Samar was slender as a cypress, and swayed like a branch in a gentle wind as she walked toward us on tiny slippered feet. Her kohl-limned eyes strayed over me before settling firmly upon my master, Dabir, whereupon she brought two slim henna-stained hands together and bowed her head with a tinkle of earrings.

"I bid you good evening, Dabir ibn Khalil, and praise God that you have answered my call." Her veil was thin and did more to exalt her red lips than conceal them.

My master inclined his lean head. "I am honored that you called upon me, Lady."

Dabir indicated me with a hand. "This is my shield and right arm, Asim el Abbas."

"Please, sit." Her smooth-skinned hand swept to the carpets and pillows about the floor.

She clapped her hands and servants scurried in with bowls of fruits and sweet nuts, and goblets of wine. I refused them all.

Dabir brushed the gem-studded goblet with a finger as he sat.

Samar dismissed the servants with a look. "Is the food and drink pleasing to you?" Again her eyes were only for Dabir.

My master was a thin man, with a long face. His skin was dusky brown, his hair fine, and he wore only a light pointed beard and thin mustache. His eyes, though, were a brilliant blue, and I think it is this that often fascinated women, for they seemed universally curious about him.

"Not nearly so pleasing as your company."

Beneath her veil Samar's lips parted pleasantly, despite my master's preemptory tone.

"But I did not come here for the wine, or your company. You wished to speak with me?"

Often was he brusque where others were effusive or poetic. My master's few words angered some, but in women it seemed always to stir interest, as it did with this Samar.

She tried another smile. "I have heard it said you are a man of few words. Very well, then. I have also heard that you are a man who ferrets out secrets as easily as a camel finds a well. I need you to find truths. What do you know of infidel gods?"

"Of gods I know as little as most men. Of worshippers I know more."

"Do you know, then, of those who worship the White-Robed King?"

"I know of them."

From whence they had come, I knew not, but in the last months it had grown impossible to spit in the marketplace without hitting one of their white-robed priests. My cousin Andar, a Lieutenant of the city watch, told me that the number of their followers had swelled, and that their singing and dancing at strange hours had prompted many complaints.

"Women are drawn to them as to a flame," Samar related. "My mother and her servants have taken up with them. No longer do they recite the daily prayers--nay, they are seldom in my household, so often are they at the temple of the 'King.' They have seen fit to remove all instruments from my household, lest they make music not blessed by the priests of the King. I have heard tell of many instrument thefts in recent days... these infidels have likely stolen them."

I had heard of these thefts from my cousin, but he had not mentioned them in connection with the priests.

"I hold regret for your sorrows," said Dabir. "How is it you wish me to help?"

She lowered her eyes and looked at him through her lashes. "They are demons," she said quietly, "in men's garb. The infidels have snared my mother in a net--I would have you rescue her from their influences and return her to the stream of the Prophet, peace be upon him."

From the sudden downward twist of my master's mouth I knew she had caught him unprepared. He raised the goblet and sipped. The book-to-be-read forbade wine, but my master was not alone in looking past this admonition.

"There is also a lute," the girl continued, leaning ever so slightly closer, "given me by the governor. It is chased with gold and inset with three emeralds. This is my finest instrument, and without it I am but a simple girl of little means."

Dabir set his goblet down, his mouth working silently. I could not see where he looked, but I wondered if his gaze fell, as mine did, to Samar's neckline, where milk-white flesh pressed against the confines of her clothing. I had not noticed its prominence moments before.

"It is not to my liking," Dabir said, "to say to one-'your faith is wrong, turn from it.' For faith is a strange and powerful thing I do not pretend to understand. But if you feel that your mother is under some influence, then it is a different matter."

"That is my fear, oh learned one." Samar brushed the silky black hair from her neck. "She who has made the holy pilgrimage, who always led the household to prayer--it is unthinkable that she would turn her back on God and his Prophet, peace be on him."

"Then it is settled," Dabir said simply. "I will look into these matters."

She smiled and was lovely. She brought her hands together and bowed her head, though she watched him through her lashes still. "I am grateful, oh generous one."

