"What do you think about Khodi?" Nazir asked on their way back from dinner with the chief of the northern camp, looking straight at the large moon that hung low on the horizon with an expression Hasheem found impossible to read. He was referring to the chief's firstborn son who'd joined them at dinner that night.

The meal, as casual as it had seemed, had definitely been held for several purposes. A good relationship with the chief of each camp was crucial in keeping peace within the kha'gan. To the chief, it offered a chance to introduce his sons and other family members to the next kha'a. To Nazir, it allowed him to check on any problem each camp may have to address them. That, and whatever purpose he'd had in mind to have brought Hasheem along. That purpose was about to be revealed to him now with this initialization of a rather dangerous question.

Where he came from, having the wrong opinion of someone could kill you.

"He seems very brave and honorable," Hasheem replied, thinking of the young man who'd appeared every bit a perfect representation of what a White Warrior should be, right down to the missing wrinkles on his zikh.

"He is," Nazir said. "But what do you really think of him?"

Hasheem resisted the urge to sigh at that. There seemed to be no way to step around this man when he wanted answers. "That would depend," he said, half stalling for time to decide how to respond, and half trying to read where Nazir was going with this.

"On what?"

"On why you need to know." Opinions changed under different circumstances. It was all a matter of perspective, and until he knew Nazir's motive, it wasn't considered safe to offer his freely.

Hasheem half expected a retort of some sort for his response. As khumar, it was likely and perfectly within his power to not explain himself. People in power rarely did. Nazir's thoughtful silence surprised him, so was the nod of agreement that followed.

"I will need my own council when I become kha'a," he replied easily, looking out to the horizon where the lights from the main camp could now be seen a short distance away. Nazir reined in his stallion at the sight, falling into step with Hasheem's mount that had been following close behind.

The reply unsettled him. It was a piece of information Hasheem wasn't supposed to know, a big piece for that matter. Nazir was already looking for figures to fill his future council using these casual dinners and late night drinking as an opportunity to measure his men. He was making plans, setting up the pieces on the doji board in preparation. Things were going to change quickly and substantially around camp should one word of it get out that he was already looking for candidates for his future council. No one would have guessed that he was already doing this. The kha'a was still in his prime and Nazir was still young, too young to be thinking of such things.

Unless, of course, he knew something they didn't. A disturbing thought, that, and one Hasheem preferred not to put to question.

"In which case," he said, wondering whether he should be impressed at how competent this young khumar was or be more afraid of him, "the man is arrogant and a fool who should never be allowed to handle big decisions." It was a big leap of faith he was taking, but not any bigger than what Nazir had just done by telling him his plans. It only seemed fair.

The corner of Nazir's lips lifted into a grin. "Out of curiosity, why?"

Hasheem smiled at the question he'd guessed would follow. Asking why was a sign of intelligence, and he had come to know how well equipped Nazir was in that department. "He took too much space at the table and adjusted the zikh one too many times. Only an arrogant fool would care more about his appearance than the fact that you'd actually brought me along as an opening for him to make a move." Or as bait, for that matter. "The younger brother, however, is a different story. That one would make a good strategist. If you want my opinion."

"Khali?" Nazir raised a brow. "How so?"

"He wanted to know who braided my hair."

Nazir thought for a moment and nodded. "And in knowing so would tell him how close you are to my family. That's why you didn't tell him."

"He'll find out tomorrow," Hasheem said, taking a glance at Nazir, "when he sends someone to deliver a jar of that fig jam you like so much. I'm sure you noticed how he gave the order to refill your plate twice?" The boy couldn't have been much older than him. It would take a highly observant and experienced person to notice these things at that age, unless he'd been trained specifically to do so the way Hasheem had and he doubted that. Reading people's gestures to accommodate their needs had been his first lesson in the pleasure district, and it had definitely been handy in surviving the Black Tower.

"Before I finished the jam. Both times." Nazir added, guiding Springer a little closer to Hasheem's horse. "Khodi is too ambitious, too full of himself but easier to move and control. I am," Nazir's brows narrowed thoughtfully, "trying to decide if Khali is too good to be left out of it or too dangerous to be kept unwatched."

Hasheem found himself sneering a little at the implication of those words. Nazir didn't need his opinion. He already knew all these things, which gave him one important question to ask. "You were testing me. Why?" Now he wasn't so sure he knew all the reasons that dinner had been held for. How many birds exactly did this man expect to kill with one stone?

The grin on Nazir's face was wide, letting him know that he was adequately impressed, or perhaps it was simply a sign of pleasure over being right. "Djari will need someone who knows politics when the time comes. And I want you on the council."

That didn't sit well with Hasheem. Being knowledgeable in kha'gan politics to support Djari made sense, but to sit at Nazir's council was going a bit far, if at all possible. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

Another test, that.

