Maslakhat’s time off of Salem had been fruitful, to some extent. He had managed to meet three more of his kind, though only two seemed to show promise when it came to the possibility coming to the Dunes. He would have preferred they all accompany him back of course, but there was hardly a reason to rush or press the issue. It was not in his nature to forcefully usher women away and display them like shining trinkets on his shelves. Women of desert blood deserved more respect and credit than that, especially.
As he strode upon the warm sands once again, resuming his place atop his favorite vantage point, he called to the members of his herd that had chosen to be here with him—his shining pearl, Merwerit and her golden child Sarisi, and the mythic healer Sidika and their son Geçersiz, with his coat blacker than a new moon. Shenzi was amongst them as well, but he knew better than to beckon her for idle chatter. The Barb mare was fiercely independent, and if she wished for his company, he knew she would seek him out. He also imagined that Ak Burun was likely still sussing out their newest neighbor—a scent from a part of his life that Maslakhat had long wanted to forget. Zahhāk proved himself both a coward and a failure at a young age, hardly suitable to inherit any part of his legacy, and yet if anyone could drum up some kind of action that might spur his son toward retribution or remove the blight of shame he brought to Maslakhat’s line in a more dangerous manner, he knew it was Ak Burun. He felt no remorse for whatever became of Zahhāk. He chose to walk a path laced with thorns.
Regardless of his feelings about his oldest son, Maslakhat did not wish that fate upon Geçersiz or Sarisi—he wanted them both to grow strong in their unique ways, and with such perfectly attentive mothers, he knew their chances were much better than Zahhāk’s. He hoped he could offer them something beyond his genetic contributions, knowledge or guidance of the principals that had allowed him to achieve the level of success he had. The golden bay Akhal-Teke was no fool—he knew he was not immortal, and if there was something he could do to prepare for the inevitability of his soul’s departure from the mortal plane, he would do it.
MASLAKHAT
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