"Fayiz, go help make a new brew," Lazar said, disgusted.

Iridor wondered who Fayiz was. He had to be one of their group, rather than Khalid, because Lazar was speaking Percherese.

"Are you burned?" Lazar asked, obviously to the Grand Vizier. Iridor hoped he was.

"I thought I heard something," Maliz replied. Iridor knew better. The demon had more likely felt a rush of magic wash over him.

"I heard nothing," Lazar replied matter-of-factly.

"I think we should do a search of the dunes."

Lazar laughed. "And which of the twenty or so in the immediate vicinity did you mean?"

"All of them," Maliz replied, and his tone was not respectful.

"Tariq, believe me, the Khalid are more attuned to the sound of the desert than you could ever hope to be. Had something disturbed them, they would have reacted faster than you. Swords would already be drawn."

"I insist, Lazar."

"Out here, Grand Vizier, you insist on nothing. There is only all of you and there is me, your superior. Fayiz, hurry up with that quishtar," Lazar growled. "Now, I suggest you settle back down. I heard nothing, other than the sigh of the desert, and I am thirty years younger than you."

Inwardly Iridor had to smile. There was nothing more biting than an angry Spur Lazar. He realized now that talking to his friend was going to be impossible unless they met in person. He would have to be patient. In the meantime he would hunt. He needed nourishment, even if it was desert rat. Silently he flew away into the deep of the night.

Lazar's heart was hammering. That had been closetoo close. Maliz was drinking the fresh brew but Lazar could tell the demon was far from relaxed. He noted how he pretended to gaze at the flames of the fire, but the dark, shrouded eyes were constantly scanning the dunes for any sign of the owner of the magic that had disturbed him.

As much as the manner in which Iridor had announced his arrival had terrified Lazar, he could not escape the heartfelt sense of relief to hear his old friend's voice in his head again. He wanted to shout his delight either aloud or across the strange mindlink but he dared not do either.

Iridor would be sensibly watching now from a safe vantage, he was sure. At some point Lazar would have to excuse himself, although he suspected the demon would now watch his every move. He'd need an excuse to disappear. He could claim he needed to relieve himself but that would not permit him to be gone long, and no one would care or notice if the Grand Vizier followed, as he almost certainly would. No, he needed a far more compelling excuse to get away from the main group and be left private enough to speak with Iridor face to face.

Suddenly he realized that Boaz was talking to him; Lazar hadn't been paying the Zar any attention. Was he imagining it, or was Boaz acting strangely? He knew the young man was excited to be away from the palace, and to be out amongst men alone was an additional treat. But something suddenly niggled Lazar's mind about the royal. He felt that Boaz was not being truthful with his Spurthis camaraderie and determination to hunt down Ana's captor felt somehow contrived.

Lazar had known Boaz all of the youngster's life and Boaz was nothing if not a cautious and serious individual. He was measured in all that he didthat was part of his charm and part of the reason his father had chosen him to succeed him. It also explained why he had risen so well to the challenge of ruling. He was well beyond his years in maturity and Lazar had never seen him behave any differently.

Boaz was a passionate person-Lazar would certainly acknowledge thatbut now there seemed to be something else burning in him. This coming to the desert to stalk Arafanz was odd. Lazar felt sure that if Boaz was forced to make a choice between the good of his realm or Ana, the young Zar would follow duty and choose Percheron. And the city was where the most senior royal should beand Boaz knew thatfor he had the Spur to hunt Arafanz, to find his Zaradine. No. This curious decision felt contrived, and although there was certainly a feeling of zeal, Lazar didn't understand what was driving it. Boaz might be courageous but he was not a fighter and he was far too sensible to put his role as Zar into any threatening situation. Boaz knew his role above all was to protect the status of the Zar. Without an heir, this was even more paramount and all this talk of finding his heira child who could be dead, could be killed on the journey home, could be a girl!was not worth endangering the Zar. That was the Spur's job. This whole situation gave off a bad smell. Why had Herezah and the Grand Vizier encouraged Boaz to risk his life so carelessly?

Lazar had to find a way to speak with his friend Iridor.

Salim innocently provided an answer, sidling over to the Spur. "You look far away in your thoughts, Lazar."

"Sorry. I'm thinking of what's ahead of us, whether I'm taking us all to our deaths."

"It is out of your hands," the desert man said, his eyes raised to the skies. "You can only do what your heart and your head tell you from the knowledge you have."

