He looked at the woman on his bed； and read the question she was trying so hard not to ask。 At length he smiled； savoring all the ironies that seemed to be emerging like flower petals in the light； and he accepted the burden that came not from killing； but from allowing someone to take fort with him when no fort had been expected or thought to be allowed。 She was a mother。 He had known that； of course； but had never given any thought to what it might mean for her。
〃Where will I go？ Ragosa； I suppose；〃 he said； as if carelessly； and was humbled by the radiance of her smile； bright as the morning sunlight in the room。
Eight
Ivories and throngs of people； these were the predominant images Alvar carried after three months in Ragosa。
He had been born and raised on a farm in the far north。 For him； a year before； Esteren in Valledo had been fearfully imposing。 Esteren； he now understood； was a village。 King Badir's Ragosa was one of the great cities of Al…Rassan。
He had never been in a place where so many people lived and went about their business； and yet； amid the bustle and chaos； the swirling movements； the layers of sound； somehow still a sense of grace hovered…a stringed instrument heard in an archway； a splashing fountain half…glimpsed beyond the flowers of screening trees。 It was true； what he had been told： the Star…born of Al…Rassan inhabited an entirely different world than did the Horsemen of Jad。
Every second object in the palace or the gracious homes he had seen seemed to be made of carved and polished ivory； imported by ship from the east。 Even the handles of the knives used at some tables。 The knobs on the palace doors。 Despite the slow decline of Al…Rassan since the fall of Silvenes； Ragosa was a conspicuously wealthy city。 In some ways it was because of the fall of the khalifs； actually。
Alvar had had that explained to him。 Besides the celebrated workers in ivory there were poets and singers here； leather workers； woodcarvers； masons； glassblowers； stonecutters…masters of a bewildering variety of trades who would never have ventured east across the Serrana Range in the days when Silvenes was the center of the western world。 Now； since the Khalifate's thunderous fall； every one of the city…kings had his share of craftsmen and artists to exalt and extol his virtues。 They were all lions； if one could believe the honey…tongued poets of Al…Rassan。
One couldn't； of course。 Poets were poets； and had a living to earn。 Kings were kings； and there were a score of them now； some foundering in the ruin of their walls； some festering in fear or greed； a few…a very few…conceivably heirs to what Silvenes had been。 It seemed to Alvar； on little enough experience； that King Badir in Ragosa had to be numbered among those in the last group。
Amid all the strangeness surrounding him…the unknown； intoxicating smells from doorway and courtyard and food stall； the bells summoning the devout to prayer at measured intervals during the day and night； the riot of noise and color in the marketplace； Alvar was grateful that here in Al…Rassan they still measured the round of the year by the white moon's cycling from full to full as they did back home。 At least that hadn't changed。 He could say exactly how long he'd been here； in another world。
On the other hand； it felt like so much more than three months； when he paused to look back。 His year in Esteren seemed eerily remote； and the farm almost unimaginably distant。 He wondered what his mother would say； could she have seen him in his loosely belted； flowing Asharite garb during the summer past。 Actually； he didn't wonder： he was fairly certain he knew。 She'd have headed straight back to Vasca's Isle； on her knees； in penance for his sins。
The fact was； though； summer was hot here in the south。 One needed a headcovering in the white light of midday； one less cumbersome than a stiff leather hat； and the light…colored cotton tunics and trousers of Al…Rassan were far more fortable in the city streets than what he had been wearing when they arrived。 His face was darkened by the sun； he looked half Asharite himself； Alvar knew。 It was an odd sensation； gazing in a glass and seeing the man who looked back。 There were mirrors everywhere； too； the Ragosans were a vain people。
Autumn had e in the meantime； he wore a light brown cloak over his clothing now。 Jehane had picked it out for him when the weather began to change。 Twisting and pushing…expertly now…through the crowds of the weekly market； Alvar could hardly believe how little time had really passed since the two of them and Velaz had e through the mountain pass and first seen the blue waters of the lake and the towers of Ragosa。
He had been at pains to conceal his awe that day； though looking back from his newly sophisticated vantage point he suspected that his two panions had simply been generous enough to pretend not to notice。 Even Fezana had intimidated him from a distance。 Ragosa dwarfed it。 Only Cartada itself now…with Silvenes of the khalifs looted and gutted years ago…was a more formidable city。 Next to this high…walled； many…towered magnificence； Esteren was as the hamlet of Orvilla； where Garcia de Rada had e raiding on a night in summer。
Alvar's life had forked like a branch that night； his path in the morning running east through Al…Rassan and across the Serrana Range to these walls with Jehane bet Ishak； instead of north and home with the Captain。
His own choice； too； endorsed by Rodrigo and accepted； if grudgingly at first； by Jehane。 She would need a guard on the road； Alvar had declared in the morning after a memorable camp…fire conversation。 A soldier； he'd added； not merely a servant； however loyal and brave that servant might be。 Alvar had offered to be that guard； with the Captain's permission。 He would see her settled in Ragosa then make his way home。
He hadn't told them he was in love with her。 They wouldn't have let him e if they had known； he was sure of that much。 He was also ruefully certain Jehane had realized the truth early in their journey。 He wasn't particularly good at hiding what he felt。
He thought she was beautiful； with her dark hair and her direct； unexpectedly blue gaze。 He knew she was clever； and more than that： trained； acplished； calmly professional。 Amid the fires of Orvilla he had seen her courage； and her anger； holding the two young girls in her arms。 She was a woman entirely outside the range of his life。 She was also a Kindath； of the Wanderers； the god…diminishing heretics the clerics thundered against as loudly as they cursed the Asharites。 Alvar tried not to let that matter； but the truth was； it did： it made her seem mysterious； exotic； even a little dangerous。
She wasn't； actually。 She was sharp and practical and direct。 She'd taken him to her bed for one single night； not long after their arrival in Ragosa。 She had done it kindly； without guile or promise。 She had almost certainly intended that such a matter…of…fact physical liaison would cure him of his youthful longings。 Alvar； clever in his own right； was quite clear about that。 She allowed him no candlelit illusions at all about what a night together meant。 She felt kindly towards him； Alvar knew。 Though the journey had proved uneventful； she'd been grateful for his pany； found him reliable and trustworthy； his energy diverting。 He had e to understand； being observant in his own way； that she； too； was embarking on something new and strange without being sure of her way。
He also knew she did not love him at all； that beyond the physical act； the night's harmony of two young bodies far from their homes； their union made no sense。 But far from purging him of love； that night in her room had set a seal； as in heated wax； on his feelings。
In the old stories the kitchen women used to tell around the fire after the evening meal on the farm； brave Horsemen of the god loved endangered maidens on first sight and for life。 It wasn't supposed to happen that way in the fallen； divided world in which they really lived。 It had； for Alvar de Pellino。
He didn't make a great issue of it。 He loved Jehane bet Ishak； the Kindath physician。 It was a fact of e