Chapter 4

“This would seem to indicate that their Calif, this Khardan, is not dead,” Quar mused.

Kaug found the God taking a stroll in His pleasure garden, Quar’s mind occupied with the march of the Amir’s army south. This jihad was a weighty matter, so much to do; making certain the weather was perfect, preventing rain so that the baggage trains did not founder in the mud; forcing disease’s deadly hand away from His troops; keeping the magic of Sul flowing into the horses, and a hundred other worries. Quar had frowned at Kaug’s interruption but, since the ‘efreet insisted it was important, magnanimously agreed to listen.

“That is what I think as well, O Holy One,” said the ‘efreet, bowing to indicate he was sensible of the honor of sharing like beliefs with his God. “The djinn, Pukah, has the brains of a mongrel, but even a dog knows when its master is dead and the news came as a complete surprise to Khardan’s lackey.”

“And this you tell me about the wives. It is certainly mysterious,” Quar said offhandedly, sinking his white, perfectly shaped teeth into the golden skin of a kumquat. “What do you make of it?” A speck of juice dripped onto the costly silk robes. Irritably, the God dabbed at it with a linen napkin.

“Pukah brought up the matter, Magnificent One. When I asked him why he was interested, he lied, telling me that Khardan cared deeply for his wives. We know from the woman, Meryem, that the Calif hated his head wife and that his second wife was a madman.”

“Mmmmm.” Quar appeared entirely absorbed with removing the stain from his clothing.

“It was when I mentioned that the wives had disappeared that I heard the strange sound—as of someone stricken with grief, Holy One. I am convinced that there is someone else present in my dwelling.” Kaug scowled, his brow furrowed in thought. “Someone with wings. . .”

Quar had been just about to take another bite of the fruit. His hand stopped midway to his mouth. “Wings?” he repeated softly.

“Yes, Holy One.” Kaug described Pukah’s peculiar behavior and Sond’s reaction.

“Promenthas!” murmured Quar softly. “Angels in company with djinn of Akhran! So the Gods are fighting me on the immortal plane as well!”

“What is it you say, Holy One?” Kaug drew nearer.

“I said this strange winged intruder has probably taken advantage of your leaving and fled,” Quar said coldly.

“Impossible, My Lord. I sealed my dwelling before I departed. I thought I should lose no time in bringing you this information,” the ‘efreet added deprecatingly.

“I do not see why you are so concerned with this Khardan!” said Quar, plucking another kumquat. “All my people have become obsessed with him! The Imam wants his soul. The Amir wants his head. Meryem wants his body. This Calif is human, nothing more—the blind follower of a dying God.”

“He could be a threat—”

“Only if you make him one!” Quar rebuked sternly. Kaug bowed. “And what are your instructions concerning the djinn, My Lord?”

Quar waved a delicate hand. “Do what you want. Keep them as your slaves. Send them where we send the others. It matters little to me.”

“And the mysterious third party—”

“You have more important things to occupy your time, Kaug, such as the upcoming battles in the south. However, I give you leave to solve your little mystery, if you like.”

“And would my Lord be interested in the outcome?”

“Perhaps some day, when I am bored with other foolishness, you may share it with me,” Quar said, indicating with a cool nod that the ‘efreet’s presence was no longer wanted.

The ‘efreet, bowing again, evaporated into the blossomscented air.

As soon as Kaug was gone, Quar disgarded the semblence of negligence that he wore in the presence of the powerful ‘efreet. Hastening back into his sumptuous dwelling, he entered a Temple, whose exact duplicate could be found in the world below, in the city of Kich. The God lifted a mallet and struck a small gong three times.

A wasted face appeared in Quar’s mind, its eyes burning with holy ecstasy. “You have summoned me, Hazrat Quar?”

“Imam, among the people of the desert we captured must be some who are related to this Khardan, their Calif.”

“I believe there are, Holy One. His mother and a halfbrother . . . or so I am told.”

“I want information regarding this man, this Calif. Attain it any way possible. It would be ideal, of course, if you could convert one or both to the true faith.”

“I hope to convert all the desert nomads, Holy One.”

“Excellent, Imam.”

Feisal’s face disappeared from Quar’s sight.

Settling back on a silk brocade sofa, Quar noted that he still held the kumquat in his hand. Regarding it with complacence, he slowly closed his fist upon it and began to squeeze. The skin ruptured, the juice flowed over his fingers. When the fruit was reduced to an unrecognizable pulp, the God tossed it casually away.