The bay Akhal-Teke listened intently to the black mare’s instructions. A’idah. Yes, he knew her. She had been nearby when he had first met El Halin—the haughty red mare was teeming with hatred and distrust the way El Aran did when she first saw him standing near Orhan in the Desert. In truth, Maslakhat cared for neither the flaxen Arabian nor the black half-breed that stood before him now, and he is deeply pleased knowing that it will not be long before they both will be nothing more than a memory. Their flesh will return to the earth and gods will take their souls unto eternal damnation for their misdeeds. And he, Maslakhat, will have been the architect; an instrument of wrath set forth by the fates. He wanted to cackle with glee and revel in his moment of realization, but instead his pleasure takes on only the form of a halfway pulled up smile on the corner of his lips.
“Yes,” Maslakhat answered, letting the sound of his affirmation trail off his tongue for the briefest of moments, not unlike a serpent. “Of course.” He paused, and then began again, his golden-brown eyes fastened onto El Aran with rapt attention.
“I will comb the Desert for her and pave the way for your return, El Aran. When the summer sun sets over Salem and paints the sky blood red, you will know the deed is done.”
Mükemmel… he thought. He will return to the Desert under El Aran’s blessing and search for both A’idah and Yusuf together. With his access limitless, Maslakhat knew that failure would be highly unlikely.
“For this I ask for only one thing. When you do return to your position in the Desert, I implore that you permit me to travel through it as often as it pleases me. I desire nothing else from you beyond that privilege, and as originally agreed, I will leave you be.”
He flicked his black tail, his dappled coat shining in the spring sun. She would not refuse this.
MASLAKHAT
ateş düştüğü yeri yakar
|
|