Shortly after midday the prince halted the party; while Halhuli and his men set about preparing a meal, he led Cait, Rognvald, and the knights a little further along the trail. 'Observe that ridge which rises before you like a wall,' he said, lifting his hand to a massive bulwark of mottled brown rock in the distance. 'That is Arsh Iblees – or, as you would say, the Devil's Throne. Beyond it is a narrow valley, and that is where we will find Ali Waqqar.'

'It will be dark before we reach the ridge,' observed Rognvald.

'I think so,' agreed Hasan. 'I suggest making camp here and beginning again at first light.'

'But the day is not so far gone,' Cait pointed out a little anxiously. 'We could ride a fair way yet.'

'We might, it is true,' allowed the prince. 'We will be more comfortable here, however, and there is less chance of alerting the bandits to our presence. I would prefer to arrive unannounced.'

Thus Cait was forced to endure yet another restless night on the trail. She lay sleepless in a little round tent, the front of which was open to a campfire that blazed throughout the night, and rose early and set about saddling her horse once more.

Waiting had made her sullen and surly. She begrudged the slowness of the others, and wished to high Heaven she had never embarked upon this disastrous course. She was cold and tired and aching with the knowledge of her own failure, folly, and conceit. With what arrogance had she conceived this reckless enterprise, with what sublime ignorance, what consummate vanity.

When at last they set off again, she turned tired eyes to the featureless sky above, and the bleak beginning of another dismal day in the saddle. So empty. So hopeless. And, like the revenge she sought, so endlessly, abysmally pointless.

Out on the winter trail with a fretful wind swirling about her shivering shoulders, grief enwrapped her in its cold clutch and squeezed her hard. Where before she had been able to ease her sorrow and remorse with the assurance that the reward was worth the cost, in the pale light of yet another dreary dawn that assurance foundered. Like a pack horse forced to carry a crushing burden far too long, her confidence collapsed, never to rise again.

It was all she could do to stifle the scream of desperation she felt rising up in her throat. She lashed her horse to a plodding trot and rode out ahead of the others so that they could not see the tears of frustration sliding down her frozen cheeks.

They spent the morning fighting a wet and gusty wind which threatened to sweep them off the trail. By the time they gained the top of the ridge and began their descent, Cait had determined to abandon the search for the Holy Cup. Her ill-advised pursuit of the relic had so far brought nothing but death and misery. It was time-and long past time-to renounce her ambition.

While sojourning in Hasan's palace, she had been able to hold off the decision she had known all along was coming. Now, as she sat freezing in the saddle, all she wanted was to win her sister's freedom, and return to Bilbao and her waiting ship while she, and those with her, still had life and breath to do so.

De Bracineaux would win; he had killed her father, and he would gain the Mystic Rose, too. There was nothing she could do about that. She would walk away empty-handed, but at least, she told herself, she would still be alive. That would have to be enough.

In a little while, they came to a wide place halfway along the downward trail. Here, sheltered by the ridge wall behind them, they stopped to rest and warm themselves. The riders dismounted and the prince summoned Cait and Rognvald to join him.

'I do not see any settlements,' Cait informed him glumly, gazing down into the pinched ravine of a valley-little more than a deep, crinkled gash with a rock-filled stream at the bottom.

'No,' Hasan said, 'there are neither settlements nor holdings in this wilderness. The land is not good for farming.'

'Then where will we find the bandits?'

'The hillsides below are seamed with a great many caves,' Prince Hasan told them. 'This is where Ali Waqqar hides. As to that, I think it would be best if you and your men were to wait here and allow me to go on ahead alone.'

Rognvald frowned, and Cait shook her head.

'Please, Ketmia, what I propose is wisdom itself. Ali and I have had dealings in the past, you see. If I go to him alone, he will allow me to come near and speak to him. Surprise him with an army, however, and he could easily disappear into his labyrinth of caves where we could never find him.'

Cait resisted the idea. Alethea and Abu were somewhere down there and she meant to get them out.

'Truly, it is for the best,' insisted Hasan.

'Oh, very well!' She nearly screamed with exasperation. 'Go on then!'

'Yngvar, Svein and the others will wait here with you,' Rognvald told her. 'But I will go with the prince.' He turned to regard Hasan with quietly stubborn defiance.

Seeing the knight was adamant, the prince reluctantly agreed and commanded Halhuli to find a turban for Rognvald and exchange cloaks with him. As soon as Rognvald was suitably disguised, they remounted and Hasan cautioned the tall knight to sit low in the saddle and avoid drawing attention to himself. 'Pray that Ali Waqqar is of a mood to receive visitors today,' he said, then raised his hand in farewell.

Cait watched the riders disappearing down the side of the hill and changed her mind. Crossing quickly to her mount, she climbed into the saddle, and was off before anyone could stop her. Dag and Rodrigo ran a few steps and called for her to come back, but she ignored them and rode on. The riders heard the commotion, turned, saw Cait, and halted on the trail.

'Say what you like, I will not go back,' she told them in a tone suggesting that Heaven and earth could pass away long before she would be persuaded. 'I have not come this far to stand aside and wait.'

'Yu'allah,' sighed Hasan; he glanced at Rognvald, who made no move to intervene, then relented. 'So be it.'

'Whatever happens, stay close to me, my lady,' Rognvald instructed. 'Keep your blade ready to hand.'

'See you keep your head covered with the hood of your cloak,' added Hasan. 'It may be they will think you are Danji, and take no notice.'

Having won her way, Cait became compliant; she did as she was told and fell in behind Lord Rognvald. They moved on, reaching the floor of the valley a short time later, where Cait saw that it was as Hasan had said; as she gazed at the broken, boulder-strewn slopes all around she could see the entrances of small caves as dark holes in the sides of the hills.

Leaving the ridge trail, they rode out into the narrow valley, passing among fallen rocks the size of houses. Hasan found his way to the stream and they followed the path beside it. Owing to the high, protecting walls on every side, the air was calm and silent on the valley floor; the only sound to be heard was the rippling splash of the water as it coursed along its stony bed. In a little while, it became clear that the prince knew exactly where he was going.

They came to a place where the stream pooled as it passed around the base of an enormous, mound-like boulder, providing a good fording place. They paused to allow the horses to drink, then crossed the stream and turned towards the towering eastern slope. A few hundred paces from the ford a great stone slab lay like a toppled pillar on its side; the trail passed between two of the shattered sections. They rode through a gap wide enough for horses to go two abreast and continued on towards the slope, picking their way among the chunks of stone fallen from the heights which lay scattered over the rising ground, and in a little while arrived at the entrance to a cave.

Potsherds and the droppings of sheep and horses covered the flat area at the base of the slope which served the cave as a yard. Aside from that, and a faint whiff of smoke adrift in the still air, there was no sign that anyone had ever been near the place. Rognvald halted a little way off, and Cait behind him; Hasan rode to the cave entrance and shouted, 'Ali Waqqar!'