Dabir stood.

She climbed smoothly to her own feet. "We have not yet discussed the matter of payment for your services, valiant one."

Dabir dismissed this with a crisp wave. "Am I a merchant, to talk of prices? If you are pleased with the result of my service, you may reward me or not, as you see fit. Come, Asim. I bid you good afternoon, Samar. Your wine and company are excellent."

With that my master ducked through the curtain that led from the chamber. The girl watched him go, paying no heed to me as I turned and followed. I could not help wondering what manner of reward she might bestow if pleased, and decided that she did not need as much fattening as I first had thought.

The sky hung pale blue and cloudless as we left Samar's apartments. Soon came the call to prayer, and my master and I spread our rugs near a fountain in a square with dozens of others. We did not speak until we had rolled up our rugs and left.

"What have you heard of these priests, Asim?"

I relayed what my cousin had told me, and Dabir nodded, then asked for details and precise quotations. After I satisfied him he said: "We will go to their temple, this day."

"Into the nest of the enemy?" I asked. "This does not seem wise, master."

"They interest me," Dabir said. "I have heard much of the power of their music, and would hear it for myself."

"But why, master? Their music is idolatrous--"

"You have an ear of stone, Asim, and would not understand my curiosity."

"Many are the curious mice swallowed by the cobra."

"We will learn something of their beliefs by observing them at their songs, and hearing their words, Asim."

"As you will, master."

Another of my master's means would have hired a litter, but it was ever Dabir's pleasure to walk the long straight avenues of Dariashan, stopping here and there by the fountained courtyards where vendors displayed their wares-melons from the hill regions to the west, carpets woven with spider-like skill from the south, sometimes scrolls written by infidel Greeks. All cities are accursed, but Dariashan was less so than any I have seen, for it had been rebuilt by Iskander himself. Its streets were ordered and wide, its minarets tall and tiled with blues and greens. Lovely gardens and flowering trees sprouted along the walkways and streets, and because penalties were carried out against those who flung filth and trash in the thoroughfares, the city was less rancid than most.

Three quarters of the hour passed as we made our way to the infidel's quarter.

The temple of the white-robed king was a wide stone structure with four fronting columns and deep stairs, of a type I had seen before only in ruins. Clearly it was of infidel manufacture, and ancient at that. Music drifted down from the lattice covering the windows.

Music is but pointless noise, unless there be fine dancers or a martial beat.

"They are quite good," Dabir remarked as we took the stairs to the open double doors.

I did not comment. If I were to comment whenever I disagreed with Dabir then I would constantly be at speech, like a woman.

Before we had crossed the threshold, two in white robes barred our way. Their faces were shaven of hair save for long strands before their ears, and their heads were bare. Their black hair was oiled and swept to one side.

"No weapons are allowed within, brother," said the larger of the two.

"I am not your brother," I said.

"Peace be upon you," said Dabir. "We would have speech with the mother of Samar, the dancing girl.

"She is at prayers," said the other, a youth with pock-marked cheeks.

"Then we shall enter and wait," Dabir said. He started forward.

"Your man will have to leave his weapons at the door," the first man said, eyeing me nervously.

"I will not leave my weapon in your hands, infidel."

"Then you may not enter."

"Come, Asim. Give over your sword."

"Master--"

"It will be fine."

I scowled at the infidel. "Touch not the hilt, son of a dog, or I shall snap you in twain like kindling."

He blinked rapidly, but held out his hand. "All is as the King wills."

"No, dog-born-dog, if you touch my hilt it shall be as I will, and it will not be pleasant." I undid my belt and took from it my sheathed weapon, which I thrust into his fingers. Then I redid my belt, scowled once more at both men, and followed my master.

The cavernous space within the building was crossed by stray shafts of light cast through windows far above. Square pillars loomed down from the ceiling to the worn stone floor, which was bare of ornament. No patterns were worked into the stone and it struck me that the worshipers of the King did not honor him overmuch.