"More desert wisdom?" Lazar asked wryly.

Salim grinned. "This is our last night in safe Khalid territory."

Lazar nodded. "I know. Your men will need to leave us tomorrow. Are you still sure you want to come? There's no guarantee we'll find himin fact, I'd say our chances are remoteand your own life is at risk...think about the rest of your family, Salim."

"I do. My son means everything to us. We are incomplete without him. If I knew he was dead I would let him go, but I don't know that, and until I have proof, I must continue my search. Would you ever stop looking for Zaradine Ana if she were your daughterin fact, whether or not she was your daughter, would you halt your search simply because it was impractical?"

Lazar shook his head, ashamed that he had not made the comparison himself or comprehended that anyone could feel the same depth of love for another person as he did.

"You love her, Lazar, don't you? But not as a daughter."

Lazar nodded again, slowly, sadly this time. "Even though we speak a private language, you must never repeat that claim in this company. It would mean my death. Our love is forbidden and she is married to the Zar. Promise me you will never repeat it in this company."

Salim looked at him, a bemused expression creasing his face. "The Vizier and a servant boy aspiring to being a soldier?"

"Even to them, never speak of it again. Yes, I love her more than life."

"Then you do understand now why I must find my son." Lazar nodded. "But that is not what I am here to tell you. I sense tension in the camp between you and Tariq."

"You could say that. I don't want him herehe's a liability for all of us. Watch him, Salim. He's unpredictable and I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I think he's dangerous for us. Just look at his odd behavior of just moments ago."

"I think I know what he heard," Salim said, offering a low chuckle.

Lazar was sure his heart skipped a beat. "What do you know?" he asked, worried afresh for Iridor.

"I know who is here, hiding in the dunes." Again the man smiled conspiratorially.

The Spur felt all his breath leave him. How could he know? "Salim, I"

The desert man spoke over him in a rush of glee. "I thought we'd give you some real Khalid entertainment to wish you well and to bless our journey."

Lazar held his tongue, surprised at what he was hearing. He frowned in query.

Salim continued, "A few of our women have come. They will provide some traditional dance and music as a welcome to you, Spur Lazarit is actually for you rather than your companions. We want you to know that we hold you in high esteem. And our women want to wish you Lyana's speed."

He wasn't sure whether to be appalled or touched. Salim sensed his confusion.

"Do not worry, Spur. We are far enough away from the fortress and his men. They will not trouble themselves with us in this region. The Khalid are always singing and dancing and making music, and we look like any small family group."

Lazar was not thrilled by the prospect of noise and activity suddenly invading what was meant to be a caravan of stealth, but he realized that this distraction might just give him the opportunity he needed to speak with Pez. He had to take the chance.

"I am honored, Salim. Please invite your women forward."

Salim beamed. "Thank you, Spur. I shall fetch them."

Lazar looked across to where the demon sat, watching, no doubt wondering what the two had been talking about in the desert language. "Tariq."

"Yes?" The demon's voice was not friendly.

"I have found out what you heard."

"What do you mean?"

"We've found the source of what may have disturbed you. Although I must say you do seem overly jumpy, Tariq, spilling an entire pot of precious quishtar."

"What is it?" Boaz asked, his tone betraying that he was already wearying of playing the inferior youth.

"A group of dancers has been brought to entertain us."

"Surely not in my hon"

"No," Lazar hastily corrected. "In mine. But they're keen to dance for all of us."

Boaz grinned. "Well there you are, Tariq, all that leaping about and anxiety for nothing. However, I can easily forgive your jumpiness after what you went through on your last visit into the desert."

"Indeed, Fayiz," the demon said drily, his gaze fixed firmly on Lazar as he replied.

There was no doubt in Lazar's mind now. Maliz was certain that Lazar was hiding something. But by the same token, Lazar took a measure of comfort in the fact that the demon now knew his own secret was threatened. Lazar was certain Maliz couldn't know how much he knew, if anything at all, but a new understanding had settled between them without a word being exchanged. They had just put each other on notice that suspicions were now clearly in place.

16.

The beaming men of the Khalid had arranged cushions around a central large square of sand, with the fire burning in the middle. Lazar chose the spot farthest from Tariq, his mind racing as to how he might now use this situation to escape. He prayed the owl was paying attention because they wouldn't have long.

