The foreboding cry of a lone desert hawk echoed through the foothills. Elishiba, daughter of the Emperor of Aleem, sensed danger in the air and watched the hawk's flight across the tawny sky. Her senses were on high alert. A storm approached. In the distance, the sky had begun to splinter with shards of vermilion and amethyst light. She unlatched her flowing headdress where it was drawn across her face to conceal her identity, and lifted her chin, knowing instinctively the incoming storm was but a precursor of things to come.

Her mount reared up and whinnied, losing its footing amongst the loose rocks and boulders. She clutched at him and soothed the large beast with a hand on its silver-streaked mane, murmuring words of comfort as she looked over her shoulder, protectively, toward the precious land behind her. Suzin, the city that was her home, was just visible in the wide valley set below the Zaneesie Mountains. Beyond the massive walls of the city itself, she could see dust clouds scurrying low on the horizon, rolling in across the desert sands. If the dust storm gathered strength, it would sweep into every household, insidiously creeping beneath the wooden doors and across the stone floors, ruining the crops in the stores.

Worse still, if it had grown strong enough in its birth in the far deserts, the dust storm would have awakened the dust devils, the demon shayatin who slumbered in the dirt of the barren lands. Under the power of unrest, be it a storm, a war, or spiritual fears, they could travel through the sands as far as the outer city walls, taking form through the sand to rise and claim a few souls at will, before returning to their lair deep in the sands.

Elishiba sighed heavily. In the scheme of things, this was far from her biggest problem, but she prayed to the gods it would not happen, not with so much else at stake. Troubled times were upon them. War was on the horizon, and she and her ailing father were doing all they could to avert it. She had braced herself, for she had to be a strong and fearless leader, if her people were to survive.

Cursing the storm rolling in across the skies, she urged her mount onward, throwing the loose material of her headdress over her shoulder and across her face. The horse, encouraged by its mistress, picked its footing carefully over the rocks. The route was familiar, and the small shepherd's hut that was her destination was soon within view. A steady glow of light seeped beneath the heavy, wooden door from within, warding off the dark skies and demons. It pleased her to see it, although she would not be able to visit for long.

"Hush, Fidda," she murmured to the horse as she quickly dismounted and tethered him under the shelter at the rear of the cottage, out of the path of the storm, stroking his white and gray mottled coat affectionately. She rearranged the saddle cloth as she pulled a bundle from its binding across Fidda's hindquarters, adjusted its weight, and took it with her.

She knocked at the heavy wooden door, and then pushed it open. A clattering sound emerged from within the one-roomed shelter. Basim, the elderly shepherd who lived there with his wife, stood up from his place by the fire, his stool falling over as he did so. He stared at the robed figure in the doorway with wide, frightened eyes, his hands straightening his belted tunic and loose trousers as he did so.

Elishiba stepped inside and pushed back her headdress, revealing her identity, smiling broadly. Her long hair tumbled free of the headdress as it came to rest around her shoulders, and she shook it down her back as she moved.

The old man's lined face lit with untempered joy as she walked across the small space and embraced him with her free arm. "My Empress..." He held her for a moment, then called, "Fahima, it is Elishiba."

His wife emerged from the darkness of the store cupboard, a young goat kid clutched in one arm, her pale blue eyes straining to see.

"Is it really you?" She looked at her tall empress with curious eyes as she set the goat down.

Elishiba lifted the bundle of goods she had brought from Suzin down from her shoulder, offering it to them. "Yes, it is only me, come to see how you fare."

Basim shook his head, smiling warmly at her. "You should not be coming up here worrying about us, when the gods of the elements are as restless as this." He gestured outside, but took the bundle into his arms gratefully. Fahima embraced her in greeting and guided her visitor toward a stool by the fireplace.

Elishiba shrugged off their concern. "The storms are the least of my worries, as I am sure you have heard."

The provinces surrounding Aleem, their precious homeland, were jockeying for alliances. It was time for commitment if they were to strengthen against outside enemies. She had taken action, made a tentative pact. The neighboring province of Karseedia--although a previous enemy on the battlefield--was the most obvious ally, and the coupling of Aleem to Karseedia had been agreed. If the plans for the alliance were realized, centuries of tradition would be sacrificed: Aleem, the smaller of the two countries--but the wealthier--had always been vulnerable to invasion from its formidable neighbor. And although an uneasy truce had lasted more than two decades, to "trust in Karseedia" still meant, colloquially, to expect betrayal and deceit.

