“Exactly. If Megelin has an arrangement with Hsung, then, obviously, he’s no longer your friend. He’s sold you to the Dread Empire.”

“How do I make a deal with an old enemy? Can you see me trying to sell it to my people? On the evidence available? The older ones are still as scared of El Murid as they are of Shinsan.”

“As I said, the Disciple isn’t much interested these days. He is, in mathematical terms, not part of the equation.”

“Ah? Meaning?” Ragnarson had a feeling they were getting to the heart of it.

“The Lady Yasmid…. Shall we say she’s considering finding some initiative?”

Ragnarson’s laugh was hard, barking, and bitter. “She’s going to overthrow him?”

“Not overthrow. Not exactly. More like take charge in his name. If there’s any point.”

“Any point?”

“What point in trying if you’re caught between Royalists and Shinsan and haven’t a friend to help? A grain of wheat between millstones would have a better chance. It would be better for the Faithful, in the long run, if they weren’t led into certain destruction.”

A very muted appeal, Bragi thought. She would let the collapse continue unless he offered some hope. And if the collapse did happen, Hsung and his Western Army would have access to the southern passes through the mountains. Hsung could march west through the desert and hit the western kingdoms from the south instead of east. He harkened to his intuition again. “Tell her to go ahead. I can’t promise an actual alliance, understand.”

“I understand. No iron commitments. Just a hope. And only the three of us to know we’re in contact, please. I’ll inform the Lady and return as soon as I can.”

Ragnarson nodded. “Habibullah, you’re better than you were when you were ambassador. Much more efficient.” Much had been said here, and a lot in words never spoken.

“The Lady Yasmid has led me into a more mature path.”

“Good for her.” Bragi groaned as he struggled to his feet. His muscles had set like mortar. “I won’t be able to move tomorrow.” He backed away, not turning till he was outside throwing range. A sensible man took no chances. The Harish were masters of the knife.

He continued his interrupted journey, puzzling the way things were turning around. So much was becoming inverted to the traditional.

This making a deal with Yasmid…. Something told him it was right. He had a feeling the day would come when he would need friends as desperately as she did now. And the people of Hammad al Nakir, of whatever religious or political persuasion, could be as hardy in friendship as they were steadfast in enmity. Hadn’t Megelin’s father, Haroun, twice surrendered his chance at the Peacock Throne so that he could help friends? Wasn’t that very friendship the reason a boy now sat on the Peacock Throne, going off in his own strange direction?

What about Michael? His testimony supported Habibullah’s, and vice versa. So unless there was a plot…. “Damn!” He was getting too paranoid.