ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第48部分

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r　father's　mixture　to　help　him　rest。
　　She　woke　the　other　man　gently；　with　the　attendants　on　either　side　of　his　pallet。　Sometimes　they　were　violent　when　awakened。　These　were　fighting　men。　The　Batiaran　knew　her；　though；　which　was　good。　She　had　them　hold　up　a　torch　for　her　and　she　looked　at　his　eyes：　cloudy　still；　but　better　than　before　and　he　followed　her　finger　when　she　moved　it　before　his　face。　She　put　a　hand　behind　his　head　and　helped　him　drink：　cloves；　myrrh　and　aloes；　for　what　had　to　be　a　brutal　headache。
　　She　changed　the　dressing　on　his　wound；　then　withdrew　to　the　other　side　of　the　room　while　the　attendants　helped　him　pass　water　into　a　beaker　for　her。　She　poured　the　urine　into　her　father's　flask　and　studied　it　against　the　candlelight。　The　top　layer；　which　told　of　the　head；　was　mostly　clear　now。　He　was　going　to　be　all　right。　She　told　him　as　much；　speaking　in　his　own　language。　He　sank　back　into　slumber。
　　She　decided　to　snatch　a　short　rest　in　the　infirmary　after　all。　They　made　up　one　of　the　beds　for　her　and　drew　a　screen　in　front　of　it　for　privacy。　She　removed　her　boots　and　lay　down　in　her　clothing。　She　had　done　this　many　times。　A　doctor　had　to　learn　to　sleep　anywhere；　in　whatever　brief　snatches　of　time　were　allowed。
　　Just　before　she　dropped　off；　a　thought　came　to　her：　she　had；　it　seemed；　just　agreed　to　leave　the　forts　of　city　and　court　to　go　out　on　a　winter　campaign…wherever　that　expedition　turned　out　to　be　going。　She　hadn't　even　asked　them。　Nobody　went　on　winter　campaigns。
　　〃You　idiot；〃　she　murmured　aloud；　aware　that　she　was　smiling　in　the　darkness。
　　
　　In　the　morning　the　Batiaran　remembered　his　mother；　knew　where　he　was；　the　day　of　the　week　and　the　sub…manders　of　his　pany。　When　she　asked；　a　trifle　unwisely；　about　his　father's　name；　he　flushed　a　vivid　crimson。
　　Jehane　took　pains　to　show　no　reaction　at　all；　of　course。　She　swore　a　silent　oath　to　herself；　on　the　spot；　in　the　name　of　Galinus；　father　of　all　physicians；　that　she　would　die　before　telling　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　or　Rodrigo　Belmonte　about　this。
　　That　oath；　at　least；　she　kept。
　　
Nine
　　The　wind　was　north。　Yazir　could　taste　salt　in　the　air；　though　they　were　half　a　day's　ride　across　the　Majriti　sands　from　the　sea。　It　was　cold。
　　Behind　him　he　could　hear　the　flapping　of　the　tents　as　the　wind　caught　and　tugged　at　them。　They　had　e　this　far　north　and　set　up　a　camp　to　meet　with　their　visitor。
　　On　the　coast；　out　of　sight　beyond　the　high；　shifting　dunes；　lay　the　new　port　of　Abeneven；　whose　walls　offered　shelter　from　the　wind。　Yazir　ibn　Q'arif　would　rather　be　dead　and　with　Ashar　among　the　stars　than　winter　in　a　city。　He　shrugged　deeper　into　his　cloak。　He　looked　up　at　the　sky。　The　sun；　no　menace　now　at　the　brink　of　winter　so　far　to　the　north；　was　a　pale　disk　in　a　sky　of　racing　clouds。　There　was　a　little　time　yet　before　the　third　summons　to　prayer。　They　could　continue　this　discussion。
