The Sword Of Angels

8

Gilwyn awoke to the sounds of his own cries. His ears heard the noise, and when his eyes snapped open he saw figures overheard, swarming in a fuzzy haze. He breathed hard, struggling to find his breath. His head swam with pain. Trying to move, he felt a thousand stinging needles prick his naked skin. A swollen tongue filled his mouth, dry and tasting of medicine. Sweat drenched his face and matted his hair. Barely lifting his head, he fought to focus his eyes, squinting at the figures, but they were unfamiliar to him, their features distorted by his broken vision. He coughed, a great hacking series that shook his body. The effort made his lungs burn. A dark figure stooped to touch his forehead. The touch of the soft hand made him whimper.

‘White-Eye. .?’

The hand cupped his forehead, gently caressing it. He smelled perfume. Had he been sleeping? If so, awakening was exhausting him. His vision faltered and his eyes shuddered closed. As he drifted off he remembered something of Ruana, and how she wanted him to wake.

For hours more, Gilwyn slept, and when at last he awoke again he could not remember when he had taken to bed. This time when he awoke his vision had cleared. His head still ached and his body still burned with pain, yet his breathing had relaxed and his terror had subsided. He wakened peacefully, in a chamber darkened with night and lit by golden oil lamps. Alone and naked in a bed of soft blankets, he slowly turned his head to study his surroundings, realizing with surprise that he was in a tent. Moonlight sifted through the fabric walls. The air of the pavilion smelled of flowers and scented oils. Outside, Gilwyn heard voices, softly murmuring. He raised himself off the bedding, barely an inch. Finding the effort too depleting, he collapsed.

‘Hello?’ he croaked.

From the corner of the pavilion a figure stirred, coming toward him. Gilwyn felt no fear as he noted the woman, young and pretty, with dark skin like White-Eye’s and the silken garb of a desert lady. She looked at him and smiled, obviously pleased he had awakened. Looking deeply into his eyes, she nodded. She touched his forehead, reminding Gilwyn that she had done it before. Her touch soothed him. He tried again to talk.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, his voice gravelly. ‘Where am I?’

The woman frowned at his questions. She was older than he was, though not by much. Suddenly his nakedness embarrassed him.

‘Where are my clothes? Who are you?’

Again his queries went unanswered. The woman knelt beside his bed and dipped a bronze ladle into a shining bowl of water. With one hand she lifted his head. With the other, she gave him drink. Gilwyn sipped carefully, grateful for the water. His parched tongue cooled immediately. He coughed to clear his throat.

‘No, no more. Tell me where I am.’

‘In a good place,’ said the woman.

Gilwyn had not expected her to speak his language. Again he tried sitting up. ‘You understand me,’ he said with surprise. ‘Tell me what’s happened to me.’

‘Too many questions. Lay quietly now.’

‘No. .’

Gilwyn tried to keep himself up but could not. Overwhelmed with fatigue, he put his head back to the silk pillow and looked pleadingly at the young woman. Weary-looking marks darkened her eyes. She had obviously been with him for hours. Yet she was beautiful to Gilwyn, if only because he felt so alone.

‘Am I sick?’ he asked. He began to remember what Ruana had told him, though it seemed so long ago.

‘Sleep,’ directed the woman. She rose from his bedside and turned to go.

‘I won’t sleep,’ he warned her. ‘I’ll keep you up all night unless you start answering my questions.’

The woman sighed heavily, and for the first time looked annoyed. ‘You have kept me awake for days already.’

‘Days? How long. .’ He broke into coughs. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Long. We have tended to you.’

‘Yes, I remember others.’ Gilwyn closed his eyes, recalling the figures gathered over him. ‘I need to know where I am.’

‘You are in a good place.’

‘You told me that already,’ said Gilwyn sourly. ‘It doesn’t help.’

He sagged at the empty conversation. Seeing this, the woman came closer. Because his bed lay very near the floor, she took an emerald pillow from a nearby pile and sat down next to him, cross-legged. Almost unable to lift his head, Gilwyn managed to smile at her.

‘I am called Harani,’ she said. ‘I speak the tongue of the continent. There are not many of us who do. That is why I was chosen to care for you.’

‘Harani.’ Gilwyn liked the way she spoke her name, almost musically. ‘Are you Ganjeese?’

‘I am Voruni,’ said the woman. ‘Do you remember what happened to you?’

Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Not really. You’re Voruni?’ He thought a moment, then became frightened. ‘Are you one of Aztar’s people?’

‘You are in the camp of Aztar,’ said Harani. ‘Perhaps we should not talk about this. If you do not remember. .’

But suddenly Gilwyn did remember. ‘The rass.’

‘Yes.’ Harani smiled. ‘You are blessed by Vala, truly. To have survived the rass you must be blessed.’

‘I was riding,’ Gilwyn recalled. ‘There were raiders. They attacked me. And then. .’

He stopped himself. It was he who had summoned the rass. He remember that now, but he could never confess such a thing. He opened his eyes to see Harani nodding at him earnestly.

‘Good that you remember,’ she said. ‘Your mind is clearing. You have been very ill. We did not think you would survive.’

‘Because of the rass?’ Gilwyn asked. ‘Did it bite me?’

‘Your arms and legs — they burn, yes?’

Gilwyn nodded. His limbs burned like fire.

‘That is the poison of the rass,’ explained Harani. ‘You were stiff like a branch when they brought you here. On your chest you have the scar.’ Harani traced her finger lightly over his chest, pushing the blanket. ‘Here. That is where the fangs cut you.’

Even the gentle pressure made Gilwyn wince. ‘Who brought me here?’ he asked. ‘The men chasing me?’

‘They were Voruni men,’ said Harani. ‘You were still alive when the rass attacked. They escaped with you and brought you here.’

‘They were trying to kill me. Why would they save me?’

Harani touched his face to calm him. ‘You are safe.’

The answer did little to relax Gilwyn. Suddenly he remembered everything, even how his captors had claimed they were taking him to Aztar. ‘Is Aztar alive?’ he asked. ‘Is he here?’

‘Aztar lives. You will see him when you are stronger.’

‘No,’ Gilwyn protested, forcing himself up onto his elbow. ‘I can’t wait. I have to go. I have to get to Ganjor.’

‘Not until you are well and not until Aztar speaks with you. That is why the others brought you here.’

‘They captured me for Aztar?’

‘There are others outside. If you try to go they will stop you.’

Desperate, Gilwyn gripped the blankets. ‘Harani, I can’t stay here. Aztar wants to question me — you said so yourself. When he’s done he’ll kill me.’

‘The prince did not keep you alive to kill you,’ Harani assured him. ‘And if you do not lay back you will not get well.’ She pushed him back into the soft bedding. Gilwyn yielded, mostly because he hadn’t the strength to fight. Whatever had happened to him had left him weak, too weary even to argue. Harani fixed the blankets around him, covering him against a feverish chill that suddenly swept through his body. Then, she surprised him with a simple question. ‘What is your name?’

‘My name? Gilwyn. Gilwyn Toms.’

‘Gilwyn.’ Harani grinned. ‘That is a strange name.’

‘Not where I come from.’

‘You have been here for many days, Gilwyn. You need to know how close to death you were. Do you remember anything more?’

Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Just the rass. After that. .’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing.’ He looked earnestly at Harani. ‘How long?’

‘Many days. Nearly twenty.’

‘Twenty?’ Gilwyn gasped. ‘In bed like this?’

‘Yes. Do you understand now? The rass poison should have killed you, but it did not. Aztar says that you are blessed, Gilwyn, and I believe him. No one should have survived it, but you did. Aztar told me to care for you, to keep you alive.’ Harani eased back from the bedside. ‘And now that you are awake, I must tell him.’

Gilwyn but didn’t argue. For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, Aztar wanted him alive. It might be for information, or the simple sport of watching him squirm, but Gilwyn was determined to face the prince bravely. The mere fact that Aztar still lived earned him a certain respect.

‘I’m ready,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Go and bring him.’

Harani laughed. ‘One does not summon Prince Aztar. I will tell him you have awakened and that you can speak. He will come when he is ready.’

For three more days, Gilwyn waited for Aztar. Mostly, he fell in and out of sleep, comforted by Harani who was always there with a dipper or water or offer of food. When he was sweaty, Harani bathed him, and when he was despondent she smiled, reassuring him even as she avoided his questions. Gilwyn gradually felt himself grow stronger, and by the third day he was able to sit up and dangle his legs from the ends of the bedding. He ate very little, for his stomach still rebelled with nausea, but he discovered an insatiable thirst for water that required him to relieve himself in a pan that Harani and the other women emptied for him without complaint. The days in the pavilion were unbearably warm, and though the fabric walls shielded them from the worst of the desert sun Gilwyn nevertheless longed for night to fall each day. He had very few visitors while he recovered, among them Harani’s husband, who had come to check on his wife and the upstart boy she was looking after. He was a fierce man, so like the image of a Voruni raider, with suspicious eyes that barely left Gilwyn even as he spoke to his wife.

