few lonely bales and sacks of merchandise left over from the winter trading season, a big desk littered with documents, some battered cabinets, and a tall clock, ticking to the rhythm of its brass pendulum. Nearby a bamboid door led into Nehzaym’s apartment. She ushered him through, then followed. In the middle of the blue and green sitting room a marble fountain bubbled, pale orange ferns in bright pots stood along the walls, and polished brass screens hung at every window. Just in front of the fountain stood a low table, spread with maps of pale pink rushi, where other members of their circle sat waiting for him.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Warkannan said.
Sitting on a heap of purple cushions, Councillor Indan Alwazir looked up. The old man kept his long white robes gathered round him as if he were afraid he’d be polluted by the incense-laden air. Warkannan’s nephew, Arkazo Benjamil, a young man with a beaky nose and a thin-lipped grin, was sitting cross-legged on the floor and holding a good-sized glass of arak between thumb and forefinger. When Warkannan frowned at him, Arkazo put the glass down on the floor and shoved it under the table in one smooth gesture.
Standing by the marble fountain was the most important man in their venture. Tall and slender, Yarl Soutan was wearing the white shirt and loose white trousers of a Kazrak citizen, but his blue eyes, long blond hair caught back in a jewelled headband, and his pale skin marked him for the infidel stranger he was, a renegade from the Cantons far to the east of the khanate. Although he looked Arkazo’s age, his eyes seemed as old and suspicious as Indan’s, squinting at the world from a great distance. As always, Warkannan wondered just how far they could trust a man who claimed to be a sorcerer.
‘We have been waiting,’ Indan said to Warkannan. ‘For some while, actually.’
‘I had to go up to the palace. You’re about to hear why.’
Indan raised an eyebrow. With a demure smile for the men, Nehzaym barred the door behind her, then perched on a cushioned stool near the councillor.
‘All right,’ Warkannan said. ‘Someone’s laid an information against us with the Great Khan’s Chosen Ones.’
Arkazo swore. Indan went pale, his lips working. With a little laugh, Soutan turned from the fountain.
‘I told you I saw danger approaching. These things always send omens ahead of them.’
‘You were right,’ Warkannan said. ‘This once, anyway.’
‘May God preserve!’ Indan was trembling so badly that he could hardly speak. ‘Do they know our names?’
‘Calm down, Councillor,’ Warkannan snapped. ‘Of course they do, or we wouldn’t have anything to worry about. They’re wondering if we’re really going to prospect for blackstone.’
‘Is this anything special?’ Arkazo broke in. ‘As far as I can see, the Chosen are suspicious of everything and everyone all the time.’
‘I don’t know what they know,’ Warkannan said. ‘All that Lubahva heard was that someone bragged about our investment group. He implied it might be more important than it looked. The Chosen don’t ignore that kind of rumour.’
‘Indeed,’ Indan said. ‘Who was it?’
‘Lubahva doesn’t know yet.’ Warkannan paused to glance at each member of the group in turn. ‘I’m not doubting anyone here, mind, but our circle’s grown larger recently. I knew we’d reach a danger point.’
The suspicion in the room hung as heavy as the incense. Everyone looked at Yarl Soutan, who strolled over and sat down.
‘And would I run to the Chosen after throwing in my lot with you? The Great Khan wouldn’t give me a pardon for spilling your secrets. He’d have me killed in some slow painful way for having come here in the first place.’ Soutan laid a hand on the maps. ‘I wonder – someone must suspect that I brought you something besides those old maps.’
‘That’s my worst fear,’ Warkannan said. ‘If they do, they’ll send a man east to the Cantons just to see what he can learn about you.’
‘Oh good god!’ Soutan snarled. ‘That could ruin everything.’
‘Exactly,’ Indan said. ‘Why do you think I’m terrified?’
Soutan nodded. For a long moment they all looked at each other, as if the information they so desperately needed could be read from the empty air.
The Crescent Throne of Kazrajistan ruled these days by the sword and terror. Gemet Great Khan had gained the throne by sending his Chosen Ones to kill everyone in his own extended family with a good claim to be a khan, a word that had come to mean a man fit to be the supreme leader by blood and so sanctified by the mullahs. Now Gemet lived in fear of revenge, and with good reason. His brothers and half-brothers had married into the best families in the khanate, and with their murders and the confiscation of their lands, those families had lost sons and property both. Since he knew that any more confiscations would make the armed aristocracy rebel, he’d turned on the common people with taxes for teeth.
The last heir, young Jezro Khan, had been serving on the border, an officer in the regular cavalry. The assassins came for him, as they had for all the others, but no one ever found his body. With his assumed death, the khanate had settled into ten years of paranoid peace. Just recently, however, Soutan had ridden into Haz Kazrak and brought Councillor Indan a letter in Jezro’s handwriting. Jezro Khan was alive, living as a humble exile far to the east. After some weeks of weighing risks, Indan had contacted Warkannan, who’d served with Jezro in the cavalry. Warkannan could still feel his shock, could taste his tears as he looked over the familiar writing of a friend he’d given up for dead. Together he and Indan had gathered a few trustworthy men and made contacts among those families who’d suffered at the current emperor’s hands. Soon they had pledges of soldiers and coin to support the khan’s cause if he returned. Things had been going very well indeed – until now.
‘If we’re going to prevent disaster, we have to move fast,’ Indan said. ‘We need to shelter Soutan above all else.’
‘Just so,’ Warkannan said. ‘And we’d better do it tonight. Councillor, you have a country villa, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, and my servants there are most trustworthy.’
‘Good. You and Soutan get yourselves there. I’ll stay in the city and keep in touch with Lubahva. If we all bolt at once, the Chosen are likely to draw some conclusions.’
Indan’s face went ashy-grey.
‘I’ll be sending you word as soon as I can,’ Warkannan said. ‘Lubahva’s group plays for every important man in the palace, and she hears plenty.’ All at once he smiled. ‘She’s always complaining that they treat the musicians like furniture. It’s a damn good thing, too. We’ll find this traitor yet.’
‘So we may hope.’ Indan sighed, looking suddenly very old and very tired. ‘But I see ruin ahead of us all.’
‘Oh come now, don’t give up so soon.’ Soutan turned to the councillor. ‘You forget that you have powerful magic on your side.’
‘Indeed?’ Indan said with some asperity. ‘But if it can’t read the minds of the Chosen, it’s not much good to us.’
‘Perhaps it can.’ Soutan gave him a thin-lipped smile. ‘Don’t mock what you don’t understand.’
When Indan started to snarl an answer, Warkannan leaned forward and cut him off.
‘Patience, Councillor,’ Warkannan said. ‘We don’t know what the Chosen are going to do. They may look us over and decide we pass muster.’
‘They might,’ Indan said. ‘Or they may have sent one of their spies east already. Or a dozen of them, for that matter.’
‘It should be an easy thing to find out.’ Nehzaym glanced around the circle. ‘Most of our allies are on the border. If we warn them, they’ll keep watch.’
‘The