Music echoed from the walls but there were neither singers nor musicians in sight. Likely they were in chambers accessed through the various smaller doorways off the main chamber. I could not shake of an oppressive sense of foreboding, and wished for my sword as I scanned every dark corner. It was not a wholesome place.

The pock-marked youth skirted us and hurried through one of these doors, and Dabir smiled. We then walked to an alcove set up near the end of the bare hall, where stood a man-sized idol on a plinth of blue marble.

It was carved in white marble, and wore a tight, military-like uniform, with high boots and pants that were strangely flared at the ankles, yet tight around the loins. About his chest was a wide collared jacket and a cape. He was bent slightly forward, one hand raised, the other clutching a short, stubby wand with a ball atop it. The idol's handsome face grimaced at the wand. His hair was cut short and swept back from the forehead like the hair of the priests, and he wore no hat or helm, nor any ear jewelry.

At first glance the statue inspired my ridicule, and yet there was something sinister and alien about his contorted stance and features. My sense of dread increased ten-fold and I looked away, imagining invisible, evil djins hovering behind me. I wished again to rest my hand upon my sword hilt.

Dabir walked about the statue, studying it in detail.

Before long the pock-marked youth returned, following an older man in similar garb. The older priest had a haughty, polished manner. His face was handsome, and while his garments were the same as those of the younger priest, the cut was finer and the fit more pleasing. In one hand he bore a duplicate of the idol's wand.

"Welcome, guests," he said. His voice was powerful, his gaze decisive. He was a leader of men.

Dabir turned and bowed his head slightly.

"I am brother Ayron," said the priest.

"This is Dabir ibn Khalil," I said, "favored of the Caliph." I wished to indicate to the man that my master was important, for Dabir did not often say as much.

"This is Asim el Abbas," Dabir said, "my right arm. We seek the mother of the singing girl, Samar. We were told that she was at prayers, but we shall wait."

"She will be at prayers for some time," Ayron said. "And then she must rest, for tonight is a festival sacred to the King, and she will need all her energies."

"Praised be his name," said the younger priest, who still loitered behind his leader.

"Are you her master," Dabir asked, "to decide when she shall speak and rest?"

Ayron smiled thinly. "I am the voice of the King. You may speak with her on the morrow--today is a holy day."

"Very well," said Dabir. I knew that things were not very well, and wondered what he planned. "Your music pleases me--I would hear more of it. Might Asim and I remain?"

"Alas, no," said Ayron. "But you are welcome to attend the festival this evening. All comers are welcome to join our procession to the ruins outside the gates, where there will be music and feasting until the dawn hours."

"I thank you." Dabir nodded once, politely. "We shall be there. Come, Asim."

Dabir turned from the priests. I followed him, bending near the door to retrieve my sword rather than have the priest soil its pommel once more.

It was pleasant to be in the open air again, but I felt poorly for Dabir, who surely had learned nothing. "What now, master? Are we to break in through the back and rescue her?"

"There is more to know, yet. I would to Iskander's library."

Dabir laughed when he saw my face fall. "Come, Asim, there are less pleasant places to while your time."

"Perhaps, master." Few were as dull. The ancient library was a repository of countless texts, haunted by an army of librarians, students, and imams. Sometimes, it is true, an imam or storyteller could be found within one of the library's many courtyards, expounding upon wisdoms or spinning fabulous tales, but more often the whole of the vast complex was dreary and quiet as a tomb.

"Wait at our house if you like," said Dabir, "or wander--so long as you return to by the evening meal."

"Nay, master. I will stay with you." I did not like the eyes of the priests, and feared they might plan mischief for my master. Then, too, the Caliph had not only entrusted me to Dabir, he had entrusted Dabir to me, saying that the man was a treasure to his kingdom and he would have him guarded by day and by night.

And so dreary hours passed while I studied the shadows in a courtyard pool of the library and thought of happier times, when I traded sword strokes with infidels and rode far beneath the Caliph's banner.

When Dabir came to me at last his face was grave and his eyes burned fiercely.

I stood in alarm. "Are you well, Master?"

"We have work this night, Asim," he declared solemnly. "Is your sword sharp?"