Aztar, however, was not among those who came to the pavilion, and by the end of the third day Gilwyn began to wonder if the prince truly had survived, or if Harani was merely playing a ruse to keep him in bed. It seemed an elaborate pantomime, especially from the woman whom Gilwyn had come to trust. She was, as she had explained, one of the only people in the camp who could speak the language of the north, having learned it from her father, a Ganjeese merchant who had traded with the continent before his death. Harani had learned well from him, but then she had met the Voruni named Mazal, who became her husband. Together they had heard the call of Aztar. Harani adored Prince Aztar.

That night, Gilwyn found himself alone in the pavilion. Harani had left for a rendezvous with her husband, and Gilwyn had let her go with a promise that he would not get out of bed or try to leave the tent. Leaving, Gilwyn had already discovered, was impossible, for the Voruni guards posted at the exit would have no trouble at all stopping a groggy boy with a clubbed hand and foot. So he lay awake in his bed of colourful pillows, watching as moonbeams slanted through the walls and wondering how much longer he would have to remain. He had not forgotten his mission to find Thorin. Thoughts of his old friend plagued him. It had been weeks since he’d left Jador. By now, he should have been halfway to Liiria.

‘I may never get there,’ he whispered. ‘Or see White-Eye again.’

Being morose wouldn’t help him, Gilwyn knew, but he had already struggled for days to find an answer. Maybe there wasn’t one, he realized. He was still weak. Worse, he remained in the clutches of a sworn enemy. He supposed Prince Aztar — if indeed he was still alive — was simply playing a cruel game with him and would kill him as soon as he was strong enough to walk up a gallows. Did the Voruni hang their prisoners the way Liirians did? Or did they just behead them with scimitars? Gilwyn rolled onto his side, thinking he would try to sleep, then glimpsed a shadowy figure entering the pavilion. It wasn’t Harani; Gilwyn knew that instantly. He held his breath, squinting for a better view. The figure paused in the threshold, then reached out a hand to pinch out the oil lamp, leaving only the one by Gilwyn’s bed lit.

‘Hello?’ Gilwyn called. He sat up, alarmed but curious. ‘Who’s there?’

The figure — clearly a man — took a silent step closer. Gilwyn could barely see his face, shadowed as it was by darkness. Moonbeams and lamp light shone off his richly textured vest. A thick belt of gold surrounded his middle. He was tall, but stooped. He moved with effort, hiding himself in the darkness. An air of importance followed him into the tent. Gilwyn sat up tall, unsure what to expect.

‘You look well,’ said the man. His voice boomed in the silence, sounding neither pleased nor angry. ‘Better.’

Gilwyn didn’t know whether to speak or stay quiet.

‘I am Aztar,’ the man pronounced. ‘And I live.’

The words chilled Gilwyn. Aztar moved no closer.

‘Your name is Gilwyn Toms. You are from Jador?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are blessed by Vala.’

‘Your men saved me.’

‘You are blessed by Vala,’ repeated Aztar. ‘His hand is on your shoulder. It must be so for you to have survived the rass.’

‘Harani told me your men brought me here. I’m grateful for that.’ Gilwyn shifted, uncomfortable under the gaze of Aztar’s unseen face. ‘They could have left me to die.’

‘And you’re wondering why they didn’t.’

‘They saved me because you willed it,’ said Gilwyn. ‘That’s what I’m wondering about.’

Prince Aztar stepped closer, still keeping himself in shadows. He was called the Tiger of the Desert, but he did not move like a tiger. His legs worked stiffly, as he compelled himself across the floor, going half the distance toward Gilwyn before pausing. When he stopped he looked at Gilwyn, studying him. Gilwyn stared back but could not make out Aztar’s features, except to note his beardless face, an odd thing among desert men.

‘You have a question,’ growled Aztar. ‘Ask it.’

‘I’m surprised is all,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You speak my language — I didn’t expect that.’

‘Voruni are not stupid.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Gilwyn struggled to see Aztar’s face. ‘You hate northerners.’

Aztar seemed to sag. ‘Vala has taught me.’

