Maslakhat ambled through the desert with the poise of a lone wolf, one who salivated at the proposition of a fresh kill in his future. There is a deadly calm in his every step and the even the air around him did not dare comment on his intentions with so much as a breeze. His golden bay coat shone in the light of the early morning sun that edged the distant sand dunes and his thoughts dwelled on finding Yusuf, Ai’dah, or the Arabian mares. There was much to do, and Maslakhat was not exactly capable of willing any one of those individuals to come forward; he had to rely on the fates to present whichever one he was supposed to meet first.

Or none at all.

“Maslakhat.”

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. A voice he had not heard in years. Valve.

He turned to find her standing squarely, staring him down with the sun at her back. His muscles tightened in anticipation of what news she might bring, fearing that whatever her reason to seek him out might interfere with every string he had already pulled. He took a deep breath in preparation for what was sure to be a lengthy, weighted conversation.

“Yes, teyze?”

She glided forward, closing the gap between them and placing her head directly next to his, so that if she willed it, a quick sideways snapping motion would be all that was needed to bite his cheek. Maslakhat knew better than to move.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Valve began, making no secret of her knowledge that he had gone and extended himself past his original mission. “I certainly hope you have not forgotten why Zenith sent you here in the first place?”

“No, of course not,” he spat, almost offended. Valve flicked her ears backward and jerked her nose sideways, correcting his disrespectful tone with the threat of her teeth on his face.

“Then start talking. Tell me exactly why the blind bastard still walks the earth, breathing our air and sullying our family lineage with his muddied blood and his unforgivably defected eyes?” Valve’s intensity grew with every word.

“I believe he is hiding out here,” Maslakhat responded coolly, not wishing to incite the dark mare’s wrath. “But a black mare called El Aran has made it incredibly difficult for me to search this place thoroughly.”

He paused for breath and to gauge Valve’s reaction. She lifted her ears from her poll and recalled what Gabbar had told her.

“I am familiar with El Aran,” she offered, expecting Maslakhat to continue. He blinked at her, and questioned her association with the blind seer—a question that Valve did not necessarily appreciate being asked at this juncture.

“Konuşmaya devam, Maslakhat. I know about El Halin and Iftikhar as well. Do not test me.”

Maslakhat’s eyes widened with the realization that Valve had learned so much in so much less time than he. Snorting, he pawed the sand, slightly annoyed that he’d been upstaged, but certainly not surprised. Valve’s reputation preceded her, and all from their herd knew it was really her who danced Zenith about like a marionette. It was no surprise that the silver black stallion had fallen apart in her absence, resorting to extreme measures to stay alive. But that was a conversation for a later time.

“I wouldn’t dare, teyze. I have managed to stand in fairly good graces with the Arabian mares. El Aran—she is known to them as the blind seer. Her blood is tainted with impurity and thus they aim to kill her.”

Valve nodded, understanding this motivation. The desire to maintain purity of blood was something Arabians and Akhal-Tekes both shared, and as the oldest and purest breeds in the desert, and they had to work hard to maintain such accolades.

“Naturally,” she asserted. “And since the two of them are still here, I assume El Aran also still walks freely.”

Maslakhat nodded. “But I know where she is. And I have made a deal with her to lure her back here.”

Valve wrinkled her nose at this piece of information. “Why would you make a deal with her? Why would you not kill her on sight?”

“I thought it more valuable to be able to bend her to my will,” he explained. Valve narrowed her eyes, not buying this justification. Maslakhat did not care about value, he cared about power, and Valve knew this. She snorted, expressing her dissatisfaction with his choices. Lucky for him, he still held some leverage over her.

“Forget the deal you’ve made with this half-breed. Her word is useless. Bring her back here at the season’s end, and bring the Arabians, and we will kill her where she stands.”

Maslakhat stared ahead stoically, the sun creeping even higher in the sky, casting long shadows on the sand as the two of them stood together. The finality of Valve’s order hung between them, and he knew she was right—there could be no other way.

VALVE & MASLAKHAT