Elishiba had agreed to marry Hanrah, the Emperor of Karseedia, to seal the pact, but in truth it was an opening for Elishiba, a chance to get close to Hanrah and negotiate. She didn't plan to allow her country to be swallowed by his or anyone else's.

It was a dangerous situation to walk into, but there was no other, easier solution, so she had pursued it, but with caution.

The couple exchanged worried, knowing glances. They knew of Elishiba's dilemma. News from the city of Suzin passed from person to person, and eventually reached even the most outlying inhabitants in the province of Aleem.

"I cannot visit with you for long today, for there is much to be arranged. But we have a while." Elishiba smiled at them reassuringly.

"You will surely drink tea with us and wait for the storm to pass," Fahima asked, "before you return to the city?"

"I will, gladly." Elishiba took her seat by the fire, setting her sandaled feet on the small woven rug she had brought them several visits before, the one item of luxury they owned--and treasured. She had tried to give them more, but they were proud people. Everything else in the small home was simple, from the cooking implements to the mattress they slept upon.

Tucking the skirts of her robe around her shins, she watched the couple help each other with their tasks, content to be in their simple home. She had known them since she had stumbled upon their shelter as a small child out riding with her father. The emperor and his young daughter had been parted from their guards and companions during a rare rainstorm. The couple had welcomed the grand strangers, and shared tea with them by their fireplace. The young Elishiba had delighted in the couple and the goats they reared.

Her father, Ramsis, was a ruler who appreciated the most humble and heartfelt gestures of all his subjects. He knew that wisdom and loyalty could be found more easily among the modest than the mighty, and Elishiba had followed suit. At least once during the thirty day moon cycle she would ride up to visit the shepherd and his wife, bringing them wine, fruits, and leavened bread from the city.

She watched as Fahima took some precious jasmine leaves from a carved box and sprinkled them into a metal pot, which she handed to her husband. The young kid followed her, bumping against her legs as she went. Basim filled the pot with water from a jug and latched it over a hook, which he swung over the lighted fire, before pulling two more stools closer toward its hearth.

"He is a headstrong young fool, this one," Fahima chuckled, lifting the restless goat between her capable hands and gesturing with him. "He butted his mother until she would have no more of him and we had to bring him in here instead." Fahima rested the jittery kid down by Elishiba's side, and she fondled the creature, which nuzzled up to her in return.

Fahima brought dishes to the fireside and then settled beside them. "Tell us, how is your father? We have heard little news of him."

Elishiba shook her head. "It is not something we wish spread to our enemies, so we speak little of it. I'm afraid his health continues to weaken. I was hoping he would be able to travel with me to Karseedia, and to stay while I negotiate, at least for a while. But he will remain in Aleem when I leave."

"We did not expect to see you at all," Basim said.

"I had to come, to say goodbye." Elishiba hurried on, but noticed the tears glistening in Fahima's eyes. It made her heart stronger though, for it was for people like this for whom she made her quest. "I will ensure that someone calls on you from the city, as I have, but this will be my last visit, at least for some time."

Fahima wrung her hands. "Karseedia is a treacherous country, my Empress, a place ruled through evil and wrongdoing--it will be our saddest day when you go there."

"What you say about Karseedia is true," Elishiba agreed, with a soft laugh. "But there are worse threats further afield, and we must strengthen Aleem in defense against them." Her thoughts turned briefly to the many half-made plans she harbored, plans of gaining security for her people, without sacrifice.

"This union between you and the Emperor Hanrah," Basim ventured, his eyes watchful. "It is something that was first spoken of when you were just a child."

Elishiba nodded. "Oh yes, my father and the Emperor of Karseedia considered the implications of such an alliance, but so many lives had been lost on the battlefield. The wounds were still fresh. The match was unpopular with the people on both sides, and it was never promised."

"So why is it that you must go now, Mistress Elishiba?" Fahima asked, impatiently.

"It is not without a great deal of thought that I have come to this decision." Elishiba accepted a dish of tea from Fahima's hand. "It seemed at first the only way to ensure negotiations move forward, on relatively friendly ground. Although I think ... I hope," she glanced at them, "that there may be other ways to resolve the situation. I promise you, I will find the best way forward, for us all." She sipped the warm, fragrant liquid and nodded appreciatively at Fahima.

Fahima sighed. "I do not want you to marry this man."

Elishiba smiled at her simple statement. "You should understand that I renewed consideration of the match myself. It was a matter of necessity. Aleem has always been vulnerable; our place on the trade routes has deemed it so."

She shrugged lightly before she continued. "Allying ourselves with an enemy we have the measure of is the more sensible thing to do. The envoys of Karseedia informed us they would not enter into further discussions on the matter, without some grand gesture on our part, some ... sacrifice." She rested the dish down on the floor.