Gilwyn barely understood his meaning. ‘The battle of Jador,’ he said. ‘We thought you died.’

‘Disappointed?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have waited months to speak to someone from Jador,’ said Aztar. ‘That is why my men pursued you. Not to kill you, but so I might speak to you.’

‘Speak to me? About what?’

‘I wronged Jador.’

The confession shocked Gilwyn. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at me, Gilwyn Toms. Have you not seen yet? Do you not know how beautiful I was before Vala’s fire?’

Gilwyn asked, ‘You think it was Vala who made the fire?’

‘Your leader, the little one — she commanded the fire. I know that. But only Vala could have created such a thing. It was Vala’s hand coming down from heaven. . to teach me.’ Aztar sighed, then finally stepped into the light of Gilwyn’s lamp. Instead of a handsome, confident face, Gilwyn glimpsed an ugly mask, reddened with scars and painful burns. ‘A lesson learned.’

‘I’m sorry for you,’ said Gilwyn. Beneath the scars and obvious confusion, there was kindness on Aztar’s face, even regret. ‘And I am grateful for you saving me.’

‘The rass would not have attacked you if my men had not given chase. You were theirs — and mine — to protect. Vala would have it no other way.’

‘Harani told me I’ve been here for twenty days,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I haven’t been out of this tent in all that time. I don’t even know where I am.’

‘We have kept you safe here,’ replied Aztar. ‘This is my place — my kingdom.’

The boast made Gilwyn grimace. ‘The desert doesn’t belong to you, Prince Aztar,’ he said. It was why Aztar and Jador had warred in the first place.

Aztar laughed, mocking himself. ‘Indeed no. Vala has already made that plain to me. But this camp is mine. This camp is my kingdom. It is all that’s left to me. And there are still those who follow me.’

‘Like Harani,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I’ve seen the way she speaks about you, like a god.’

‘Harani has a loyal heart. Not everyone is like her.’ Aztar shuffled closer, as though he were finally comfortable being seen by Gilwyn. ‘In the battle with Jador many were lost. Many others left soon after.’ The desert man paused in front of Gilwyn, cocking his head. ‘You look weary. Lay back while we speak.’

Before Gilwyn could comply, Aztar sat himself down on the pillows near the bedding, just as Harani had many times before. Surprised, Gilwyn let himself relax. Still weak, he was happy to ease into the cushions.

‘Why have you come here?’ he asked. ‘Why do you want to speak to me?’

Before she had gone, Harani had refreshed Gilwyn’s water, leaving two clean, golden cups near the basin. Aztar picked up one of the cups, filled it with sparkling water, and handed it to Gilwyn.

‘You are here to listen to my confession,’ Aztar replied, now filling his own cup. ‘I want you to know that I am no longer your enemy. I want you to know that Vala has changed me, and that I see his wisdom. And I wanted to see for myself the people He has chosen to touch.’

Gilwyn held his cup but did not drink. ‘Chosen? I don’t understand.’

‘Do you know why I battled your people in Jador?’ asked Aztar. ‘Because I loved a woman. And because I thought the Serene One would allow me to spill the blood of innocents to get what I wanted.’ The prince looked contemplatively into his cup of water, frowning at his own reflection. ‘And now I am cursed. Vala has taken away my pride. But he has taught me much, too. He has humbled me.’

Frustrated, Gilwyn leaned over and put his cup on the floor. ‘Prince Aztar, the people of Jador aren’t chosen by Vala. Many of them don’t even believe He exists. A lot of them are northerners, like me.’

Aztar smiled. ‘You see how wise are the works of Vala? I could live a thousand years and never glimpse all his greatness. The Jadori do not even know the Serene One favours them, but he does. He allowed your people to summon the fire. He burned me and took away my pride.’

‘None of this makes sense to me,’ sighed Gilwyn. He knew it was Minikin who had summoned the fire, and that the fire had come from the great Akari, Amaraz. ‘I was riding through the desert. I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.’

Prince Aztar finally drank his water. He seemed endlessly patient. He sipped his water like tea, and when he was done placed the cup on the floor.

‘The woman I spoke of; she is no more than a girl, really. Her name is Salina, and you have never seen a more beautiful creature in all of creation. I craved her, and made a deal with her father to have her.’

‘Salina of Ganjor?’ Now Gilwyn was intrigued. ‘Yes, I know of her.’

