ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第49部分

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　　〃Nothing；〃　Yazir　grunted。
　　〃What？　I　beg…〃
　　〃My　brother　said　nothing。　Do　not　trouble　yourself　so。〃　He　tried　to　say　it　kindly。　Kindness　did　not　e　naturally　to　him。　Neither　did　patience；　though　that　he　had　been　at　pains　to　teach　himself　over　the　years。
　　His　world　was　different　now　from　when　he　and　Ghalib　had　led　the　Zuhrites　out　of　the　west　and　swept　all　the　other　tribes　before　them；　leaving　the　sands　blood…red　where　they　passed。　More　than　twenty　years　ago　that　was。　They　had　been　young　men。　The　khalif　in　Silvenes　had　sent　them　gifts。　Then　the　next　khalif；　and　the　next；　until　the　last　one　was　slain。
　　There　was　still　blood　on　the　sands；　most　years。　The　tribes　of　the　desert　had　never　taken　easily　to　authority。　Twenty　years　was　a　very　long　time　to　have　held　sway。　Long　enough　even　to　build　two　cities　on　the　coast；　with　shipyards　now　and　warehouses；　and　three　more　cities　inland；　with　markets；　where　the　gold　of　the　south　could　be　assembled　and　dispersed　in　the　long　caravans。　Yazir　hated　settlements；　but　they　mattered。　They　were　marks　of　endurance　on　the　shifting　face　of　the　desert。　They　were　a　beginning　to　something　larger。
　　The　next　stage　of　permanence　for　the　Muwardis；　though；　lay　beyond　the　sands。　That　much　was　being　more　and　more　clear　to　Yazir　as　the　seasons　and　the　stars　turned。
　　Ghalib　flatly　rejected　the　very　thought　of　leaving　the　desert　life　he　knew；　but　not　the　idea　of　a　holy　war　across　the　straits。　That　idea　he　liked。　Ghalib　was　good　at　killing　people。　He　was　not　a　man　well…suited　to　leading　the　tribes　in　peacetime；　or　to　building　things　that　might　remain　after　him；　for　his　sons　and　his　sons'　sons。　Yazir；　who　had　e　out　of　the　west　those　long　years　ago　with　a　string　of　camels　and　a　sword；　with　five　thousand　warriors　and　a　bright；　hard　vision　of　Ashar；　was　trying　to　bee　such　a　man。
　　Ibn　Rashid；　the　ascetic；　the　wadji　who　had　e　to　the　westernmost　Zuhrite　tribes　bearing　the　teachings　of　Ashar　from　the　so…called　homelands　none　of　the　Muwardis　had　ever　seen；　would　have　approved；　Yazir　knew　that　much。
　　The　wadji；　gaunt　and　tall；　with　his　unkempt　white　beard　and　hair　and　his　black　eyes　that　read　souls；　had　settled　with　six　disciples　in　a　cluster　of　tents　among　the　wildest　people　of　the　desert。　Yazir　and　his　brother；　the　sons　of　the　Zuhrite　chieftain；　had　e　one　day　to　laugh　at　this　new；　harmless　madman　in　his　settlement；　where　he　preached　the　visions　of　another　madman　in　another　desert　in　a　far　land　named　Soriyya。
　　Their　lives　had　changed。　The　life　of　the　Majriti　had　changed。
　　Ashar's　truths　had　been　moving　through　the　desert　for　some　time　before　ibn　Rashid　came　west；　but　none　of　the　other　tribes　had　accepted　those　truths　and　pursued　them　as　resolutely　as　the　Zuhrites　were　to　do　when　Yazir　and　Ghalib　led　them　east…all　of　them　veiled　now　like　ibn　Rashid…in　holy；　cleansing　war。
