“An old story,” I said dismissively. “Iskandar is a place, named after a man who was supposedly a messiah. I don’t know how much truth there is to the tale—you know how stories can get all twisted up.” We stared frowning at one another, thinking about Chosa Dei. “Anyway, Iskandar was where this supposed messiah met his death.”
Del’s eyes were intent. “Was he murdered? Executed?”
I grinned. “Nothing so romantic. His horse kicked him in the head; he died ten days later. Which is why there are questions about his identity, since a true messiah shouldn’t be physically vulnerable.” I shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, really, since it’s not the sort of thing I pay much attention to … I just know that on his deathbed he promised to come back. But since that was hundreds of years ago and Iskandar lies in ruins, I have my doubts about this jhihadi the old man’s talking about.”
Del still frowned, locking brows together. “He says we’re going there.”
“Iskandar?” I didn’t bother to hide my amusement. “Then the old man must be sandsick.”
Del chewed her lip. “If Ajani’s there—”
“He won’t be. I promise, bascha … Iskandar is a ruin; no one goes there. Not even Ajani would, unless he likes to talk with ghosts.”
“Then why would the holy man say so?”
After a judicious glance around at the gathered villagers, I couched my words politely. “Shall we just say that sometimes people try to protect pronouncements by insisting they’re true when they’re not?”
“He isn’t lying,” Del declared.
I winced. Here I’d been so careful to speak diplomatically, and now Del was being too blunt.
“No,” I agreed. “Did I say he was?”
“You said—”
“I said perhaps he was mistaken. Now, are we done yet? Can we go to bed?”
Del turned back to the holy man and asked something in uplander. Accordingly, he threw the stones once again. Then told her what he read.
“Well?” I prodded, when she didn’t translate for me.
“Oracle,” she said. “There is an Oracle.”
“Those are oracle bones—”
“No, not bones—oracle. A man is foretelling the coming of the jhihadi.” Del’s expression was blank as she stared at me. “A man who is not a man, but neither is he a woman.” Now she frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re not supposed to, bascha. That’s what these people trade on; they make coin off interpretation.” I smiled at the holy man, inclined my head respectfully, then did the same to Halvar. “Now can we go to bed?”
Plainly, Del was irritated. “Oh, Tiger, I swear—you have become an old man. What happened to the days when you would sit up all night swilling amnit or aqivi, trading lies in cantinas?”
“I met you,” I retorted. “I joined up with you and got the hoolies beat out of me more times than I can count.” I stood up slowly and rewrapped pelts around my shoulders. “Is that answer enough for you?”
Del, taken aback, said nothing in return. I went off to bed.
Some time later I sat bolt upright in the darkness. Beside me, the sheathless sword was glowing. It was red as wind-whipped coals; hot as a smithy’s forge. Hot as Chosa Dei’s fire in the entrails of the dragon.
“No,” I said clearly, and wrapped hands around the grip.
Shock jerked me rigid. Then I began to shake. It wasn’t the heat of the sword, but the power surging through it. Raw, angry power, totally uncontrolled.
“No,” I said again, moving onto my knees. Pelts fell away until I knelt half naked, wearing nothing but borrowed trews. I’d learned it was warmer sleeping naked under fur, but while in Ysaa-den I’d altered the habit a little. It seemed the courteous thing, although only Del shared the lodge.
Power ran through my hands, then crept the length of my arms until elbows and shoulders ached. “Hoolies take you,” I gritted. “I already beat you once. I can do it again.”
It hurt. Hoolies, it hurt … but I wouldn’t give in to it. I can be stubborn that way.
Chosa Dei wasn’t pleased. I sensed him in the sword, testing the confines of his prison. I wondered if he knew what had happened, if he understood his plight; if he realized he was dead. For a man such as he, accustomed to stealing lives as well as magic, it would be a horrific discovery to learn his life had been stolen, along with his remade magic.
He tested the blade again. I exerted my own strength of will. Felt rising curiosity; felt a need to understand.