Nirobus groaned.
“I have sought to amuse myself with lesser males, thinking you gone forever from the knowledge of the djinn.” Lakshmi turned her head a little away, smiling coquettishly and looking up at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Need I continue to amuse myself with such, O Prince?”
“No, never!” Ranudin breathed.
“Yes, never shall you see him again!” Nirobus reached up to touch the ruby. “Back into the gem, Prince Ran… ” He broke off with a howl of rage and frustration.
All eyes went to him… finally, for everyone had been watching the djinn… and saw that the cloth of his turban was empty, unadorned. Nirobus yanked it off and searched its folds frantically. “My ruby! It is gone! Where? How?”
Papa and Matt turned to stare at Callio.
The little thief held the huge gem up to the light, then grinned at Matt. “It is amazing what you can do when everyone is staring at something unusual.”
“Yes, amazing,” Papa agreed, his mouth dry.
Matt kept muttering.
“It is mine!” Nirobus cried, and came running at Callio.
But the little thief stepped up, holding the jewel high, crying, “Here, O Princess! A gift for your betrothal, if you choose that course!”
“I thank you, O Sleight of Hand.” Lakshmi reached down to pluck the jewel from his fingers, a split second before Nirobus barreled into him. Callio cried out; Papa leaped to pull him free; Nirobus collapsed into a moaning heap.
Lakshmi turned back to Ranudin with a teasing smile, weighing the jewel in her palm. “Must you now do whatever I desire, O Prince?”
“Princess,” Ranudin said in his huskiest tones, “I do not doubt that I shall choose to fulfill your desires in every way.”
Matt finished his chant and whispered to his parents, “He won’t have to, though.”
“I don’t think the issue will arise,” Mama told him.
“Then come,” Lakshmi said, “and let us discover the truth of your boasts.” She stepped into his arms, her own going up behind his neck, and he bent his head to kiss her. He was still kissing as dust boiled up about them, and their forms blurred to become one with the whirlwind… but just before Lakshmi’s head disappeared, she turned her face to say, “Thank you, wizard. Once more am I beholden to you.” Then even her features swam and blended with the motes about her. The whirlwind sprang high into the air and sailed away toward the south, and the desert.
“The Mediterranean coast always was a good place for a honeymoon,” Mama said.
“I wonder if the djinn bother with weddings?” Papa asked.
Matt turned to Callio. “I thought you were a failure as a thief.”
“Because I was always caught.” Callio shrugged. “I could not help myself, Lord Wizard. I felt the need to boast of my exploits in every tavern.”
Sir Guy stepped up to take Nirobus by the shoulder and pull him to his feet. “Come quietly, Doctor. Your magic can avail you nothing now.”
“Unhand me!” Nirobus cried, and struck Sir Guy’s hand away as he leaped back, leaped free. “Avail me nothing? Ignorant fools! Hearken to the song of doom!” He began to chant in Arabic, and Tafas cried out, doubling over in pain. His officers clustered around him with cries of concern, then screamed as he had and clutched their bellies.
Nirobus began to grow, his voice deepening, reverberating as he shifted into the language of Merovence.
Mama began to chant in Spanish.
“By cord, garrote, and pointed awl,” Nirobus shouted, “bind the tongues of women all!”
Mama’s voice turned into a sort of cawing, consonants without any vowels.
“Blind their eyes and bind their limbs!”
Nirobus cried.
‘Let all about me…
A voice cried out in delight, a war cry, and an old knight in rusted armor came charging on a spavined old plowhorse, swelling to match Nirobus’ giant size even as his mended lance centered on the sorcerer’s heart. Nirobus cried out in rage, his fist swelling into a boulder as he swung a blow at the ancient cavalier
… but the stone bounced off the brazen helmet, and the crooked lance struck squarely into Nirobus’ chest. There was a crack of thunder, a blinding flash of light, and when the afterimages cleared, both knight and sorcerer were gone, leaving only a charred patch of stone behind.
“But I thought he was only a fiction!” Mama protested, wide-eyed.
“He is the incarnation of a spirit that is always abroad throughout the world, my love,” Papa said, his arm around her, “but most particularly here.”
“Then was Nirobus a spirit, too?” Matt wondered.
He was very glad when no one answered.
Tafas may have been horrified at seeing his “holy hermit” revealed as a cynical powermonger, and may have been chagrined at having let himself be hoodwinked and exploited, but he couldn’t back away completely and keep the respect of his troops. “My men, too, have bled and died, King Rinaldo,” he said, chin set stubbornly. “I cannot let those deaths be for nothing, cannot let my soldiers go home with no gain.”
“But the land you have taken is not rightfully yours,” Rinaldo said gently, “and if I do not take it back now, my descendants will.”
He left unspoken that the price of that taking would be blood and death. Tafas glared at him, determined not to be overawed by age and experience.
They sat in an open-sided pavilion with Matt, Alisande, and Sir Guy… an open pavilion in an open field, with the Moorish army watching from one side and the combined forces of Merovence and Ibile from the other. Their chairs were folding hourglass-shapes standing on a Moorish carpet. Between them stood a low table with tiny cups of thick Moorish coffee and goblets of burgundy. Tafas had been pleasantly surprised when Matt had chosen the coffee with every sign of delight.
“Our forefathers’ land, at least, you will not deny us!” Tafas snapped, “not the province that Moors have held these five hundred years!”
“No, my lord, I never sought to push you back across the Straits,” Rinaldo said mildly. “But the lands you yourself have taken belong to my people. Will you see them go homeless and poor for the sake of your pride?”
“For the sake of my people, you mean! And what of those folk of Ibile who have chosen to convert to Islam? I must protect them, must I not?”
“How many of them are there?” Rinaldo asked.
“I have bid my scribes keep careful count,” Tafas snapped. “Four thousand three hundred fifty-seven of your subjects have embraced the True Faith!”
“Four thousand is enough to fill a small city,” Matt pointed out. That was true, in medieval terms.
Rinaldo looked up with a smile. “Which small city did you have in mind?”
“Aldocer!” Tafas leaped on the notion with eagerness. “It is only a hundred miles from our Moorish province! Let us have Aldocer with the land between it and Gibraltar for our own!”
“All the Christians could leave if they wished,” Alisande pointed out. “All the Muslims could go to Aldocer, or if they still wished to farm, to the lands the Christians have vacated.”
“You would have to pay those expelled Christians for their land,” Rinaldo said to Tafas.
The young man frowned. “We have already paid, in blood!”
“But gold is worth far less,” Matt suggested. “Give them a little gold, too, Lord Tafas, or they will be beggars. Does not the Koran insist you give alms?”
“If it is alms… ” Tafas mused.
“You would have to guarantee the safety of the Christians who wished to stay,” Rinaldo stated, “and their freedom to worship as they pleased, and not be oppressed for it.”
“We of the Faith have always given our protection to the People of the Book,” Tafas told him.
“Then you won’t mind giving him your pledge in writing, my lord,” Matt said.