A drum sounded in the darkness, becoming more insistent as out of the night, illuminated by burning torches, came a dozen women in the traditional festive dress of the Khalid. They wore bright colors of crimson, scarlet, purple, emerald, and ultramarine, their midriffs exposed and gauzy fabric veiling their faces, hung from chains wrought in gold. Around their wrists and ankles they wore bells, which they jangled now in perfect synchrony to the drum's rhythm. As unwelcome as this disturbance had seemed moments earlier, Lazar couldn't help but be fascinated by the sudden explosion of color and sound and movement. Some of these women were young, many just girls, but others were clearly in their middle years. And yet age did not seem to matter. They all looked magnificent as they ran on tiptoe around the fire, fabric floating in their arms, making a swirl of bright color. They split into two groups and danced, encouraging the audience to clap as they hit a frenzied but supremely fluid movement, their hips tracing a pattern in the air. Lazar had seen similar dances many timesthis was the traditional female dancing of the whole region after allbut there was something very special to witness it in this setting as an act of gratitude and blessing.

The men of the Khalid clapped loudly and Lazar noticed that Boaz was entranced by this spectacle. He wasn't so sure about the Grand Vizier, even though Maliz had the good grace to fix a smile to his face.

The rhythm of the drum slowed and new instruments joined as a few male musicians emerged from the dark. The stringed lerz offered the tones so traditional to the Percherese and indeed Galinseans. The haunting sound of the zuva and kruel wind instruments echoed into the still night, and in spite of his mood, Lazar felt the music lift his spirits. And as a young manyounger than Boazpicked up the rhythm with the spoon-shaped wooden flaks and the fresh percussion took the piece to new heights, another figure stepped out from behind a dune.

She was dressed in the brightest of yellow silks, her bronzed belly taut as her hips moved at what looked like an impossible speed, in an impossible direction. Even though she was veiled, Lazar could tell she was beautiful, and he realized, as all the other women withdrew, that she was not as young as he'd first thought. Her shape was perfect but the way she moved it suggested maturity.

Salim had moved to sit near him.

"She is captivating," Lazar breathed.

"Her name is Ganyait means 'beautiful.'"

"Most appropriate. Whose family does she belong to?"

"To mine. She is my eldest daughter." When Lazar turned in surprise, the man grinned, nodding. "It's true. She is widowed. Very sad, for she hasn't been blessed by children."

"But she looks so young."

"As I said, no children," Salim replied wryly.

The rhythm of the drums changed and both men gave their attention to Ganya. She had moved to stand directly before Lazar, a jewel studding her navel and gold chains glittering across her body. The firelight made her dark eyes, filled with invitation, sparkle. Lazar cleared his throat and beside him Salim gave a chuckle as his daughter began rotating one hip in synchrony with the beat. Her left foot was planted firmly on the ground, while the ball of her right foot was responsible for creating all the movement. She truly was magnificent as she bent backward to show perfect poise, perfect balance, and a dazzling display of control as her pelvis began a series of sideways thrusts.

"She's incredible," Lazar murmured.

"She is asking for your sword," Salim whispered.

"Why?" He couldn't tear his gaze from her.

"Oblige and she will show you."

Lazar stood, drew the sword.

"You must give it to her," Salim urged as the desert folk began to whistle and clap loudly.

Lazar stepped into the ring and held out his sword with both hands. Ganya's eyes glistened with mischief, but she didn't break a step as she pointed to the hip that was still moving at fascinating speed.

"Place it on her!" Salim called with delight.

It would surely fall off, Lazar thought, but he was intrigued. He stepped closer and balanced the sword, and to his disbelief Ganya didn't slow down as he'd anticipated. If anything, her dance increased in speed and complexity as she moved off around the circle, still leaning precariously backward to balance the sword perfectly. The sinuous undulation of her hips remained unbroken, her left foot still anchoring her even though it guided her now around the fire, whilst her right foot continued to do the trickier work. Lazar watched in amazement. His sword didn't even look like it was going to fall off her hip bone as she made her way around the fire, never once betraying the frantic rhythm that the musicians commanded.

The women began to add their voices to the fray and what was initially a low sound escalated into a cacophony, just short of a scream. Ganya fell to her knees, the blade never losing its balance. And as the voices rose, the volume increased as the musicians used stunning dexterity to coax the most complex and rapid tunes on their instruments. And Ganya began to move her shoulders backward, shivering in tandem with her hips, and all the while the sword remained horizontal, secure. Back she went, farther and farther, the music and voices a frenzy of excitement until Lazar was sure she would have to stop, but still lower she pushed, and as her shoulder tips finally touched the sand behind her and brought her dance to a theatrical close, so, too, did the music and voices stop dead. Though it had appeared magnificently effortless, Lazar could see her sucking in deep breaths of air to slow her pulse.

