The daylight was growing shorter. The winds that came in the night were cold and strong and Maslakhat knew that winter would soon be upon them. He stood still and solitary, watching the sky turn blood red as the sunlight faded away before him and the Akhal-Teke remembers what he had told El Aran. This would be the last sunset that would stain the sky such a deep crimson for many moons—a surefire sign that the so-called blind seer would be returning to the desert, expecting that Maslakhat would have held up his end of their bargain.

He snorted, mulling over the complicated web he had woven. He had done his best to ensure that Orhan would be nowhere to be found, thereby allowing El Aran free reign to return. He had promised El Halin and Iftikhar that the next time they saw him he would take them to the blind seer so she could meet her end. And of course, he had made sure that Valve knew that the ultimate reason he was orchestrating such a concerto was so that they were free to track down the abomination called Yusuf. It had been a painstakingly slow process, but he knew that all this would soon be resolved. His herd had a saying:

“Acele işe şeytan karışır,” he said aloud with a grin, and took off at a swift gallop over the sand.

With his ears lifted and his stride strong and steadfast, Maslakhat combed the desert for El Halin, or perhaps Iftikhar, though she was significantly less apt to receive him well—there was no pleasing her, he had learned. But regardless, if all came together, the red mare would finally have her day of reckoning with the blind seer.

The crescent moon hung low in the night sky, offering just enough light to guide the way. At last the familiar shape of the bloodmarked grey mare came into view, lingering alone some distance from any others.

Mükemmel, he thought as he drew closer. “El Halin,” he called in greeting, keeping his voice quieter than was typical.

“The blind seer is close.”



MASLAKHAT
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