It might be worth revealing himself if he could get the winged horse while the Star Rider was preoccupied.
With any luck he might even have stripped the Star Rider of his principal source of power, the Windmjirnerhorn.
“Let’s not get greedy,” he muttered, on finding himself searching for the horse using Norath’s only surviving deathcat.
It had been a long day before the alarm. Exhaustion took hold. Sweet as harming Old Meddler would be, disaster was certain if he lost control because he was too tired to concentrate. Released, the deathcat would be after Haroun in a heartbeat.
He drove the beast to the Sheyik’s compound, over the adobe wall, into the house proper, then released it.
There was a chance it might get the Star Rider.
Varthlokkur let himself collapse, pleased with his day.
…
Life had turned simple. Yasmid was getting plenty of sleep. Too much, she feared sometimes. Was she hiding from her obligations by clinging to her bed? Still, there was little to do but arbitrate personal disputes.
There were no foreign threats. Megelin was back in Al Rhemish, licking his wounds and blaming his failures on everyone but himself. Eventually, he would hatch some new abomination.
The fields of the Faithful promised the richest bounty in years. Flocks and herds were particularly fecund. Mares would foal at a wondrous rate. And because the Faithful need not live off the land, game would make a comeback, too. She had ordered hunts restricted to taking predators.
There would be more game when the future turned evil again. It would. It always did.
No one was more optimistic than she. Her advisers wanted to work everyone like they were under siege, building new granaries and creating new fields that could be used to raise more grain.
Good soil was not plentiful. It had to be created. But water was in bountiful supply. Snow melt came down from the Jebal. A score of springs, all reliable, lay within a day’s walk. All had been cleansed of poisons put in over the years. All had been sanctified anew.
Water that did not get used or did not evaporate eventually found its way to the salt pans. Yasmid thought it sinful that any water got that far-though twice, now, she had had to thank God that it did.
She was half awake, fantasizing ways to bring more water to the desert, when a servant announced, “Habibullah wishes to see you, Mistress.”
She felt irritated, then recalled that she had sent for the man. “All right. Let him in.”
Social circumstance had compelled Yasmid to create a pseudoaudience in a mess room where she could pretend she was not a woman and it was not necessary to maintain eunuchs, slave women, and cloth screens to conceal her from male visitors. She loathed that kind of formality. She had evaded it most of her life. But success had its price. Since Megelin’s defeat the older imams had grown loud demanding observation of fundamental rules. People listened because they saw no more need to be flexible.
If peace persisted those old men would keep isolating her till she lost contact with the world.
She asked herself, “What would Haroun do?”
Haroun would bury them. There were not many of them, they were just loud.
Habibullah joined her. He did not speak. He still limped because of a wound taken in the battle with Megelin.
She let that be. “Do you have anything to report?”
“You have something in mind?”
“What progress is my father making?”
“There is progress. You’d see it if you’d visit. But it isn’t as dramatic as Elwas hoped.”
“His time is flying away.”
“I’d say that he’s shown true progress.”
“Really?”
“Truly. But I’m not sure that the swami can finish up. Your father would have to do his part.”
“He isn’t trying?”
“Not much.”
Yasmid sighed. “We’ll give them more time. Merim. Come here. You’re dancing like a child with a desperate need to pee. What is it?”
“Elwas al-Souki is in the kitchen. He begs the chance to bring you news. There is a man with him who needs a bath badly.”
“Leave the smelly man there. Bring Elwas. Habibullah, stand as my witness.” She could not become comfortable with al-Souki. It was not a sexual tension thing, either. It was a creepiness thing. There was something wrong about that man, though no one else could see it.
Elwas al-Souki presented himself with his usual rectitude. His pursuit of form and manners only made Yasmid more uncomfortable.
Her mood shone through when she said, “If you’re here to describe the Disciple’s progress Habibullah beat you to it.”
The ghost of a puzzled frown, then an even fainter, more fleeting touch of hurt, crossed al-Souki’s face. “That is something else, Blessed One. There has been a dramatic development amongst the Royalists. The news just came. The man nearly killed himself getting it here fast.”
Blessed One? “Yes?”
“The sorcerer Magden Norath is dead. He was killed in a town called al-Habor, in an attack so sudden that he had no chance to defend himself.”
“I know al-Habor. But, Magden Norath? Dead?”
“Yes, Sacred Voice. Our spy was an eyewitness.”
Not possible. Could not be. Magden Norath had attained near demigod status during the Great Eastern Wars.
“Dead,” she said again, dumbfounded. “But… That’s not… There’s more. Isn’t there?”
“Much more. The rest is not so joyful.”
“No. After that I suppose there would have to be something awful to balance the scale. What is it?”
“The witness believes the assassin was a ghost. Or some revenant, undead thing. He swears the killer was Haroun bin Yousif.”
Her body turned to water. For an instant she got caught up in the ridiculous question of whether or not Elwas knew about her and Haroun. Of course he did. That had been no secret for a long time.
“Impossible!”
Equally stunned, Habibullah said, “We never really knew that, did we? I never heard tell of anyone actually seeing a body. He just stopped being seen alive.”
“But…”
“Chances are a million to one against it. This spy just wants to see ghosts.”
Al-Souki said, “He doesn’t want to believe it, either. He desperately wants the assassin to be something supernatural instead.”
Yasmid buried her head in her hands. “This will get exaggerated into total insanity.”
Al-Souki said, “I may have overstepped, Lamp of God, but I did move to make sure the mullahs don’t whip up the fanatics.”
Yasmid stared, astonished.
“Have I overstepped?”
“No. This news could spark a new round of wars. Tribal warlords won’t be scared of a Megelin without Magden Norath behind him.”
Elwas coughed, looked reluctant, but went on after a pause. “Megelin may have acquired a more powerful protector.”
This would be the really bad news, saved for last.
“Light of the Ages, the Faithful have numerous friends in al-Habor. The water remains sweet and reliable. The crossroads needs to be watched. Royalists on secret missions often pass through.”
“I’ve been there. Get to the point.”
“Norath and Megelin went there to meet someone.”
“Megelin, too?”
“He was not harmed. His bodyguards kept him safe. They moved him into the local Sheyik’s stronghold.”
Megelin and Norath had gone to al-Habor for a secret meeting? Were the Tervola eying the west again?
Elwas said, “The Faithful in al-Habor say that Megelin came to meet the Star Rider.”
Much worse than a visit with Tervola, then.
Yasmid released a long sigh. Somewhere in scripture there was an appropriate verse that ran something like, “And the thing we dread befalls us.”
“Stop. Habibullah, clear everyone out. You and Elwas stay.”
Habibullah did as he was told, as ever, without understanding. He shut doors then came close so she need not speak loud and be overheard by eavesdroppers.