"It is ever so."

"I fear there is more at risk than the mother of Samar."

God decreed that the stars in the serpent's trail shine with special fury that night. The trail was mirrored on Earth by a twisting river of infidels who bore twinkling candles from Dariashan to the ruins outside it.

Dabir and I knelt on a hill looking down upon the worshipers. My master's voice was grave as he touched my shoulder. "Mark, Asim, how the light of the candles mimics the heavens. Mark too that the moon is full, and sits poised above the temple."

The hairs upon my neck rose as though a djin breathed at my back, and I fought the impulse to draw my sword. "What does it mean, Master?"

"The followers of the King seek to tap the powers of the stars this night."

"For what purpose?"

"The books were not precise," he said. His eyes strayed to the ruins.

Stone benches were set into the side of a neighboring hill in a vast, climbing semi-circle. They faced the stage at the bottom of the hill. Slender fluted columns still supported a few decorative archways, but most were broken or lay toppled.

Lights shone in the lower windows of the long stone building behind the stage. Priests and their acolytes affixed thin black ropes to large black cubes on the stage itself. The idol we'd examined that afternoon stood just behind them, and again I felt the breath of djins as I looked upon it.

A brown tarpaulin concealed a lumpy object behind the idol. I could not guess what it concealed, but judged it three times the height of a man and perhaps fifty paces from side to side.

Candles in hand, the singing infidels filed into the ruins in ordered rows and took their seats. The volume of their song grew in strength as their numbers climbed. I picked out a few nonsensical words about hunting dogs.

From beside me came a curious tapping noise and I spun with hand on hilt, only to see Dabir staring at me. His foot beat the ground in sympathy with the infidel music.

He looked down at his boot. Dabir ceased tapping and cleared his throat. "How many of them do you count?"

"Close to a thousand."

"I didn't know they had this many followers." Dabir frowned. "We must get closer."

"The way to the building behind the stage seems clear," I said.

"Lead on."

I took us behind low hummocks, where we scrabbled briefly up a sandy slope. From there we crouched and watched the darkened archway along the side of the building.

My gaze strayed again to the stage, where priests now arranged a circle of drums. The idol seemed to gaze down at the two lutenists tuning up before it, and the moonlight lent his eyes an eerie glow. The singing had grown even louder.

"It is strangely alluring," Dabir observed.

Dabir's fascination had begun to concern me. I pointed to the doorway. "Our way is clear."

Dabir hurried forward, and I followed. He was a bookish man, but fleet of foot, and was learned of stealth. He reached the dark doorway a moment before me and paused.

A black curtain hung across the archway, and so the darkness we thought we'd seen was false.

There was nothing for it but to go through, or we would soon be seen lurking without. I pushed aside the cloth and stepped into a wide stone room. Dozens of wooden chests rested against the walls. Some were fashioned of old and faded wood and others of mahogany and set with gems. Some you might cup in a hand and others would take two strong men to carry.

A lantern hung in a wall niche above a large infidel priest. He looked up from his scroll and scowled.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deep. He towered a head above me as he stepped closer. "Why aren't you with the rest of the worshipers?"

I looked about. There was but one other exit from the room, through another dark curtain, and we were alone.

Dabir spread his arms and smiled. His voice was soft. "Your pardon--we wished only to speak with the musicians."

"Your place is back there with the rest of the flock." The priest pointed outside.

"Of course. Come, Asim." Dabir took me by the arm, but tapped me on it.

The priest followed closely. I spun and caught him on the chin with my fist. He staggered and raised his arm, but I struck him again.

Large he was, and heavily he fell. He did not rise.

"Well done, Asim."

I massaged my hand as I stepped with my master further into the chamber.

He glanced at the scroll the priest had been reading. "I do not know this language," he said, "but these are musical notes."

"What now?"

"We must get a better look at the stage, and whatever lies beneath the tarpaulin," Dabir explained. He pushed a tiny section of the curtain aside, started, then motioned me through.