Everyone clapped and cheered, including Lazar. He noticed even the Grand Vizier had a fresh new gleam in his eye. Who could resist such a raw sexual display? But the dance went beyond that, Lazar was sure. This dance was telling the men that it was a woman who was in control, a woman who actually controlled the sword, a woman who was ever balanced, always strong, and yet would submitbut only when she chose.

It was both subtle and magnificent. He wasn't aware that he was licking his lips nervously when Ganya finally stood up, still breathing hard. No woman had drawn such a purely lustful reaction from him since the day an experienced, very expensive, and extremely pretty prostitute called Vadia in Romea had introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh. Vadia had enjoyed him and his innocence so much she'd urged him to share the night and the next at no further charge. The Prince had spent several evenings, in fact, tumbling around her chamber and marveling at this exciting new pastime in his life. He had convinced himself that nothing in the world could match the pleasure offered in Vadia's bed. And her early death at the hands of a drunken, vicious lord had sent the young Lucien into a mood so dark, so dangerous, that even his seemingly uncaring parents noticed. His mother doubled the guard around him but that precaution didn't stop the Prince slipping his minders after careful planning and endless patiencenearly a yearto steal into the lord's love nest, where he kept a mistress, and slashing his blade across the man's throat.

The guards suspected it was the work of Lucien but kept faith with him and said nothing; in fact, they'd sworn to a man that the Prince had never left their sight that night. The lord in question had been heartily disliked by most in the palace and particularly by the soldiers for his memorable behavior at the infamous battle of Black Rock, where too many fine young Galinseans had died after this same lord broke ranks. And so the soldiers had closed their own ranks around the Prince, who vowed privately never again to take a man's life in such a cowardly fashion.

Since Vadia, there had been plenty of women in his life and two who truly touched his heart. Only one of these could he now honestly say he loved with his very soul, would gladly give that soul for. And that was Ana. But even after all these years, Lazar maintained privately that only Vadia had ever made him feel as though he were invincible. The very sight of her sweet body and full breasts could make his throat go dry. Ganya, for whatever reason, was having the same effect on him now...and it amazed him.

He watched the rise and fall of her belly; she was still breathing deeply from her exertion and the cheering and whistling was finally dying down. Lazar wasn't sure what drove him to do it, but he stepped closer and held out his hand. Ganya's slim brown arm snaked up from the sand and clasped it. He pulled her gently to her feet as he took his sword from her hip.

In the language of the Khalid he murmured for her hearing alone, "I could believe my weapon is magically stuck to that marvelous pelvis of yours."

Ganya reached for the fabric covering her face and unveiled herself. The audience fell quiet. Lazar was unsure of himself; he was not used to any woman unveiling herself in public, but Salim grinned broadly and he was reassured.

"Perhaps there is somewhere else upon my body you would like to put your weapon?" she asked, eyebrow arching with her innuendo.

Lazar's throat felt suddenly gritty, as though he were unable to speak. He swallowed but still no pithy response came. He could tell she was around Herezah's age, probably moving into her fourth decade of summers. Not only did Ganya have a superb body but she possessed dark, exotic looks. Her large black eyes had a query in them, awaiting his answer, whilst her full lips pouted slighty, bemused that he was so hesitant.

"I'm not sure I understand," he finally stammered, annoyed with himself for sounding so hesitant.

"I have no husband. I invite you to lie with me," she answered, her expression now bold, her tone spiced with sensuality.

Lazar felt himself blush in the firelight. Not since Vadia had any woman been quite so unabashed with him. Even Herezah, so obvious in her desires, was made to look coy beside Ganya's candor.

Music struck up around them as people began to sing and dance. Lazar and Ganya had not been forgotten but they were no longer the center of attention, although Lazar was aware of the demon's cold stare boring into his back. And it was at this notion that the idea fell into place.

"Are you permitted?"

She laughed. "Permitted? The Khalid women make these decisions on their own, Spur Lazar. And I am a free woman. Since my husband died, I can take whomever I choose."

He gave a grimace. "Sounds like there have been many."