‘Salina’s father Baralosus rules Ganjor. You must know that as well. And Baralosus is an ambitious beast. He loves his daughter dearly, but would cut her up and sell the pieces if it earned him the key to Jador and its powers. I had an argument with Jador and a burning passion for Salina. Baralosus knew this and bargained with me.’

‘A bargain. You would conquer Jador for Baralosus, and for that he would give you Salina.’

‘Just so. And I did not regret this bargain at all, because to me your people — you northerners especially — were rodents. You were soiling my desert, bringing disease. You needed to be destroyed, and truth be told I would have done so without the prize of Salina.’

‘But you were wrong?’ probed Gilwyn.

Aztar nodded. ‘I was wrong. Before the battle, I prayed to Vala for victory. But I did not tell Him that I was doing this to win Salina, that I was killing in His name to slack my lust.’ He stuck his face out for Gilwyn to inspect. ‘Look at me. I have no beard. It does not grow now.’

It was a profound admission. Aztar was Voruni, and Voruni men all had beards. They grew them from the earliest possible age, a sign of manhood and virility. Gilwyn knew that Aztar’s fire-smoothed face was an abomination to him.

‘Is that why your men have left you?’ he asked.

‘Some. Others left because their brothers died in the fire. More others because they felt the wrath of Vala on their own souls.’

‘But not everyone. Some have stayed.’

‘Yes. Even now Vala blesses me. He has not forsaken me. He teaches me. That is what I want you to know, Gilwyn Toms, and what I want you to tell the others. When you return to Jador, you must tell them that I am no longer their enemy. I release my claim to the desert. I will not kill those who come across it.’

Gilwyn hesitated. He was relieved by the man’s words, but still afraid to tell too much. ‘Prince Aztar, that is difficult. .’

‘Because of what I have done,’ said Aztar, nodding. ‘I do not expect you to trust me. But when you are able to return to Jador, tell them what I have said. Tell Shalafein.’

‘Shalafein? You mean Lukien?’

‘The one you call the Bronze Knight. Your protector. Many of my men have sought his head, but I have released the bounty. Tell Shalafein he is free now.’

‘I will when I can,’ said Gilwyn evasively, ‘but I am not going back to Jador, Prince Aztar, not yet. I have to go to Ganjor.’

‘When you have finished your business in Ganjor, then.’

‘No. When I am done in Ganjor I am going back north to Liiria, my homeland.’

Aztar looked crestfallen. ‘But you will go back to Jador someday, yes?’

The question saddened Gilwyn. ‘Yes. If I can.’

‘Good. Then you can give them my message when you return. I cannot tell them myself. I am too disgraced to face them.’ The prince rose from the floor. ‘I will not leave this camp.’

‘Ever?’

‘This is where I must remain, Gilwyn Toms. Alone.’

‘But what about Salina? What about your pact with Ganjor?’

‘My dealings with Baralosus are dead,’ Aztar declared. ‘And I will not see Salina again.’

Aztar turned to go. And Gilwyn, feeling lost, looked blankly at his back as he retreated from the pavilion.

‘That’s it?’ he blurted. ‘Nothing more?’

Aztar paused. ‘I have told you everything, boy. When you are able you can be on your way. I will not stop you.’

‘But I am going to Ganjor, Prince Aztar.’ Gilwyn thought for a moment, considering his words carefully. ‘If I can, I am going to meet with Princess Salina.’

The mention of her name made the prince’s face slacken. ‘You know her?’

‘No. But she has helped us. She warned us of your attack. She was an ally to us, Prince Aztar, and I was told to seek out her help once I got to Ganjor.’

Aztar blinked at the news, and Gilwyn could not read the strange expression on his face. Though he had just been told of betrayal, he simply looked empty. ‘If her father ever knew. . he would kill her.’

‘I’ll be careful,’ said Gilwyn. ‘There are men in the city I’m supposed to find, agents who work with Salina. They can take me to her.’

‘And what will you do when you find her?’ Aztar asked.

Gilwyn shrugged. ‘Ask for her help. I’ll need a horse to take me the rest of the way north. Food and water, too.’

‘I can give you those things. You need not endanger Salina.’

‘You still care for her, then.’

The prince’s face grew stormy. ‘Rest. And when you are ready be on your way.’

Aztar left quickly through the tent flap. Gilwyn watched him go, confused by everything that had happened.