The next room was long and narrow, and it too was occupied. Samar was stretched barefoot across a couch in the corner, her wrists and ankles bound with red silk and secured to the furniture legs. Her eyes widened at sight of us and she struggled vainly, flexing her hands and feet. She spoke excitedly but unintelligibly through her gag.

Her eyes widened further, in fury, when I held up a hand and scanned the room before letting Dabir forward. I advanced to the black curtain hanging in the entryway beyond the couch and peered through it.

I looked into an empty corridor. Its single crackling torch flung my shadow out across the ancient stone as I crept forward. The music of the infidels rose in volume until I reached the curtain at the corridor's far end and realized the stage lay beyond. I looked out carefully.

The tarpaulin blocked much of my view, but I saw the back of one of the lutenist's heads, as well as a priest who flailed upon the drums in a strange, syncopated rhythm.

The whole of the ancient temple was filled now with infidels, and they broke into cheers as brother Ayron crossed in front of the drummer.

Most of the crowd was composed of older women, but there were the young among them, and men as well, including some I thought I knew amongst the city watch.

Ayron brandished the bulbous wand and raised it to his mouth. "Brothers! Sisters!"

His voice boomed so loudly that my chest shook in sympathy, as it does when one passes a large beating drum.

"We have gathered here to invoke the spirit of the King!" Ayron continued. The drummer started a low, pulse-like beat.

"Amen!" shouted a woman in the crowd.

"The one true lord, the living legend, He who shall never die! The King!" Ayron spread his arms wide and stepped out of view. His voice still reached me. "Tonight, He shall join us. Tonight, He shall step down from the stars and mold a righteous kingdom for us all!" He swept his free hand over the crowd. "And He shall smite the sinners!"

Cheering erupted.

I closed the curtain and stilled it, then dashed back the way I had come.

Samar now sat stiffly on the couch, her legs swung to one side, and fastened a wrinkled veil into place. She was disheveled and barefoot, her hair hung wildly about her face, and I saw now that there was not a single ornament upon her. And yet she was somehow more beautiful than she had been in all her finery.

". . .promise to kill them all, Dabir!" She was saying as she pushed at her locks of hair.

"Did they harm you?"

"Harm me? They searched me with hands cold as sherbet, taking even my ear jewelry and toe rings!" She scowled and looked over the floor. "Where are my slippers?"

"We have no time for slippers or toe rings, Master," I said. "The infidels are working dark magic."

Dabir cocked an ear and nodded as if listening to the sound of drums. If I concentrated I could still hear Ayron haranguing the crowd.

"What are you doing here?" Dabir asked Samar.

"I had no word from you," Samar said with a frown. "I determined that I should find my lute--and my mother," she added. "So my guards and I sought entrance. The dogs surrendered without a fight! The next thing I knew those disgusting priests were running their hands all over my body!"

"Did they discuss their plans?" I asked.

"They discussed only my riches--how did you find me?"

"God willed it," Dabir replied simply. He looked to me.

"I know what they seek," I said. "The infidels plan to summon the djin they worship."

Dabir's frown fell more heavily. "It is as I feared. You remain here, Samar. Asim and I will find your lute--and your mother."

She seemed not to detect the brief ring of amusement in his voice. "I am coming with you."

"No," I growled. "I do not intend to protect you both."

"I can protect myself, thank you."

"I think it is wise, Samar, if you wait here." Dabir pointed back the way we had come. "I believe some of your belongings may rest in the chests in the outer room."

While she considered that, Dabir stepped to me and nodded. I pushed through the curtain and then we two walked into the corridor.

"They are many, master," I told him.

We reached the hall's end and Dabir pulled a fingerswidth of curtain away from the wall. I looked out from the other side.

I saw the back of Ayron' head.

"Thank you, thank you very much!" he said. "Now, let's all join together!" Ayron flung one hand up and bent his knees to the right.

The two lutenists struck up and the music throbbed with a dark, insistent sound. The crowd screamed praises and writhed and shook as if fits were upon them. The priest sang. His words were nonsense, but pregnant somehow with ominous power. The drums were an insistent heartbeat. Something stirs, they seemed to say; something comes.

