A prostitute, socially, was as far beneath a wife as a wife was beneath a husband.

Yet even in Hammad al Nakir Nature had her way with the young. "This is serious." Little girls seldom became interested in dances unless also interested in interesting boys in girls. Then they were little girls no more. And the boys were no longer boys.

It was time to speak to Meryem about veils.

"Time, he rides a swift steed, little one." He sighed. "So soon come and gone. Everything past in the wink of an eye."

She began twisting her face into a pout, sure she was about to be refused.

"Let me think. Give me a few days, will you?"

"All right," she said brightly. His asking for a delay was, inevitably, the prelude to his giving in. She kissed him, scooted off his lap, became all skinny, windmilling arms and legs as she ran away.

Disapproving priestly stares followed her passage.

"Hadj!" El Murid called to his chief bodyguard. "We're going to make a journey. Prepare."

Far south of Sebil el Selib, south of el Aswad, stood a mountain rising slightly separate from the mother range called Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni. It was called Jebal al Djinn, Mountain of Demons, or, sometimes, the Horned Mountain. When seen from the southwest it resembled a great horned head rising from the desert. It was there El Murid met his angel when he felt lost enough to require face to face advice. He'd never wondered why the Lord's messenger had chosen a meeting place so remote and of such evil repute.

The Disciple's faith in his angel was tried severely during a long, solitary ascent which left his body feeling tortured. Would the messenger even respond after all this time? El Murid had not come seeking him since before his ill-starred visit to Al Rhemish. But the angel had promised. On Jebal al Djinn, though, even the promises of angels seemed suspect. The mountain was not a good place. It was cursed. No one knew why any longer, but the evil inhabiting the stones and trees remained, palpably beating upon any intruder. Each visit more than the last, El Murid wished his mentor had chosen somewhere more benevolent.

He hardened his resolve. Evil had to be defied in its very fastnesses. How else could the righteous gain the strength to resist the Darkness when it came against their own strongholds?

His doubts grew as a night and most of a day creaked past and there was no response from his heavenly interlocutor. Another evening was gathering. His campfire was sending shadows playing tag over barren rock.

The emissary arrived in a display of thunder and lightning that could be seen for leagues around. He raced his winged steed three times around the horned peaks before alighting fifty yards from the Disciple's fire. El Murid rose. He gazed at his own feet respectfully.

The angel, who persisted in assuming the shape of a small old man, limped toward him over the shattered basalt. Slung across his back was a cornucopia-shaped instrument which looked far too massive for his strength.

He swung his burden down, sat upon it. "I thought I would hear from you sooner."

El Murid's heart fluttered. The angel intimidated him as much now as when he had been a boy in the desert so long ago. "There was no need. Everything was going the way it should."

"If a little slowly, eh?"

El Murid glanced up shyly. A shrewd look had narrowed the angel's eyes. "Slowly, yes. I got in a hurry. Wadi el Kuf taught me the folly of trying to force something before its time."

"What's happened now?"

El Murid was puzzled because the angel had to ask. He told of Yousif's strange flight after the recent siege, and of an impending crisis in his own household. He begged for guidance.

"Your next move is obvious. I'm surprised you summoned me. Nassef could have told you. Gather your might and strike. Take Al Rhemish. Who will stop you if the Wahlig is gone? Seize the Shrines and your family problem will resolve itself."

"But—"

"I see. Once burned, twice cautious. Twice burned, petrified. There will be no Wadi el Kuf. No surprises from children deft with the Power. Tell Nassef that I will be watching personally. Then unleash him. He has the genius to pull it off." He sketched a plan, displaying a knowledge of desert affairs and personalities which quieted the Disciple's doubts. "Before we part, I'll give you another token."

The old man slipped off his seat and knelt. He whispered to the horn, then hoisted it and shook it. Something tumbled from its bell. "Have Nassef transmit this to his agent in the Royal Tent. The rest will follow if he strikes a week later."

El Murid accepted a small teakwood box. He stared at it, baffled.

The old man dashed to his mount and took wing. El Murid shouted after him. He had only begun to discuss his problems.

The winged horse swooped round the horned peaks. Thunder rolled. Lightning clawed the sky. Gouts of fire hurtled back and forth between the horns. Two blasts smashed together and erupted upward, forming some giant sign El Murid could not make out because it was directly overhead.

The blinding light faded slowly. And when El Murid could see once more, no sign of the angel could be found. He returned to his fire and sat muttering to himself, staring at the teakwood box.

After debating several seconds, he opened it. "Finger cymbals?" he asked the night.

The box contained an exquisite set of zils, worthy of a woman who danced before kings.

"Zils?" he muttered. What on earth? But a messenger of the Lord could not be wrong. Could he?

He searched the sky again, but the angel was gone.

Decades would pass before he encountered the emissary again.

"Zils," he muttered, and stared down the mountain at the campfires where Nassef and the Invincibles waited. His brother-in-law's face filled his mind. Something would have to be done. After Al Rhemish had been taken?

"Nassef, attend me," he called weakly when he finally stumbled into camp. It was late, but Nassef was awake, studying crude maps by fire and moonlight.

El Murid's brother-in-law joined him. With the exception of the Disciple's chief bodyguard, everyone else withdrew. "You look terrible," Nassef said.

"It's the curse. I hurt all over. The ankle. The arm. Every joint."

"Better get something to eat." Nassef glanced up the mountain, frowned. "And some sleep probably wouldn't hurt."

"Not now. I have things to tell you. I spoke with the angel."

"And?" Nassef s eyes were narrow.

"He told me what I wanted to hear. That the Al Rhemish apricot is ripe for the plucking."

"Lord—"

"More listening and less interrupting, please, Nassef. There'll be no Wadi el Kuf this tune. I don't mean to try sweeping them away with sheer numbers. We'll use the tactics you developed. We'll move by night, along the trails Karim followed when you sent him to slay Farid."

If he expected a reaction from Nassef he was disappointed. Nassef merely nodded thoughtfully.

He still wondered about that incident. Aboud's hysteria had been predictable, though his turning to mercenaries had come as a surprise. Hali had provided a detailed report on the attack. Karim's force had sustained startlingly heavy casualties. The man should have brought more of his soldiers home. But, then, Karim was Nassef's creature, and the Invincibles who had accompanied him were not.

"But first, these have to be delivered to your agent in the Royal Tent."

Nassef opened the box, then peered up at the horned mountain. Just three people knew who that agent was. He and the agent were two of those. The third was not El Murid. The Disciple, he was sure, had been unaware that such an agent existed. "Zils?" he asked.

"The angel gave them to me. They must be special. Carry out his instructions. Nassef?"

"Uhm?"

"What's the situation on the coast?"