remain after him； for his sons and his sons' sons。 Yazir； who had e out of the west those long years ago with a string of camels and a sword； with five thousand warriors and a bright； hard vision of Ashar； was trying to bee such a man。
Ibn Rashid； the ascetic； the wadji who had e to the westernmost Zuhrite tribes bearing the teachings of Ashar from the so…called homelands none of the Muwardis had ever seen； would have approved； Yazir knew that much。
The wadji； gaunt and tall； with his unkempt white beard and hair and his black eyes that read souls； had settle