The tarpaulin lay crumpled beside the ring of priests who now cast burning torches at the pile of instruments it had hidden. The mound of mandolins, drums, lutes and flutes flamed quickly and curled smoke toward the stars.

"What should we do, Master?" I asked.

There came no answer. I turned to Dabir and saw that his eyes were round as pearls. His mouth hung slack. He swayed back and forth to the ominous pulse of the drums.

"Master," I cried, "what are you doing?"

He did not reply. He did not even look at me, and the strange movements continued.

I had no recourse. A servant does not strike his master, but I dared not let him succumb to the evil music. I slapped him across the cheeks and he staggered back, blinking.

"Forgive me, master, but I--"

"Nay." Dabir held up his hand. "Nay, you are wise; praise be to God that he gave you no ear for music. Quickly, help me fashion stops."

It was the work of moments to tear some small bits of cloth, which Dabir stuffed into his ears.

"We must stop them, Asim," he said.

"They are many. . . I think I saw men of my cousin's troop amongst the crowd."

"They will be entranced, as I was," Dabir said grimly. He pushed through the curtain and I followed. All eyes were upon the smoke rising off the burning instruments. It did not billow as earthly smoke--it assumed a colossal, man-like shape beside the burning instruments. It grew more solid and substantial in the brief moment we hesitated.

I blinked in wonder, then drew my sword. "How do we combat a djin and so many?"

Dabir raised his slight, bearded chin. "Stop the musicians. I will retrieve the wand."

And with that Dabir ran forward. I had no choice but to follow.

I might easily have cut the drummer in twain, but I slashed the head of his drum. He shouted and the lutenists faltered. I grinned and whirled my blade. They ceased their strumming. One turned and ran, but tripped over the black rope trailing from the bottom of his instrument.

The crowd continued the song. They did not, it seemed, need the musicians to drive them on. The remaining lute player backed away, and then a block of priests charged from the side. Each carried a curved blade.

I knocked over the closest drum and kicked it toward them, then looked to Dabir. A satisfying chorus of curses and clunks sounded behind me.

Dabir wrestled on the ground with Ayron. My master clutched the wand over his head as the priest clawed for it. Dabir had no eyes for him, though--they looked worriedly to the stars. I followed his gaze.

The giant djin reached a gargantuan hand down for us. On it came, slowly, ponderously. Inexorably. My heart sought wings. How might I stop a thing like that? My sword would pass through it!

"Take the wand, Asim!"

Dabir tossed it to me and I caught it in my off hand. I set myself between him and the djin's hand, only feet away now.

"Sing!" he cried.

Surely the music had maddened him once more. I had no time to argue, though, for I realized the hand had shifted course for me. I tumbled to the side and watched in relief as the immense transparent hand swept away empty.

I scrambled to my feet. The djin now lifted a giant, translucent boot above my head. Ayron flung himself from my master and pointed at me, shouting.

I ran as the foot fell and returned to Dabir. Some twenty priests and acolytes gathered in a semicircle and crept close, brandishing clubs and knives and sabers.

The crowd sang on as loud as before. Louder, perhaps. Their voices were joyous.

"Sing!" Dabir cried to me. I saw that he was not maddened, but desperate.

"What shall I sing, Master?"

"Anything! Hurry!"

I pushed him to the ground, shielding him with my body as the djin's fingers brushed over us. This time the blow was faster. The giant digits had taken on flesh-like tones.

"Sing!" Dabir screamed.

And so I did, though I could not guess why. The only tune that came into my head was a bawdy song my comrades had sometimes sung as we rode to campaign.

"Oh green were her eyes, and black were her tresses, and I liked her most when she took off her dresses!"

My voice roared across the temple and momentarily drowned out the worshipers. Above me, the outline of the djin briefly faded. It swayed slightly, as if struck senseless.

"Keep singing!" Dabir shouted.

I voiced more lyrics as I rose. "I told her I loved her, but all that she said was `put on your clothes and get out of the bed!'"

Ayron let out an agonized wail and the crowd's singing faltered. The djin's form blurred once more, but it reached down for me.