"My father did not encourage it, but he understands why I have chosen this path, and he respects my efforts. A little while ago, he began communication with the new Emperor of Karseedia, Hanrah. The union has been agreed. In the passage of a few moons the escort party will arrive to take me there. Once arrived, I will begin to assert my own demands, in earnest."

Elishiba noticed it was easier to be strong and focused when she was in the city, living her sophisticated, decadent court life, surrounded by her followers and with Aleem's elite army, the Immortals, nearby. Away from there she had to be braver, but she still had to face it. This is what life would soon be like all the time--full of doubt and not a little fear. Leave her home, she must. Fight, she must. Besides, Fahima and Basim were as much part of Aleem as they all were, and she had vowed to find a way to draw a protective shield over the land and people she and her Father governed.

"If you must marry this man, will you ever be able to return to your homeland?" Fahima asked, with a note of reluctance, as if she did not even want to voice the question.

Elishiba nodded. "If the union takes place--although it is my will to find another way, if it is possible--I will have it written in the contracts that I shall be able to govern Aleem, as before--and alone. I will travel back and forth, if necessary."

In her heart of hearts, Elishiba knew that another way had to be found. If the pact were sealed by marriage, she would be bound to Karseedia forever. Marriage, to a man she did not know, who came from a long line of power-hungry warmongers--if she thought on it for too long, her belly tensed. But no matter how difficult, if it were the only way to protect her people, she would do it.

The wind wailed outside, rattling the door on its hinges, and a somber silence descended over them. The young goat leapt to its feet as if it, too, had been listening and butted up against Elishiba, making her heart soften. She smiled and fondled the soft locks beginning to sprout around its ears. "If the gods are willing, I will be back in my homeland before this little one is full grown."

She turned back to Basim and Fahima. "How many trips have you taken to the Souk these past weeks, Basim?" The conversation turned to the more everyday news they shared on her visits, Elishiba secretly treasuring each moment in their company. Her will was fiercely strong, but she knew her promise to them wasn't built on the certain knowledge of what might actually transpire. She could only guess what lay ahead. They must be prepared for everything and anything.

When the winds died down, she took her leave of the couple, drawing her headdress low on her brow and across her face to hide her identity. Her father and others at the palace thought she shouldn't travel alone this way, and she didn't wish to draw attention to herself. She untied Fidda's reins, glancing toward the distant outline of the city.

Dust hung in a gray pall around the outer walls, beginning to settle. Mercifully, it had been a shallow windstorm, after all, but it would wreak havoc enough among her beloved people. She mounted up, setting off as quickly as Fidda could negotiate the path, praying to the gods.

"How I wish I could protect my people from the insidious dust, and from every other foe and tribulation that exists," she said to Fidda, her hand tangled in his silver mane. The horse whinnied, tossing his head left and right.

As she stroked him and reiterated the prayer, a massive peal of thunder rolled across the skies and a flash of light broke through the darkness. She started, her hand lifting to shield her face. The gray sky illuminated strangely from within, and the clouds opened. Soft rain began to patter around her, splashing onto the rocks, cleaning the dust from their surfaces. Relief seeped into Elishiba's bones.

Fidda lifted his head, enthusiastically snorting the fresher air. She urged the horse on, faster, thanking the gods of the elements for hearing her prayers. Sometimes Elishiba's faith in the gods waned, but in that moment she almost believed she had the power to make them hear her words. She smiled to herself, wishing it were true. "A power such as that I could surely use," she murmured.

Good fortune had been theirs and one danger, at least, had been averted. The dust would soon be mud on the ground. The people would be brushing it from the streets by the time she reached Suzin.

"If only my enemies were wished away so easily," she reflected, with a wry laugh.

Mehmet, the dowager Empress of Karseedia, glanced around the palace corridor to check she was not being observed, then stepped closer to the ornately carved wooden panels gracing the wall at this spot. The panel hiding the secret passageway she sought bore the image of a learned man with a book in one hand, holding a torch aloft in the other. She flattened her palm against the carved torch. The panel opened and she quickly stepped inside, pulling her heavy silken robes after her.

When the panel shut behind her, she blinked until her eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the concealed passageway, scowling as she did do. Something was going on in the palace, something involving her son, Hanrah, something that was not of her bidding. It turned her mood sour at the very time they should be celebrating Aleem's forthcoming surrender to their greater power. She wanted this intrusive problem stopped and obliterated, even if she had to see to it herself.