　　Yazir　had　spent　almost　half　of　his　life　trying　to　earn　his　wadji's　approval；　even　after　ibn　Rashid　had　died　and　only　his　rattling　bones　and　skull　acpanied　Yazir　and　Ghalib　in　their　journeys。　He　still　tried　to　measure　his　deeds　by　what　the　wadji's　eyes　would　have　seen　in　them。　It　was　difficult；　trying　to　change　from　a　simple　warrior；　a　son　of　the　desert　and　stars；　to　a　leader　in　a　slippery　world　of　cities　and　money；　of　diplomats　and　emissaries　from　across　the　straits　or　far　to　the　east。　It　was　very　difficult。
　　He　needed　scribes　now；　men　who　could　decipher　the　messages　brought　him　from　those　other　lands。　In　scratchings　on　parchment　lay　the　deaths　of　men　and　the　fulfillment　or　rejection　of　Ashar's　starry　visions。　That　was　a　hard　thing　to　accept。
　　Yazir　often　envied　his　brother　his　clear　approach　to　all　things。　Ghalib　had　not　changed；　saw　no　reason　to　change。　He　was　a　Zuhrite　war　leader　still；　direct　and　unblunted　as　a　wind。　This　man　sitting　before　them；　for　example。　For　Ghalib　he　was　less　than　a　man；　and　he　sniffled；　and　insulted　them　by　refusing　to　eat　food　they　offered。　He　ought；　therefore；　to　be　slain。　He　would　provide　some　amusement　then；　at　least。　Ghalib　had　a　number　of　ways　of　killing　men。　This　one；　Yazir　thought；　would　probably　be　castrated　then　given　to　the　soldiers…or　even　the　women…to　be　used。　Ghalib　would　see　such　a　death　as　an　obvious　one。
　　Yazir；　a　son　of　the　hard　desert　himself；　half…inclined　to　agree；　continued　his　long　struggle　towards　a　different　view　of　things。　Hazem　ibn　Almalik　was　a　prince　from　across　the　water。　He　could　rule　Cartada　if　circumstances　changed　only　slightly。　He　was　here　to　ask　Yazir　and　Ghalib　to　change　those　circumstances。　That　would　mean；　he　had　told　them；　a　true　believer　on　the　dais　of　the　most　powerful　kingdom　in　Al…Rassan。　He　would　even　don　the　half…veil　of　the　Muwardis；　he　told　them。
　　Yazir　didn't　know　what　a　dais　was；　but　he　did　understand　what　was　being　asked　of　him。　He　was　fairly　certain　his　brother　understood　as　well；　but　Ghalib　would　have　a　different　attitude。　Ghalib　would　hardly　care　who　ruled　Cartada　in　Al…Rassan。　Whether　this　man　adopted　the　veil　ibn　Rashid　had　ordained　for　the　tribes…to　screen　and　hold　back　impieties…would　be　a　matter　of　uttermost　indifference　to　Ghalib。　He　would　simply　want　the　chance　to　go　to　war　again　in　the　name　of　Ashar　and　the　god。　War　was　good；　a　holy　war　was　the　best　thing　in　the　world。
　　Sometimes；　though；　a　man　striving　to　shape　a　divided；　tribal　people　into　a　nation；　a　force　in　the　world；　something　more　than　drifts　of　sand；　had　to　try　to　hold　back　his　desires；　or　rise　above　them。
　　Yazir；　on　his　blanket　in　the　north　wind；　with　winter　ing；　felt　a　deep　uncertainty　gnawing　at　his　vitals。　No　one　had　ever　warned　him　that　leadership；　this　kind　of　leadership；　was　bad　for　the　stomach。
　　He　had　begun　losing　his　hair　years　ago。　His　scalp；　though　usually　covered；　had　burned　the　same　hue　as　the　rest　of　his　face　over　the　years。　Ghalib；　with　no　concerns　save　how　to　keep　his　warriors　killing　enemies　and　not　each　other；　still　had　his　long　dark　mane。　He　wore　it　tied　back；　to　keep　it　from　his　eyes　and　he　still　wore　his　thong　about　his　neck。　Men　sometimes　asked　about　that。　Ghalib　would　smile　and　decline　to　answer；　inviting　speculation。　Yazir　knew　what　the　thong　was。　He　was　far　from　a　squeamish　man；　but　he　didn't　like　thinking　about　it。
