Board and globe were in Mist’s private office. She passed by once while they watched. “Passive message,” the wizard mused. “She assumes that I watch her.”

“Clever.”

“What?”

“She’s right.”

Varthlokkur grunted, then began to brood on the nature of the magic Mist was using. “Must be a bubble outside the local reality so visitors don’t notice. Maybe an offset in time.”

“She might just not let people in.”

“There’s that. But it’s so prosaic. That bubble…”

“Foo on the bubble. What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“About letting Mist know that her children are all right.”

He did not get it. Honestly.

“Her children,” Nepanthe said, slowly and loudly. “She’s concerned about Ekaterina and Scalza.”

“Oh. Yes. I don’t know if I actually believe that, but…”

“Varth! Stop!”

He stopped. She used that tone frugally, when focused on a single matter. When she was determined to make the universe conform to simple arithmetic terms.

“What do you want to do, darling?”

“Just let her know they’re fine. How hard is that to figure?”

“There’s a high degree of difficulty. It isn’t the sort of thing I do.”

“You’re the ace sorcerer of all time. Make the answer appear on her blackboard.”

He chuckled. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she wouldn’t let me. If I could get in there and do that, that simply, then any Tervola old enough to walk could sneak in and do bad things.”

“All right. I understand. But you’ll find a way. Hell, invite her to come see them.”

That suggestion so flabbergasted Varthlokkur that he was left speechless. But thoughtful.

EIGHT: YEAR 1017 AFE
THE DESERT KINGDOM

There was no wakening touch but Haroun knew one of his companions wanted his attention. A glance at the angle of the moonlight told him it was just after midnight. He heard harness creaks and horses’ hooves. There was no need to whisper, “They’re here.”

Traveling by night.

Interesting.

Might be worth investigating.

Probably not worth the risk of exposure, though.

Haroun moved just enough to let it be known that he had heard.

He was curious.

He did nothing for several minutes. The sounds made by the travelers grew louder. They would reach the Sheyik’s stronghold without coming near here.

Haroun had a premonition: It would not be wise to go look.

He rose, glided through the moonlight forty yards, slid into a shadow where his companions could not watch. He squatted, carefully extended his shaghûn senses.

The sounds of movement ceased.

Bin Yousif withdrew, cursing softly. Slight as his use of the power had been, it had been detected. A powerful someone accompanied the nightriders.

Up. Stride briskly back to his seat behind the tiny fire. Settle. Relax. Hope his companions did not ask uncomfortable questions.

Both were awake and nervous.

Shouting and order-giving began over yonder. Haroun concentrated on controlling his breathing.

A half-dozen men trotted past. One paused to consider the derelicts. He wasted only a few seconds before moving on.