She settled her small lamp into a wall-mounted sconce and then traced her hand along the rough stone wall as she hurried along the passageway, barely pausing to lift her expensive robes to protect them from being torn or stained--such was her rush. The faint sound of water dripping and her soft leather slippers scuffing over the cobblestones were the only audible sound in the dark, narrow space. The lamp behind her shed only the smallest speck of light to guide her. She knew this passage well, though, for it was one of many well-hidden secret observation points that networked the royal palace in Lhastari. As always, the place smelled musty from a leak where the secret passageways intersected with the palace water supply, but she left it unfixed rather than reveal the hidden network to the servants.

Her hand brushed up against a jutting outcrop of rock, dank and slime-covered. It indicated she had reached the place. Her fingers sought the loose stone, and removed it. Standing on tiptoe, she stepped forward and leaned into the viewing niche. Her chin rested on the damp stone as she moved close to the small peephole.

She refocused her vision, for the brighter light within the chamber below was at odds with the gloomy passageway. Focusing on the drapery of the heavily embroidered wall hangings that bedecked her son's bedchamber, her gaze followed them down, leading her to the sight of a cluster of limbs on the bed itself.

Even though she had half expected this when she'd observed her son, Hanrah, and his longing glances at the youth, she ground her teeth in annoyance. Hanrah was there, in his luxurious private chambers, cavorting with the nubile, a mere slave.

"Blind fool," she whispered to herself, between gritted teeth. "What possesses you to be so unwise, my son?"

The two lithe bodies were entirely naked, and rolled together in an urgent rhythm against the fine, imported cotton bed coverings. No place for a slave. The slave boy's face contorted in ecstasy, his arms stretched back, his fingers clutching at the curtain that hung behind him while he watched his Emperor pleasuring him.

Mehmet seethed.

Hanrah was bent over the slave, devouring the youth's manhood with a hungry mouth, his head bobbing, and his hands working on his own stiff organ all the while.

Mehmet's blood began to boil, undiluted rage pumping through her veins. Her hand clutched at the loose rock as if to crush it, her mouth twitching in anger and frustration at the sight of her son, the ruler of Karseedia--and the future ruler of much more, if she had her way--on his knees in front of a mere slave, pleasuring him like a courtesan. She had to keep her lips tightly closed in order to contain the urge to scream down at him from her current viewing point, that wretched boy. He had no clue how to act like a ruler, even though she had instructed him often enough. Worse of all, this behavior seemed to be a recurrent pattern. His desire lay with scrawny males, while his half-brothers rutted their courtesans and created offspring as a daily event. Meanwhile, her security and power was threatened by her son's unwillingness to plant his seed in a fertile bed.

She heard the slave boy's loud, frantic moans as he reached climax--closely followed by her son's gleeful laughter--as she moved away, slotting the stone back into place. This had to be over, and now.

Charging back along the corridor, and through the palace, she marched in upon the two of them shortly afterwards. The slave boy was strewn across the bed, still naked, his eyes shut in reverie. Her son lolled against him, idly stroking and toying with him a while longer, his expression sickly with adoration. Her hands fisted at her sides at the very sight of it.

At the sound of the door crashing closed behind her, Hanrah turned his head in response. Caught in the act by his mother empress, his expression altered immediately to one of complete fright. He leapt off the bed, staggering down the marble steps that led up to it, his thick hair awry.

Mehmet took pleasure at his fearful reaction, assured by it of the strength of her hold on her son. This was no time to lose her grip on him, and she had no intention of doing so. The slave's death would prove that to Hanrah.

The slave sat upright, and seeing that it was Mehmet herself standing there, his eyes opened so wide they were in danger of falling out of their sockets. He leapt from the bed and darted down the steps to the ground, prostrating himself on the stone-flagged floor before her, arms outstretched, legs folded under him, his limbs shaking with fear. A mumbled torrent of allegiances and apologies spilled from his mouth.

"Guards!" Mehmet screamed.

"Mother, no." Hanrah shook his head vehemently.

The slave's glance shot to Hanrah, concern spilling from him. Hanrah lifted a hand in his direction; frightened for the life of the slave he had polluted himself with so readily.

Rightly so. Mehmet gave an accusing cackle. "Oh, yes. It is too late to protect your dirty little secret. We must have the guards deal with him." She walked toward Hanrah, collecting a robe on the way over to him. She threw it at his feet. "Cover yourself."

Hanrah ignored the robe, quickly stepping between his mother and the slave.

Mehmet noticed the gleam of defiance in his eyes. Her son, usually meek and pathetic, was reacting. He truly was willing to protect this one. Interesting. Had his spirit finally been stirred?