A week later, Gilwyn was at last ready to leave Aztar’s camp. He had not seen the prince since that first moonlight meeting, and could not get any more information out of Harani. She cooked his food, mended his body, and entertained him with gossip from the camp, but when the subject turned to Aztar she refused to indulge. Only once did she hint at her master’s love for Salina, and only then obscurely. Eventually, Gilwyn gave up pursuing her. Deciding he needed to be on his way, he put his energies toward healing himself, alternating between rest and exercising his sore muscles, until at last he could walk without getting winded. The rass poison had done a remarkable job of weakening him, but the kindness of Harani and the generosity of Prince Aztar had healed him.

And for that, Gilwyn was grateful.

He had been in Aztar’s camp for almost a month, and knew it was time to leave. This he explained to Harani, who prepared for his departure the next morning. Good to her promise, she had a horse waiting for him and all the things he had brought with him from Jador, including the kingship ring Lorn had given him. His own horse had died in the rass attack, but the new one Aztar provided was a prize, indeed, a great, stout-hearted stallion of obvious breeding. Certainly, the horse had been worth more than Gilwyn could ever pay for it, and he puzzled over the grand beast as he prepared to leave the camp. Harani and her black-eyed husband watched as he studied the animal. Other Voruni had gathered as well. They had all grown accustomed to seeing Gilwyn in camp, and Gilwyn had grown to like them. Despite losing many of his followers, Aztar still had hundreds of people calling him master.

Still, Aztar himself had not come to bid Gilwyn farewell. For a reason that confused Gilwyn, the prince’s absence disturbed him. He fiddled with the stallion’s tack, making sure his belongings were secure while Harani looked on, confused. The morning sun was already hot on his back, and when he looked eastward he saw the great expanse of desert still needing to be crossed.

‘Be well on your journey,’ said Harani, ‘and when you return, you will be welcome here.’

Gilwyn smiled at her, pleased to see her husband agreeing with a nod. He had hardly spoken to Mazal at all, but had found him to be less fierce than his appearance.

‘I will,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Thank you for everything, Harani.’ He looked around at all the gathered faces. ‘Thank you to everyone.’

‘You are well enough now?’ asked Harani. ‘You are sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Then why do you wait?’

Gilwyn didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure why he hesitated. It might have been fear, he supposed, but then he realized it was not. It was unfinished business that kept him.

‘Harani, I want to see Prince Aztar,’ he said.

Harani blanched at the suggestion. ‘No, Gilwyn.’

‘Please. I want to speak with him. It’s important.’

‘Tell me what you want to tell him. I will speak for you after you have gone.’

‘That won’t work,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I want to talk to him about Salina. Please. .’

Harani looked at her husband, who shrugged in confusion. The request left them both uncomfortable, but seeing that Gilwyn would not leave, Harani relented.

‘Come, then,’ she said, and started off into camp. Gilwyn followed eagerly. Aztar had been good to him, despite the plans he had laid against Jador. Gilwyn picked his way carefully across camp, trying to keep up with Harani, the special boot for his clubbed foot sinking heavily into the loose earth. Soon, Harani had taken him through the centre of the camp, across the outskirts and toward an outcropping of rock surrounded by desert sand. Here the morning sun beat down hotly, sending up a blinding reflection from the shimmering land. Gilwyn slowed, squinting to see better. They were alone now, a good distance from the pavilions. The noise of the Voruni and their animals fell away under the whisper of the wind.

‘Where are we going?’ Gilwyn asked.

‘To Aztar,’ said Harani. She pointed toward the outcropping. ‘There.’

The rock itself rose out of the rugged desert, its jagged silhouette cutting the daylight. It was, Gilwyn realized, the tallest structure for miles, like a tiny mountain that had somehow wandered away from its mother range. There were no other people in the distance, only the sweeping dunes, but on the crest of the hill Gilwyn spotted a lone figure, cloaked in plain robes and kneeling, his head bowed, his hands flat against the stone.

‘Is he praying?’ asked Gilwyn.

‘Every morning he comes here to be near Vala,’ Harani answered.

Gilwyn stared, struck by Aztar’s devotion. He seemed so alone on the rock — and so lonely. He took no notice of his visitors far below, but instead raised his voice in a musical chant, singing mightily as he turned his face toward the cloudless sky.

‘What is he praying for?’ Gilwyn wondered aloud.

Harani looked melancholy. ‘For understanding. That is what I think.’

‘Should we wait? How long will he pray?’