　　No　one　had　said　a　word；　however；　for　some　time。　Their　visitor　was　clearly　unsettled　by　that。　This　was　good；　on　the　whole；　unsettled　men；　in　Yazir's　experience；　revealed　more　of　themselves。
　　Yazir　looked　over　and　saw　that　his　brother　had　pulled　down　the　veil　that　covered　the　lower　half　of　his　face。　He　was　breaking　beetle　shells　and　sucking　at　the　juices　inside。　An　old　habit。　His　teeth　were　badly　stained　by　it。　Their　guest　had　already　declined　the　offered　dish。　This；　of　course；　was　an　insult；　but　Yazir　had　gained　some　insight　into　the　manners　of　their　brethren　across　the　straits　in　Al…Rassan；　and　was　not　unduly　perturbed。　Ghalib；　his　brother；　was　a　more　impetuous　man；　and　Yazir　could　see　him　dealing　with　anger。　The　visitor　would　not　be　aware　of　this；　of　course。　Their　guest；　miserably　cold；　and　obviously　unhappy　with　the　smell　and　feel　of　the　camel　hair　cloak　they　had　presented　him　as　a　gift；　sat　unfortably　on　Yazir's　meeting　blanket　and　sniffled。
　　He　was　ill；　he　had　told　them。　He　talked　a　great　deal；　their　visitor。　The　long　journey　to　Abirab　and　then　along　the　coast　to　this　wintering　place　of　the　Muwardi　leaders　had　afflicted　him　with　an　ailment　of　the　head　and　chest；　he　had　explained。　He　was　shivering　like　a　girl。　Ghalib's　contempt　was　obvious　to　Yazir；　but　this　man　from　across　the　straits　would　not　see　that　either；　even　with　Ghalib's　veil　lowered。
　　Yazir　had　long　ago　realized…and　had　tried　to　make　his　brother　understand…that　the　softness　of　life　in　Al…Rassan　had　not　only　turned　the　men　there　into　infidels；　it　had　also　made　them　very　nearly　women。　Less　than　women；　in　fact。　Not　one　of　Yazir's　wives　would　have　been　half　so　pathetic　as　this　Prince　Hazem　of　Cartada；　his　nose　dripping　like　a　child's　in　the　face　of　a　little　wind。
　　And　this　young　man；　lamentably；　was　one　of　the　devout　ones。　One　of　the　true；　pious　followers　of　Ashar　in　Al…Rassan。　Yazir　was　forced　to　keep　reminding　himself　of　that。　The　man　had　been　corresponding　with　them　for　some　time。　Now　he　had　e　himself　to　the　Majriti；　a　long　way　in　a　difficult　season；　to　speak　his　plea　to　the　two　leaders　of　the　Muwardis；　here　on　a　blanket　before　flapping　tents　in　the　vast　and　empty　desert。　He　had　probably　expected　to　meet　them　in　Abirab；　or　Abeneven　at　worst；　Yazir　thought。　Cities　and　houses　were　what　the　soft　men　of　Al…Rassan　knew。　Beds　with　scented　pillows；　cushions　to　recline　upon。　Flowers　and　trees　and　green　grass；　with　more　water　than　any　man　could　use　in　his　lifetime。　Forbidden　wine　and　naked　dancers　and　painted　Jaddite　women。　Arrogant　Kindath　merchants　exploiting　the　faithful　and　worshipping　their　female　moons　instead　of　Ashar's　holy　stars。　A　world　where　the　bells　summoning　to　prayer　were　occasion　for　a　cursory　nod　in　the　direction　of　a　temple；　if　that　much。
　　Yazir　dreamed　at　night　of　fire。　A　great　burning　in　Al…Rassan　and　north　of　it；　among　the　kingdoms　of　Esperana；　where　they　worshipped　the　killing　sun　in　mockery　of　the　Star…born　children　of　the　desert。　He　dreamed　of　a　purging　inferno　that　would　leave　the　green；　seductive　land　scorched　back　towards　sand　but　pure　again；　ready　for　rebirth。　A　place　where　the　holy　stars　might　shine　cleanly　down　and　not　avert　their　light　in　horror　from　what　men　did　below　in　the　cesspools　of　their　cities。