Guards entered the room behind them. Mehmet smiled at her son.

Hanrah's eyes flickered as he glanced at the guards and then back to her. He opened his arms, obscuring the youth on the floor from her sight. "They will have to kill me first," he declared.

Mehmet widened her eyes, her tone sardonic. "Such bravery, my boy. If only it were aroused for the sake of something worth winning ... such as the treasures of Aleem."

Hanrah's gaze dropped and he looked sheepish, but still he didn't drop his arms.

"Empress?" queried a guard behind her.

Mehmet lifted a hand in acknowledgment and then directed her attention to the cowering youth. Perhaps this was not the right time. It would be a shame to destroy this novel air of defiance her offspring suddenly had about him. She would deal with the slave later, privately, and take great pleasure in doing so.

"Go to your quarters," Mehmet hissed at the shivering boy on the floor, "or I will order your execution, right here and right now."

Unsure, the slave slowly drew himself up to his feet, his hands covering his genitals while he cowered behind Hanrah, clearly terrified to make the wrong move.

"Kazeen ... run!"Hanrahwhisperedurgentlyoverhisshoulder, his expression fear filled. "Go, Kazeen, go," he added, and nodded quickly, indicating the slave should indeed take his leave.

The slave paused and looked longingly at Hanrah, as if afraid to leave him.

Mehmet growled at him.

He needed no more encouragement to make his escape, not even pausing to gather his clothing before he headed for the door at great speed, one hand still covering his genitals, the other lifted as if to shield himself from the watching guards. When the door clattered closed behind him, Mehmet dismissed the guard with a flutter of her hand and no further instruction.

The door closed again, this time with quiet respect rather than a panicked bang. Mehmet stepped closer to Hanrah and tugged on a stray lock of his tousled hair, drawing him around to face her.

Relief flooded his expression.

Mehmet suppressed a smile. "My darling son, the pride of my life." She kept her voice low, and stroked her hand gently over his cheek. Hope flickered across his eyes. Oh, how that grated on her nerves. He should know, instinctively, what she wanted from him: loyalty, bravery, and an heir to secure their position.

She snapped her hand away only to came crashing back down, delivering a viscious slap to his face.

"Yow," he cried, his hand nursing his cheek, his mouth pursed into a pout--decidedly childish for a man in his twentieth year.

A sense of pleasure flared inside her. Inflicting pain did that for her. "Wretched boy," she snarled. "Do I have to remind you that your four younger brothers snarl at your heels like hungry dogs, eager to take your place as emperor?"

He shook his head, his gaze on the floor. The robe she had thrown at him still lay at his feet.

"How is it that your father was one of the most powerful men ever to ride across a battlefield, a man who set fear into everyone he met, and yet you are not fit to be his offspring and carry his line forward?" She glanced down at his flaccid manhood, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. Power was certainly not coming via that route, no.

Hanrah hung his head in shame at her words and their inplication.

Her son could not be relied upon. Instead, she would have to play a much more duplicitous game to get what should rightfully be theirs. Her hand went to the pendant at her neck, the treasured vial that held her ultimate means to obtain power. If all else failed, she would unleash the contents. Then the people of Aleem would be sorry they had not been more forthcoming. Meanwhile, however, she needed Hanrah to be the powerful emperor his father would have been proud of. A leader who was about to bed his bride, plant his seed in her womb, and take her land and chattels as his own.

"It seems I must instruct you how to behave like an emperor, yet again." She kept her voice low and threatening, then growled at him, letting him feel the extreme nature of her dissatisfaction. He looked miserable enough. His father's disappointment in him was what hurt Hanrah most of all, she knew that, for he had loved his father, no matter how different they were. "Bathe and dress, then report to my chambers."

She turned away, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, still rubbing his face, his expression petulant. Cursing Hanrah's weaknesses, she strode across the room and out the chamber door. In the corridor, she grabbed, unceremoniously, the first guard she saw and instructed. "You, fetch Sibias."

She paused, while she reconsidered who should be present. "And bring Amshazar too." Her son's favored friend and advisor should be there to witness this humiliation as well, she decided. Perhaps it would break the nomad's attachment to her son. She was eager to rid them all of Amshazar's annoying influence over Hanrah. "Tell them both to report to my apartments, immediately."

The guard nodded and bowed low, his hand touching back and forth over his lips and forehead while he chanted a stream of loyal vows and backed away from her. Every member of the household knew that look of hers; she made sure of it. Mehmet was renowned and feared amongst her subjects.