‘Until his prayer is done.’

The sun baked the top of Gilwyn’s skull. He waited, cultivating patience, waiting for Prince Aztar to finish his devotion. At last the prince ceased his song, bent low to kiss the rock, then straightened his stooped spine. It occurred to Gilwyn that the effort to climb the rock had been enormous for Aztar, whose body was racked with burns. Aztar slowly turned his head to regard them from his perch. A mild annoyance flashed across his face.

‘Stay,’ commanded Harani. ‘I will leave you now.’

‘What? Harani, wait. .’

The woman ignored Gilwyn’s plea, turning and walking back toward the camp. Gilwyn thought of going after her, but Aztar was already making his way down the jagged slope, painfully coming toward Gilwyn, his head and face protected by a brilliant white gaka. The dark skin of his cheeks glowed with redness. His eyes flashed when they met Gilwyn’s.

‘You are to go,’ he grumbled. ‘Why are you here?’

‘To speak with you, Prince Aztar. I’ve been thinking.’

Aztar remained perturbed. ‘On your way, boy.’

Gilwyn shook his head. ‘I can’t go, not yet. I’ve been thinking about what you told me, about Princess Salina. I’m going to speak to her, Prince Aztar.’

‘So you have said.’

‘That’s right. And when I told you, you got angry. I don’t understand why.’

‘Why? That is none of your concern.’ Aztar drilled Gilwyn with his gaze. ‘Is that why you came here?’

Gilwyn spoke carefully. ‘Prince Aztar, you’ve been kind to me. I didn’t expect that. I expected you to kill me.’

The prince’s suspicious eyes barely softened. ‘You were wrong about me. Perhaps we were wrong about each other.’

‘Yes, we were. But I wanted to repay that kindness if I can. I want to bring a message to Salina for you, tell her you’re still alive. She thinks you’re dead, probably. You know that, don’t you?’

‘To her, I am dead,’ said Aztar. ‘I have nothing to offer her, and nothing to say.’

‘But you love her. She should know that you’re alive, at least. When I see her, I can tell her that for you.’

Behind his cloak, Aztar looked regretful. ‘I cannot stop you,’ he said. Pulling the hood close around his face, he brushed passed Gilwyn on his way back to camp. ‘Go.’

Gilwyn hobbled after him. He had been so sure Aztar would welcome his offer. ‘Don’t you want to tell her you’re alive? That you still care for her?’

‘It makes no difference. I cannot see her again. Not ever.’

‘But why?’

‘Because I am forbidden!’ Aztar roared. He whirled on Gilwyn, ripping back his hood and exposing his burned and furious face. ‘Look at what Vala did to me! My love for her is a curse, boy. It must never rise again.’

‘But what if she loves you? What if she’s suffering because she thinks you are dead? That isn’t fair, Prince Aztar.’

‘Why do you pursue this?’ Aztar groaned. ‘Why must you torture confessions from me?’

‘To repay you,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Because you’ve been kind to me. And because I think you’re wrong. I know about Vala, Prince Aztar. I know that He is a kind and loving god. Maybe he did punish you for attacking Jador. But not because you love Salina. That can’t be.’

Aztar snarled, ‘You know nothing of Vala, boy. You are a northerner; you do not even believe. I have devoted my life to the Serene One. And I know my crimes. Let me suffer them in peace.’

Gilwyn looked at the man, stunned by his refusal. He had wanted to repay Aztar’s kindness, but now he realized he had stumbled into a hornet’s nest.

‘All right,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll go. And when I see Salina I won’t say anything about you. I won’t tell her that you’re alive or that you were kind to me. I’m sorry, Prince Aztar. I only meant to help you.’

He started off, wandering past Aztar on his way back to camp, leaving the prince in the shadow of the hill. He went five or six paces before Aztar called after him.

‘Wait.’

Gilwyn paused, turning hopefully. Aztar’s pained eyes faced the ground.

‘Tell her that I am alive,’ he said. He lifted his gaze toward Gilwyn. ‘Tell her that I love her still.’

‘But you won’t go to her?’

‘No. I can never go to her. Tell her that as well, Gilwyn Toms, and that I will never forget her beauty.’

Prince Aztar covered his head again, then turned and walked quietly back toward the hill. Gilwyn waited a moment, wanting to say more but having no words. As Aztar again began climbing his sacred hill, Gilwyn walked slowly back to camp, where the magnificent black stallion waited for him.