ng been the only important city governor to survive the transition from father to son in Cartada。
When unsettled by dreams of loftier position he had learned to allow himself an evening of distraction： a quantity of Jaddite wine； dancers； encounters…watching or participating…involving slaves of both sexes in varying binations。 He had discovered that the release afforded by such activities served to quell the disturbances of inappropriate dreams for a time。
In truth； it wasn't merely good fortune that had ensured his continuance in Fezana。 During the last years of the reign of the elder Almalik； the governor had taken pains； quietly； to establish cordial relations with the son。 Though the tension between the king and the prince was evident； the governor of Fezana nonetheless judged that the young man was likely to survive and succeed his father。 His reasoning was simple in the extreme： the alternatives were untenable； and the prince had Ammar ibn Khairan for his guardian。
The governor of Fezana had been born in Aljais。
He had known ibn Khairan from the poet's boyhood in that city。 Concerning a number of the tales emerging from that reckless； not…too…distant time he had a first…hand awareness。 It was his own considered judgment that any prince being counselled by the man that boy had bee was someone a prudent administrator would do well to cultivate。
He had been proved right； of course； though greatly unnerved when the young king had promptly sent ibn Khairan into exile。 When he learned that the exiled courtier was in Ragosa he conveyed； by indirect means； his good wishes to him there。 At the same time； he continued to serve the younger Almalik with the diligence he had applied to the father's interests。 One remained in office…and wealthy； and alive…by such petence as much as by luck or scenting shifts in the wind。 He stole very little； and with discretion。
He was also careful not to make assumptions。 So when the unexpected； indeed startling； parias demand from Ruenda arrived by royal herald early in the spring； the governor sent it on to Cartada without ment。
He might form conjectures as to how this demand had emerged； and even admire the subtlety that had produced it； but it was not his place； unless invited by his king； to offer opinions about any of this。
His tasks were more pragmatic。 He fortified and rebuilt Fezana's walls and defenses as best he could； given a dispirited populace。 Having spent years dealing with a dangerously rebellious city； the governor judged he could cope with enervated depression for a time。 The additional Muwardis in the new wing of the castle were not especially good at wall…building…desert warriors could hardly be expected to be…but they were being well paid and he had no punctions about putting them to work。
He was aware of the religious broadsides being posted about the city that winter； as he was aware of most things in his city。 He judged that the wadjis of Cartada were being allowed some leeway by the new king as a conciliatory gesture； and that this was spreading to the other cities of the kingdom。 He had the prostitutes harassed a little more than usual。 A few Jaddite taverns were closed。 The governor quietly augmented his own stock of wine from the confiscations that acpanied this。 Such actions were normal； though the times were not。
The Kindath were receiving rather more vituperation than was customary。 This didn't particularly distress him。 He didn't like the Kindath。 They seemed always to have an air…even the women…of knowing things he didn't。 Secrets of the world。 The future mapped in their wandering moons。 This made him nervous。 If the wadjis chose to preach against the Wanderers more ferociously than in the recent past； it was apparently with the king's approval or acceptance and the governor was certainly not about to intervene。
He had graver concerns that year。
Fezana wasn't fortifying its walls or adding Muwardis to the garrison simply to keep soldiers busy。 There was a mood in the north this season that augured ill for the future； whether mapped in the Kindath moons or not。
Even so； the governor； being deeply cautious by nature； couldn't quite believe that Ramiro of Valledo would be foolish enough to e and make war here； laying a siege so far from his own lands。 Valledo was being paid parias from Fezana twice a year。 Why would any rational man risk life and his kingdom's stability to conquer a city that was already filling his coffers with gold？ Among other things； a Valledan army ing down through the tagra lands meant extreme vulnerability back home…to Jalona or Ruenda。
On the other hand； the governor had heard along with everyone else tidings of that Jaddite army assembling in Batiara； due to sail east this spring for Ammuz and Soriyya。
That sort of thing could set a very bad example； the governor of Fezana thought。
Spring came。 The Tavares rose and subsided without undue flooding。 In the temples Ashar and the holy stars of the god were ritually thanked for that。 Fields made rich by the river were tilled and sown。 Flowers bloomed in the gardens of Fezana and outside the walls。 There were melons and cherries in the market and on his table。 The governor was fond of melon。
Word came down through the tagra lands of a gathering of the three Jaddite kings in Carcasia。
This was not a good thing； by any measure。 He relayed the information to Cartada。 Almost immediately afterwards； further tidings came that the gathering had ended in violence； after an attempt on the life of either the king or queen or perhaps the constable of Valledo。
Information from the north was seldom clear； sometimes it was almost useless。 This was no exception。 The governor didn't know who； if anyone； had been injured or killed； or who was behind it。 He passed this word along as well； however； for what it was worth。
He received swift messages back from Cartada： continue work on the walls； store up food and drink。 Keep the wadjis happy and the Muwardis in good order。 Post watchmen near the tagra lands。 Be endlessly vigilant； in the name of Ashar and the kingdom。
None of this was reassuring。 He did all of these things petently in an increasingly nervous city。 The governor discovered that he wasn't enjoying his melon in the morning as much as he was wont to do。 His stomach seemed to be vexing him。
Then the child died in the tannery。
And that very day came word that the Valledan army had been seen。 South of the tagra lands； in Al…Rassan； banners flying。
An army。 A very large army； ing swiftly。 For the first time in hundreds of years the Horsemen of Jad were riding towards his city。 It was folly； the governor thought agitatedly。 Sheerest folly！ What was King Ramiro doing？
And what could a prudent； diligent civil servant do when the kings of the world went mad？
Or when his own people did； that same day？
Sometimes events in far…distant places speak with a single voice of a changed mood； a turning of the world towards darkness or light。 It was remembered long years afterwards that the Kindath massacres in Sorenica and Fezana occurred within half a year of each other。 One was achieved by Jaddite soldiers wild with boredom； the other by Asharite citizens in a frenzy of fear。 The effects were not dissimilar。
In Fezana it began with a child's fever。 The daughter of a tanner； one ibn Shapur； contracted an illness that spring。 The poorer laborers lived nearest to the river and in the flooding season sickness was mon； especially among children and the aged。
The child's parents； unable or unwilling to pay for the services of a physician； utilized instead the ancient remedy of placing her on a pallet in the tannery itself。 The noxious fumes were thought to drive away the evil presence of illness。 It was a healing that had been in use for centuries。
It so happened that day that a Kindath merchant； ben Mores by name； was at the tannery buying hides for export to the east by way of Salos then down the coast and through the straits。
While expertly appraising the finished and unfinished leathers in the yard he heard the crying child。 Informed of what was being done； the Kindath merchant lou