Amshazar sat quietly meditating in a concealed tavern amidst the streets of Lhastari. It was a dark and dingy place. The air was humid, for it was small enough to contain every breath emitted by its occupants, every scent lingering on the air and recirculated by the textile swag being wafted overhead. Even the dishes of burning musk ashes set upon the worn wooden tables could not refresh the stale atmosphere, but it was a quiet, secluded place and few inhabitants of the royal palace went to hovels such as this. They had no need to venture out, for all the comforts they might require were provided within the palace walls.

Amshazar had gone there for a moment's peace before responding to the order he had received to attend the Empress Mehmet's chambers. He nursed his dish of wine in one hand and focused on the dim light given out by the flame of a brass lamp that hung low over his table on a dusty chain.

What now? he wondered.

Three hundred and eighty moons had passed since he had been sent to the exotic lands, and the threat of war still simmered all around them. He had insinuated himself into a pivotal player's stronghold, and gained notable influence there whilst at the same time concealing his true identity.

The tensions in the Lhastari palace were increasing rapidly in the days before the greeting party's departure for Aleem, minor arguments and feuds erupting frequently. It was tiresome but necessary to be aware of the feuds. He was eager to be on his way to the city of Suzin. He had convinced Hanrah to send him as part of the greeting party, in order to get to know the Empress Elishiba as soon as possible. She was clearly a key player, and he needed to know and understand her motives soon. The waiting and the atmosphere were, meanwhile, making him restless. There were greater issues at stake than this latest squabble, whatever it was, he had been summoned to attend to. But this preparatory ground must be ridden over, as sure as the trek to a battleground must be covered before the battle may commence.

Drinking down the sour wine, he stood up. He dropped a coin on the table and another at the feet of the small boy who sat in a corner, stripped to the waist, lazily pulling the rope that moved the swag of material overhead, in an attempt to stir the air. The boy grinned at the mysterious and beneficent visitor, waving at him as he left, calling a blessing of the gods after him, while hiding the coin in his belt in case his master, the tavern owner, should see the gift.

Amshazar nodded at the boy, then stepped outside and drew the hood of his robes over his head, concealing his face. The sky was heavy with restless, ochre-streaked clouds. It was quickly growing dark in the passageway outside. The heat of the day hung heavy in the air but the sun was sinking, causing great shadows to encompass the narrow, high-walled streets. Amshazar passed swiftly along them, imposing and solitary.

"Will you take a woman for your pleasures, master?"

Amshazar paused and turned toward the voice, ready to dismiss the woman who had called to him from the shadows. She stood with one arm outreached, holding her robe open so that he could observe her figure, outlined as it was in a dancer's costume, embroidered with worn gemstones, faded and heavily soiled from her hours on the street. He stepped closer, his attention captured by something in the woman's expression.

This woman was no whore. Even those who were not gifted with the sight would notice that much. Unlike the women of the Souk, who happily reveled in their wanton debauchery, this woman took no pleasure from her work. Her chin had lifted when he had responded to her words and he examined her eyes closely.

"Take me with you for the night, master, and you will not be disappointed." The woman stared at him with hope, but her eyes were dull and unhappy.

Amshazar looked deeper, far deeper, and within moments, he saw into her very soul. There was little life within her. All that existed there were fleeting, wistful memories of days gone by, a lost lover, and the image of a pitifully thin child whom she longed to be beside. He glanced around. He had to avoid drawing attention to himself, but ... the boy needed his mother. There was no one in sight. Besides, he found people often did not see what was in front of their very eyes. He was gifted, yes, but the ability to summon the power of the magi was within the reach of every man. The ability to see, understand and tap the source was what eluded the majority.

He lowered his head to hide his face and breathed in, deeply. He invoked the power from deep within, chanting the call of the magi low beneath his breath. He opened his hands when the power began to pulse in his veins. His palms glowed faintly in the gloomy shadows. The woman began to back away, her eyes wide with fear, a strangled cry captured in her throat.

He passed his hand across her brow, instilling her with purpose, and erasing the nature of their encounter from her mind. The woman blinked and started, as if she had not seen him standing in front of her at all.

"Forgive me, for I must go," she said, turning away from him. "My child is ill."

"Wait," he said. "Go to the house of Luma Jerez tomorrow, for he has need of a serving woman in his kitchens, and you will do the job well. That will feed you and your child until he is strong enough to work." With that, he turned away, leaving the woman standing, silently staring after him as he went.

