At last, he found him.

Yusuf, the blind bastard, stood conveniently perched on the edge of a great precipice, looking out over the horizon with sightless, cloudy eyes. It was almost as though he had been waiting for him.

“Hello, brother,” he spoke without moving an inch. Maslakhat cringed. He detested the title.

“Half brother,” the bay Akhal-Teke corrected. “If it weren’t for the poor judgement of our father, you would not walk the earth.”

“Ah,” Yusuf replied. “But I do.”

Maslakhat snorted. “Yes. But now, your time has come.” His intentions were no secret. For years he searched for this smear on their bloodline, and per Zenith’s instructions, he would be eradicated. There were no children by Yusuf to taint their magnificent bloodline with his muddled origins. All Maslakhat had to do was charge forward, slam his perfect dappled body against Yusuf’s mud-red frame and send him tumbling to his death, head over heels down the side of rocky cliff. It was almost too easy.

Enough was enough.

The Akhal-Teke charged, but as soon as he felt himself breast to barrel upon his half-brother, he spoke his final words.

“You’re too late.”

And with a burst of dust and a scratching and cracking of rocks and bones, Yusuf fell to his death.

Maslakhat stared straight ahead across the fissure in the earth where his half-brother fell, his chest heaving and eyes wide with adrenaline. Wait. What did he say? The stallion snorted again, pawing the dry dirt below with hatred teeming just beneath his skin. Nothing. It was nothing. He would not let Yusuf destroy the triumph of this moment with a seed of doubt. Maslakhat was victorious—he had done his duty, even if it had taken him the better part of his life, he could rest easy knowing that their line would continue via him and his perfect children.

Ah, yes…his children. It occurred to him that he should seek them out—keep tabs on them. He couldn’t let them besmirch all his hard work of bringing them into the world if they were just going to go on and muck everything up the way Kiral had. No, there could not be any more bastards.

There was only one thing to do now—to return to the islands of their birth and find them. He must guarantee their loyalty, and ensure their paths were set right.

Nyazik and Zahhāk were the most promising, as Keyik had been a worthy match, but he suspected they both would need his guidance to live up to their full potential. Yes, without Valve, this duty would be a critical one. He shook his head again, not wanting to think about the black mare. That would be a reckoning for another time.

…

Maslakhat appeared once again on the shores of his former home—the Dunes. Yes, him and Valve had ruled this expanse for some time, bending and shaping the isle of Salem to their wills—improving upon and cultivating it as a place of great strength and power. But now what had it become? The air was full of strange scents—none too familiar. He whipped his black tail with annoyance, yet he should not have been surprised. All gardens grow thick with weeds when left untended.


MASLAKHAT

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