On came the priests as well. I tossed the wand to Dabir and pulled him away from the falling hand.

Three priests rushed me at once, swords bared, but I cried out and whirled my sword above my head. They fell back. Dabir began a song behind me. I had heard his singing voice before and wondered why he warbled so curiously this evening.

"Kill them!" Ayron screamed. "KILL THEM!!!"

They strove valiantly, but not a stroke reached my master. From left and right they came, but I blocked each one and returned, calling on God to strengthen my arm. Soon we were circled by the dead, and moaning priests who strove to crawl to safety.

"It's working!" Dabir cried.

I pulled my dripping saber from another priest and glanced up. The giant djin had ceased all movement. Of a sudden it lost its shape and mist rolled away from it in all directions.

It was then that I heard cries of consternation and the shouts of men calling for order. The singing worshipers had halted at last, and guards rose from their midst and hurried toward the stage, pulling their swords.

Ayron bared his teeth and leapt at my master.

I stepped in front of him. His long curved knife clanged off my sword.

Hate lit his maddened eyes. His knife dripped a blue liquid I knew instinctively for poison.

"The work of centuries!" He babbled. "The King shall never manifest here again!"

He struck with a cobra's speed. I countered with such force that when I hit his blade it spun into the air. Ayron's jaw dropped as he watched it fly. I sank him to the stones with a solid blow from my fist.

Matters resolved quickly then. My cousin Andar was among the guards who'd joined the crowd that night, set on keeping the peace. They'd grown entranced by the evil magics just as Dabir had. Dabir and I recovered our breath and watched as they swiftly rounded up the surviving acolytes and shepherded the worshipers together.

"It's the dungeon for the priests," Andar told us as he stroked his great beard. "We'll send the rest of the infidels home after we collect names."

"There are riches in the temple," Dabir told him. "They must be gathered to pay for the wrongs done by these priests."

Andar bowed his head in acknowledgment, then hurried away as a guardsman called for him.

Samar came to us as Dabir stood sadly before the pyre of instruments. She had found her slippers, and while she was still bare of jewelry, she held a small gem-encrusted chest under one arm.

"I regret," Dabir said, "that I was unable to recover your lute." He cupped air with one hand toward the pyre, let it fall resignedly. "And I would weep for the artistry lost this night. Think upon all the musicians who are without their tools. Of what use is a carpenter without nails, a sculptor without stone?"

Words always rained out of my master when a dark cloud seized him.

Samar smiled prettily and cocked her head. "Do not be sad for me, Dabir. I have done well by you." She looked up at him and her eyes danced orange with the firelight. "If you would come with me," she said slowly. "I would see to your reward."

There was that in her voice that sets a man's heart speeding.

"Nay," Dabir said, "not this night, Samar. Perhaps some other. I am weary."

She looked curiously surprised and then stepped back angrily. "So shall it be," she said.

"Should you not look to your mother and servants?" Dabir suggested.

Samar stared at him, then bowed her head almost in shame. She quickly regained her poise, however, and walked with queenly dignity toward the circle of infidels cordoned by the guards.

"Was that wise, Master?" I asked him.

He looked away from the fire and blinked at me. "Oh--you mean turning Samar away?" He then asked me something curious. It was ever like Dabir to speak of unrelated matters. "Do you think the webs of spiders lovely, Asim?"

"Some of them are pleasing," I admitted, to pacify him. I then returned to the subject at hand. "But the girl Samar, she is lovely."

Dabir laughed. "There are other women, my friend."

"I am glad to see you laugh, master. We triumphed over great evil this night."

"Nay, it was you, Asim. You and your wretched singing voice."

He laughed at my discomfiture and clapped my shoulder. "Come, raise that frown. While at the library I sent word home for the cooks to prepare that barbarous infidel dish with the honey and nuts."

I smiled. Dabir knew no other sweet pleased me so well, and that I might consume an entire platter of finely layered Greek pastry without growing tired of it. "Ever you have thought ahead, Master."

"It is easy to think ahead of your stomach, Asim."