Amshazar shook his head. The province of Karseedia was filled with hunger and despair, whilst the palace itself was filled with every indulgence the inhabitants could desire. He'd heard better things of Aleem. It was a province where the rulers cared for their people and held worthy ideals. But how long would it be before Mehmet sank her claws into those ideals, and crushed them? If he did not step in, and things did not develop as he hoped they might, it would not take long at all. As the thought occurred to him, the gentle laughter of his magus spirit guide, Santor, echoed through his mind, and he smiled to himself. He was here for a reason, and its significance was beyond that of even Mehmet's understanding.

He looked up at the spires that marked the palace out at the very pinnacle of the city. It stood at Lhastari's heart and every narrow street seemed to twine inexorably around it. The guards at the palace gates eyed him with mistrust as they always did, but stepped aside without a word when he drew nearer, swiftly closing ranks again in his wake. He paused a moment in the marbled walls of the entrance passage to the palace, while his eyes grew accustomed to the change in light, then moved on and closed himself into the interior world of the palace.

The intense heat of the afternoon subdued slowly into the dark shadows of the majestic entrance portals. He detested this place, with its rancid aura of Mehmet's power. The woman had pure venom running in her veins. A wry smile escaped him. There was a certain odd fascination in observing it at such close quarters, however, and it was his duty to watch, and to influence. His own powers were implicit and subtle, compared to the blatant harridan of a woman whose land he currently abided within.

There was a hushed atmosphere in the corridors. It was always like this when trouble was afoot. He stopped outside Mehmet's chambers and nodded at the sentry to indicate that he should announce his presence.

His entry into her inner sanctum was met by Mehmet's harsh voice, it rankled yet provoked his spirit--she made him at once wary and cynically amused. She was standing over her son, who sat with his head hanging down, subdued, before her. Her closest acolyte and advisor, Sibias, sat nearby with arms folded, observing her with blatant admiration. The sentry coughed lightly, unable to muster the courage to announce their presence in any other way. Mehmet turned toward the door and the sentry made a hasty exit, leaving Amshazar to find his own way in.

When she saw Amshazar enter the room, Mehmet threw the goblet in her hand onto the table, where it crashed and spilled a dark pool of blood-red wine across the white marble. A servant darted out from the shadows at the room's edge, to silently remove the debris.

"Ah, Hanrah, your friend the interloper has arrived." She cast a disdainful look over the man who had entered the room. Her hands went to her hips, her hair flying out in a heavy surge of rich umber, touched only occasionally with fine lines of white. Her features belied her age; she was a handsome woman with amber eyes, kept beautiful and decadent by her indulgences, yet tainted--in Amshazar's eyes--by her vindictive nature and her lust for power, both of which were so hideously apparent in her expression.

"I suppose as his intimate," she spat the word in Amshazar's direction, "you must speak on behalf of my son, who seems quite unable to speak for himself." She glanced with distaste at the hunched figure before her. "Tell us if you will, Amshazar, why my son sees fit to lower and debauch himself with the celibate nubiles we prepare to service his future Empress?"

Her harsh, accusing laughter echoed around the elaborate outer meeting room of her extensive chambers, a room decorated with exquisite painted screens imported from the far-east, and ornaments studded with precious gems and painted with gold-leaf.

There was a sense of perverse enjoyment about her mood, Amshazar noted. He sensed she was secretly gratified to have the opportunity to vent herself on her progeny. Her overriding emotion toward her own son was annoyance. Once Hanrah had come of age, she no longer had her deceased husband's kingdom under her direct jurisdiction, although nothing had really changed--she manipulated Hanrah as easily as if he were the lowest of the province's subjects.

Hanrah shifted his feet, but did not raise his eyes. Amshazar noticed then that Mehmet's robes were stained at the hem. She wore the finest clothing, fabrics that had been crafted over for many months by many slaves, and yet she held no value or pride in what she already had, only what else she wanted. This greedy trait was the root cause of her lack of fulfillment and bitterness.

Amshazar smiled. "Perhaps Hanrah wanted to examine the young man who has been promised to the chambers of his future wife," he replied, in an ironic tone. "As preparation for their mutual intimacy with the Empress Elishiba."

Mehmet blinked, her lips tightening.

Amshazar gave her another subtle--if sardonic--smile, as he observed her expression altering. "The use of slaves for pleasures of the flesh might be part of their future lives together, surely?"

Her mouth opened then clamped shut again, her eyes glistening with annoyance. Hanrah glanced round at her. His ruffle of unruly curls, mischievous face and slight body, made him look more like a street urchin than a leader of men. Amshazar noted the fading red imprint of her hand on his face. It was not the first time she had hit him.

