Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Guy Gavriel Kay
About the Publisher
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
In Al-Rassan
(All these are Asharite, worshippers of the stars of Ashar, except where noted)
King Almalik of Cartada (“The Lion of Cartada”)
Almalik, his eldest son and heir
Hazem, his second son
Zabira, his favored courtesan
Ammar ibn Khairan of Aljais, his principal advisor, guardian of the king’s heir
King Badir of Ragosa
Mazur ben Avren, his chancellor, of the Kindath faith
Tarif ibn Hassan of Arbastro, an outlaw
Husari ibn Musa of Fezana, a silk merchant
Jehane bet Ishak, a physician in Fezana, of the Kindath faith
Ishak ben Yonannon, her father
Eliane bet Danel, her mother
Velaz, their servant
In the Three Kingdoms of Esperaña
(All these are Jaddites, worshippers of the sun-god, Jad)
King Sancho the Fat of Esperaña, now deceased
King Raimundo of Valledo, Sancho’s eldest son, now deceased
In the Kingdom of Valledo (royal city: Esteren)
King Ramiro, son to Sancho the Fat
Queen Ines, his wife, daughter of the king of Ferrieres
Count Gonzalez de Rada, constable of Valledo
Garcia de Rada, his brother
Rodrigo Belmonte (“The Captain”), soldier and rancher, once constable of Valledo
Miranda Belmonte d’Alveda, his wife
Ibero, a cleric, tutor to the sons of Rodrigo Belmonte
In the Kingdom of Jaloña
King Bermudo, brother to Sancho the Fat
Queen Fruela, his wife
Count Nino di Carrera, the king’s (and the queen’s) most-favored courtier
In the Kingdom of Ruenda
King Sanchez, youngest son of Sancho the Fat, brother to Ramiro of Valledo
Queen Bearte, his wife
In the Majriti Desert
(Across the southern straits; home of the Muwardi tribes)
Yazir ibn Q’arif, of the Zuhrite Tribe, Lord of the Majriti
Ghalib, his brother, war leader of the tribes
In Countries East
Geraud de Chervalles, a High Cleric of Jad, in Ferrieres
Rezzoni ben Corli, a Kindath physician and teacher; of the city of Sorenica, in Batiara
Map
PROLOGUE
It was just past midday, not long before the third summons to prayer, that Ammar ibn Khairan passed through the Gate of the Bells and entered the palace of Al-Fontina in Silvenes to kill the last of the khalifs of Al-Rassan.
Passing into the Court of Lions he came to the three sets of double doors and paused before those that led to the gardens. There were eunuchs guarding the doors. He knew them by name. They had been dealt with. One of them nodded slightly to him; the other kept his gaze averted. He preferred the second man. They opened the heavy doors and he went through. He heard them swing closed behind him.
In the heat of the day the gardens were deserted. All those still left within the dissolving magnificence of the Al-Fontina would have sought the shade of the innermost rooms. They would be sipping cool sweet wines or using the elaborately long spoons designed by Ziryani to taste sherbets kept frozen in the deep cellars by snow brought down from the mountains. Luxuries from another age, meant for very different men and women from those who dwelt here now.
Thinking such thoughts, ibn Khairan walked noiselessly through the Garden of Oranges and, passing through the horseshoe arch, into the Almond Garden and then, beneath another arch, into the Cypress Garden with its one tall, perfect tree reflected in three pools. Each garden was smaller than the one before, each heartbreaking in its loveliness. The Al-Fontina, a poet once had said, had been built to break the heart.
At the end of the long progression he came to the Garden of Desire, smallest and most jewel-like of all. And there, sitting quietly and alone on the broad rim of the fountain, clad in white, was Muzafar, as had been prearranged.
Ibn Khairan bowed in the archway, a habit deeply ingrained. The old, blind man could not see his obeisance. After a moment he moved forward, stepping deliberately on the pathway that led to the fountain.
“Ammar?” Muzafar said, hearing the sound. “They told me you would be here. Is it you? Have you come to lead me away from here? Is it you, Ammar?”
There were many things that could be said.
“It is,” said ibn Khairan, walking up. He drew his dagger from its sheath. The old man’s head lifted suddenly at that, as if he knew the sound. “I have, indeed, come to set you free of this place of ghosts and echoes.”
With the words he slid the blade smoothly to the hilt in the old man’s heart. Muzafar made no sound. It had been swift and sure. He could tell the wadjis in their temples, if it ever came to such a thing, that he had made it an easy end.
He laid the body down on the fountain rim, ordering the limbs within the white robe to allow the dead man as much dignity as could be. He cleaned his blade in the fountain, watching the waters swirl briefly red. In the teachings of his people, for hundreds and hundreds of years, going back and away to the deserts of the east where the faith of the Asharites had begun, it was a crime without possibility of assuaging to slay one of the god’s anointed