　　He　looked　up　at　the　wan　sun　again。　There　remained　only　a　little　time　before　prayers。　There　was　information　their　visitor　lacked。　He　had　been　a　long　time　journeying　here；　others　had　left　after　him　and　e　before。　Yazir　was　still　unsure　how　to　make　use　of　this。
　　〃What　about　the　Jaddites？〃　he　asked；　by　way　of　a　beginning。
　　Hazem　ibn　Almalik　jerked　liked　a　snared　creature　at　the　words。　He　flashed　Yazir　a　startled；　revealing　glance。　It　was　the　first　concrete　question　either　of　the　brothers　had　put　to　him。　The　wind　whistled；　sand　blew。
　　〃The　Jaddites？〃　the　man　repeated　blankly。　He　was；　Yazir；　concluded；　very　nearly　simple…minded。　It　was　a　pity。
　　〃The　Jaddites；〃　Yazir　repeated；　as　if　to　a　child。　Ghalib　glanced　at　him　briefly　and　then　away；　saying　nothing。　〃How　strong　are　they？　We　are　told　Cartada　allows　payment　of　tribute　to　the　Horsemen。　This　is　forbidden　by　the　Laws。　If　such　tribute　is　paid　there　must　be　a　reason。　What　is　the　reason？〃
　　Hazem　wiped　at　his　dripping　nose。　He　used　his　right　hand；　which　was　offensive。　He　cleared　his　throat。　〃That　tribute　is　one　reason　I　am　here；　Excellence。　Of　course　it　is　forbidden。　It　is　a　blasphemy；　among　so　many　others。　The　arrogant　Horsemen　see　no　danger　in　the　weak　kings　of　Al…Rassan。　Even　my　father　cringes　before　the　Jaddites；　though　he　calls　himself　a　Lion。〃　He　laughed　bitterly。　Yazir　said　nothing；　listening；　observing　through　hooded　eyes。　The　sand　blew　past　them；　tent　cloths　flapped　in　the　camp。　A　dog　barked。
　　Their　visitor　babbled　on。　〃The　Jaddites　make　their　demands；　and　are　given　all　they　ask；　despite　the　clear　word　of　Ashar。　They　take　our　gold；　they　take　our　women；　they　ride　laughing　through　our　streets　looking　down　upon　the　faithful；　mocking　our　feeble　leaders。　Little　do　they　know　that　their　danger　es　not　from　godless　rulers；　but　from　the　true　heirs　of　Ashar；　the　pure　sons　of　the　desert。　Will　you　not　e？　Will　you　not　cleanse　Al…Rassan？〃
　　Ghalib　grunted；　pulled　down　his　veil；　and　spat。
　　〃Why？〃　he　said。
　　Yazir　was　surprised。　His　brother　was　not　inclined　to　demand　reasons　for　war。　The　prince　from　over　the　water　seemed　more　confident　suddenly；　he　sat　up　straighter　on　the　blanket。　It　was　as　if　he　had　needed　only　their　questions。　All　those　who　had　e　to　them　from　Al…Rassan　over　the　years；　the　wadjis　and　emissaries；　were　great　talkers。　They　wore　no　veils；　perhaps　that　was　part　of　it。　Poets；　singers；　heralds…words　ran　like　water　in　that　land。　It　was　silence　that　made　them　uneasy。　It　was　quite　clear　by　now　that　their　visitor　did　not　know　his　father　was　dead。
　　〃Who　else　is　there？〃　Hazem　of　Cartada　asked；　and　gestured　excessively　with　his　hands；　almost　touching　Yazir's　knee。　〃If　you　e　not；　the　Horsemen　of　Jad　will　rule。　In　our　lifetime。　And　Al…Rassan　will　be　lost　to　Ashar　and　the　stars。〃
　　〃It　is　lost　already；〃　Ghalib　muttered；　surprising　Yazir　again。
　　〃Then　regain　it！〃　said　Hazem　ibn　Almalik　quickly。　〃It　is　there　for　you。　For　us。〃
　　〃Us？〃　Yazir　said　softly。
　　The　prince　visibly　checked　himself。　He　looked　briefly　afraid。　He　said；　〃For