I dont care. Not who you are, or what. I wont have you fomenting violence in my territories. Ill give you the horse and coin you asked, and whatever you need to travel. Youll leave El Aquila this afternoon. I, Mustaf abd-Racim ibn Farid el Habib, have spoken. Do not defy me.

Father, you cant

Be silent, Meryem. What were you doing with that rabble? Why arent you with your mother?

The girl began to argue. Mustaf cut her short. Ive been a fool. Youre starting to think youre a man. That is ended, Meryem. From this moment forward you will remain with the women, and do the work of women.

Father!

You heard me. Micah. You heard me too. Start moving.

His converts were ready to resume scuffling. He disappointed them.

No, he said. Its not yet time for the Kingdom of Peace to challenge the unrighteous controlling temporal powers, corrupt as they may be. Endure. Our hour will come.

Mustaf reddened. Boy, dont push me.

El Murid turned. He faced the chieftain of the el Habib. He clasped his hands before him, right over left. The jewel in his amulet blazed at Mustaf. He met the chieftains gaze without flinching or speaking.

Mustaf yielded first, his eyes going to the amulet. He swallowed and started toward the village.

El Murid followed at a slower pace. His acolytes orbited him, their mouths full of soothing promises. He ignored most of them. His attention was on Nassef, who again was drifting aimlessly between parties, drawn both ways.

Intuition told him that he needed Nassef. The youth could become the cornerstone of his future. He had to win Nassef over before he left.

El Murid was as ambivalent about Nassef as Mustafs son was about El Murid. Nassef was bright, fearless, hard, and competent. But he had a dark streak in him that frightened the Disciple. Mustafs son contained as much potential for evil as he did for good.

No, I wont defy Mustaf, he told his imploring companions. Ive recovered from my debility. Its time I started my travels. Ill return in time. Carry on my work while Im gone. Show me a model village when I return.

He began one of his gentle teaching sessions, trying to give them the tools they would need to become effective missionaries.

He did not glance back as he rode out of El Aquila. He had only one regret: he had had no opportunity to present Nassef with further arguments. El Aquila had been a beginning.

Not nearly as good a beginning as he had hoped, though. He had not been able to sway anyone important. Priests and temporal leaders simply refused to listen. He would have to find some way to open their ears and minds.

He took the trail that reversed the road his fathers caravan had been traveling. He wanted to pause at the place where his family had died.