Amshazar was his friend and mentor; Hanrah had no other because it took confidence and downright audacity to bypass his malevolent and over-bearing mother. It was the place he had sought out to best influence things, but he had grown fond of the young Hanrah. Ever since Amshazar had crossed the path of the young emperor's hunting party on the borders of Zadria, he had been in residence. He had directed the young emperor's bow and arrow with some choice words of guidance that day. The two had fast become friends. Hanrah had invited him to become part of the court circle against the wishes of his mother, perhaps the only true rebellion he had ever made--so far.

Dallying with slaves resulted in a small harangue, compared to the outright battle of wills that had ensued over Amshazar's presence. However, Amshazar had managed to exist in relative ease since his arrival at court, much to Mehmet's annoyance. She would prefer to have him do wrong, in order to have him expelled.

During the uneasy silence, Sibias had taken the opportunity to stand up, as if eager to end the interrogation. He had, no doubt, been sitting there witnessing Mehmet's tirade for far too long already.

"Amshazar has a point, albeit somewhat tenuous," he said, stroking his lengthy beard. He offered a gracious smile to Mehmet, to sweeten her in the way only he could.

"Dallying with slave boys is no pastime for an Emperor," she responded, angrily, her amber eyes flashing. "He has tutored concubines whom he ignores, in favor of such diversions."

Sibias shrugged. "Soon he will have his future wife by his side. That will keep him otherwise occupied."

"Indeed," Amshazar interjected. "The Empress Mehmet should remember the more important events that will be upon us soon, and overlook this minor indiscretion."

"Overlook it, again," she replied, reminding them that this was not the first time her wayward son had been discovered with his roving eye set outside her jurisdiction. She tugged restlessly at the ornate amulet that hung around her neck.

Amshazar looked at the pendant, quickly scrutinizing it. The vapors it held moved more restlessly than ever, as if feeding off her mood. It emanated dark and unruly power, the restless presence of the forces captured within the vial causing ripples in the atmosphere. Amshazar had long since guessed the contents, and made himself aware of its state of flux at times like this. He would be much happier if it were not Mehmet who owned such an object.

Mehmet was waiting for a response. Amshazar gave a subtle nod, acknowledging her comment, keeping his expression impassive. Mehmet let out a disgruntled snort, annoyed that her attack had been cut short. Hanrah stood up, realizing the argument had been averted.

"Get out of my sight," she declared, waving her arm in the air, as if her son were a fly that had landed on her.

He smiled amiably at Amshazar and raced toward the door, closely followed by the other attendants who also took their moment to escape the scene.

"Will you never learn?" Sibias muttered, when they were out of her hearing. Hanrah threw him a warning glance--he resented taking instructions from his mother's favored advisor, preferring to speak with his own.

"You could at least be more cautious, to avoid discovery," Amshazar added, eyeing the deviant urchin-leader with amusement. He believed that Hanrah had it in him to be a better ruler than his widowed mother gave him credit for, but guiding the young man under her watchful eye was no easy task.

"'Shazar, I don't know how she found out," Hanrah replied, his expression perturbed, as if he had begun to question it himself.

Sibias mumbled a hurried goodbye and left the pair of them. Amshazar noted the older man's change of mood. He obviously knew that Mehmet was having Hanrah watched. It was likely that she was having everyone in the palace watched. It took one to know one, and Amshazar was as much a watcher as she, although his motives were different.

Amshazar knew that she called him a "spathaka," behind his back, for she considered him a spy within her midst, although there was little she could do about it. The friendship between himself and Hanrah continued to be her only concession to her son, one that she allowed unwillingly.

Once Sibias had gone, Hanrah grew tense and gripped Amshazar's arm. "What of my friend, Kazeen?" His eyes looked haunted. "My mother will have him hunted down and murdered. I told him to run, I can only hope he understood. Can you help him ... for me?"

He clearly cared deeply for the slave who had caused this latest harangue. Amshazar nodded, but did not want to say too much just then, in case they were being observed. "Come, let us sup together, we can discuss it privately."

"Thank you, friend." Hanrah spoke humbly.

Resting his hand on Hanrah's shoulder, Amshazar tried to distract him from the subject until they were alone. "We must raise a goblet together, for tomorrow I leave to collect your future wife."

The smaller man responded with a faint, wary smile and a nod. "I wonder what she will be like," he said, as they walked on.

Amshazar did not reply. From what he had heard said of the Empress Elishiba, she had an intelligent mind and a fiercely strong warrior-heart. She was also wise enough to fight for her country's place in the hierarchy, a fact that had brought her under the scrutiny of the gods.

Yes, she would be good meat for Mehmet, he thought to himself, with much anticipation.