　　He　was　a　cautious　man；　though；　Yazir　ibn　Q'arif　of　the　Zuhrite　tribe。　Even　before　the　foul　murder　of　the　last　khalif　in　Silvenes　wadjis　had　been　ing　across　the　straits　to　him　and　his　brother；　year　after　year；　beseeching　that　the　tribes　sweep　north　across　the　water　to　a　burning　of　infidels。
　　Yazir　didn't　like　boats；　he　didn't　like　water。　He　and　Ghalib　had　more　than　enough　on　their　hands　controlling　the　desert　tribes。　He　had　elected　to　roll　small　dice　only　behind　his　veil…akin　to　a　cautious　play　in　the　ancient　bone　game　of　the　desert…and　had　allowed　some　of　his　soldiers　to　go　north　as　mercenaries。　Not　to　serve　the　wadjis　either；　but　the　very　kings　they　opposed。　The　petty…kings　of　Al…Rassan　had　money；　and　paid　it　for　good　soldiers。　Money　was　useful；　it　bought　food　from　north　and　east　in　hard　seasons；　it　hired　masons　and　shipbuilders…men　Yazir　had　reluctantly　e　to　realize　he　needed；　if　the　Muwardis　were　to　have　any　more　permanence　than　the　drifting　sands。
　　Information　was　useful；　too。　His　soldiers　sent　home　all　their　wages；　and　with　these　sums　came　tidings　of　affairs　in　Al…Rassan。　Yazir　and　Ghalib　knew　a　great　deal。　Some　of　it　was　prehensible；　some　was　not。　They　learned　that　there　were　courtyards　within　the　palaces　of　the　kings；　and　even　in　the　public　squares　of　cities；　where　water　was　permitted　to　burst　freely　from　pipes　through　the　mouths　of　sculpted　animals…and　then　to　run　away　again；　unused。　This　was　almost　impossible　to　credit；　but　the　tale　had　been　reported　too　many　times　not　to　be　true。
　　One　report…this　one　a　fable；　obviously…even　had　it　that　in　Ragosa；　where　a　Kindath　sorcerer　had　bewitched　the　feeble　king；　a　river　ran　through　the　palace。　It　was　said　that　there　was　a　waterfall　in　the　sorcerer's　bedchamber；　where　the　Kindath　fiend　bedded　helpless　Asharite　women；　ripping　their　maidenheads　and　laughing　at　his　power　over　the　Star…born。
　　Yazir　stirred　restlessly　within　his　cloak；　the　image　filled　him　with　a　heavy　rage。　Ghalib　finished　cracking　beetles；　pushed　the　earthenware　dish　away；　pulled　up　his　veil　and　mumbled　something　under　his　breath。
　　〃I'm　sorry？〃　the　Cartadan　prince　said；　leaping　at　the　sound。　He　sniffled。　〃My　ears。　I'm　sorry。　I　failed　to　hear。　Excellence？〃
　　Ghalib　looked　at　Yazir。　It　was　increasingly　evident　that　he　wanted　to　kill　this　man。　That　was　understandable；　but　it　remained　a　bad　idea；　in　Yazir's　view。　He　was　the　older　brother。　Ghalib　would　follow　him；　in　most　things。　He　narrowed　his　eyes　in　warning。　Their　visitor　missed　this　of　course；　he　missed　everything。
　　On　the　other　hand；　Yazir　abruptly　reminded　himself；　Ashar　had　taught　that　charity　towards　the　devout　was　the　highest　deed　of　earthly　piety；　short　of　dying　in　a　holy　war；　and　this　man…this　Hazem　ibn　Almalik…was　as　close　to　being　truly　devout　as　any　prince　of　Al…Rassan　had　been　in　a　long　time。　He　was　here；　after　all。　He　had　e　to　them。　They　had　to　take　note　of　that。　If　only　he　wasn't　such　a　sorry；　emasculated　excuse　for　a　man。
　　〃Nothing；〃　Yazir　grunted。
　　〃What？　I　beg…〃
　　〃My　brother　said　nothing。　Do　not　trouble　yourself　so。〃　He　tried　to　say　it　kin