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In the Audience Chamber of the Gebbi Senafa, Emperor Dardar Alemeyu sat in private council with the two most important people in the Matile Mala Empire, next to himself: Jass Gebrem and Jass Eshana. All three were seated around a low table. Its surface was carved with scenes similar to those on the tapestries that hung throughout the palace. Other than the inevitable palace guards, no one else was in the chamber. Dusk was falling, and the light from the windows painted the royal chamber in shades of gold and gray.
The topic of this council of royal kinsmen was the Fidi, the guests from afar who were still stirring curiosity in Khambawe months after their arrival. Jass Eshana was telling the others the latest news his network of informants had passed on to him about the foreigners.
“There is division among them,” the Dejezmek said. “Those who are called the Believers mingle with our people more than the non-Believers do. The Believers ask many questions; they want to know as much about us as possible. And they seem happy to answer any questions our people have about them.”
He paused. His listeners said nothing, waiting to hear more before they commented.
“Often, the Believers talk about their god, Almovaar,” Eshana continued.
“What do they say about him?” Gebrem asked.
“That he offers much and demands little.”
The Leba snorted, but said nothing more. But he knew what the others were thinking: the Jagasti had neither offered nor demanded anything from the Matile for centuries. That thought had gnawed at him for years, even as he continued to practice a religion that was hollow at its core despite a few tantalizing shimmers on its surface from time to time.
“What about the non-Believers?” the Emperor asked.
“They seldom venture far from their ship,” Eshana replied. “They are not unfriendly, but they mostly keep to themselves. Their captain, Muldure, seems to care about little other than finishing the repairs to the ship as soon as possible.”
Gebrem and the Emperor exchanged a glance that was filled with unspoken questions: Why was repairing the ship so important? Was Muldure planning to leave Khambawe? Was Kyroun?
“I should mention another split in their ranks, Mesfin,” Eshana said. “The Fidi who are called ‘dwarves’ are living at the Tokoloshe Embassy. And we have no informants there, so I have no idea what they are doing.”
The Dejezmek left his other thoughts unspoken. He had never trusted the Tokoloshe. And if the Fidi dwarves were now in league with them ... He thrust that speculation aside and continued his report.
“Also, one of the Fidi – a non-Believer – has been spotted running with the tsotsis in the Maim.”
“He’ll have a short life then, won’t he?” Alemeyu said, his mouth curving downward in disdain for the criminals who plagued the city.
Then the Emperor turned to Gebrem.
“And what of Kyroun, the ‘Seer’ of the Almovaads?” he asked. “Although I should, perhaps, be directing this question to Tiyana, not you.”
Anger rose in the Leba, but he kept it under control. Goading, goading, always goading, cousin, he thought. Will it ever end?
“My daughter is very diligent in carrying out the task I assigned her, Mesfin,” he murmured aloud. “She is learning as much about the Seer as she can. Concerning your question, it appears that Kyroun is so consumed by guilt over the deaths that befell many of his followers on their way here that he may be more dangerous to himself than to anyone else.”
Alemeyu nodded, then opened his mouth to comment on what he had heard. Before he could say anything, Gebrem suddenly stiffened. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared like those of an impala sensing the presence of a lion.
“What is it?” the Emperor asked, leaning forward. Jass Eshana leaned forward as well, eyes narrowed in concern.
“Ashuma,” Gebrem said. His voice had become raspy, as though someone was attempting to strangle him.
“Is it Kyroun?” Eshana demanded.
“No,” Gebrem gasped. “Uloans!”