"I'm an outsider. A stranger to the kha'gan. My experience —"

"Is more valuable than my father's entire council's combined," said Nazir, turning to look at him for the first time.

"You survived for more than half a decade in Rasharwi after having pulled yourself out of the gutter and into the inner circle of the Tower. You understand politics, know every corner of Sabha and the Black Tower inside out. You know everything we need to win this war. With all that skill and insight," he paused and smiled, "you don't really think you're here to keep my sister entertained, or do you?"

It took Hasheem a while to process the magnitude of information that was being dumped on him over a short ride back to camp, and he wondered how long Nazir had been working toward this night, what else the man really knew. The irony of it was, that for all his skills and insights Nazir had just claimed he possessed, he'd failed miserably to see this coming.

"That's impossible. I can't get a zikh." The entire council members were White Warriors, if he recalled correctly.

"Owning a zikh is not a requirement," Nazir replied quickly, as if the issue had, indeed, occurred to him and had been resolved a long time ago. "And I may be able to get you adopted when I'm kha'a. You'll get your zikh then. If that is what you want."

If that was what he wanted...

He didn't want to become a White Warrior. He never had. The idea of being bound by another oath was unwelcoming to him. Djari might like that, however. He could just imagine her grinning from ear to ear to have a zikh-clad sworn sword, and that might just be the only reason he'd do it if he ever did. Still, there was another problem.

"They'll never accept me on the council." Being a council member was a position of immense power in the kha'gan, they'd have to accept his authority, be content with letting him lead, and he was an outsider, a stranger who didn't even grow up in the desert. A stray, to make the matter worse. As things stood, it was hard enough to get past one day at camp without someone trying to trip him over out of spite, literally.

"They will," Nazir said without a trace of doubt in his tone, "when you start winning duels at Raviyani and quit hiding behind that rock pretending to fail at everything—including finishing Zozi in less than three moves—all for the comfort of being invisible."

Hasheem drew a breath and tried to study Nazir's expression. It was, as always, unreadable. "What makes you think I'm pretending?"

"Now you insult my intelligence."

It could be considered an insult, trying to hide things from an oracle, Hasheem sighed mentally at that thought. He might as well come clean with it, knowing Nazir.

"I happen to enjoy the comfort of being invisible." The truth was, he knew all the stakes, what it would take for him to fit in and become accepted, but being a real part of the kha'gan and holding such a power was to belong and commit himself to a lot of things he'd been trying to avoid. At the moment he was only tied to Djari, and that was already too much of a risk in his opinion. He'd had a kha'gan, a family, a few friends, someone he'd come to care about. They were all gone, all of them. He wasn't going to go through that again.

You couldn't lose what never belonged to you.

"It will never last, and you know it," said Nazir, more seriously now. "You were born for so much more than what you are now. That rock you are hiding behind isn't big enough for you. That," he said crisply, finally, "was a vision."

Hasheem closed his eyes and swallowed hard at the sudden revelation of a fate he didn't find welcoming. It meant that he had no choice in the matter if he were to believe the accuracy of Nazir's gift, which, unfortunately, had so far been accurate to the tiniest details. Bloody hell.

"It's big enough for now," he told Nazir. What happens in the future stays in the future. A man could at least try to stall fate even if he couldn't change it, couldn't he? "With all due respect, my answer is no. I have agreed to be bound by one oath only. No more."

It wasn't even a decision to make. With power came responsibilities, hard decisions that led to sacrifices, unless you used it only for your own advantage. Those were the only two choices. You became a tyrant or a martyr, never something in between when your decisions affect the lives of other people. He wouldn't be able to live with himself being the first, and one would have to still be able to make sacrifices for the second. He had sworn an oath that would require him to sacrifice much for Djari, but that was for a personal reason. For the greater good, or for the sake of this kha'gan, that was another story.

"There may be time," Nazir said with a tone that sent a chill running down his spine, "when that oath requires you to take another."

Hasheem drew a breath. Anger rising in his chest. He knew exactly what it meant, how easy it would be for someone like Nazir to make it happen. It would have taken one word to Djari, and then another from her to him, and it would be done. "And you would go that far to bend a man to your grand design."

"For the love of my land? Absolutely," he pronounced crisply, deliberately. "So," he added, each word ringing sharp and clear like the gleam of a newly broken shard of obsidian, "would Djari."

It would always come down to this, Hasheem thought, gripping tighter on the leather of his rein, feeling it dug deep into his palm. Would there ever be a time in his life when he wasn't attached to some shackles, when he wasn't being used by someone? He should have known better. He really should have.

"Of course." The obvious edge to his tone was one he no longer cared to hide. "And you bothered telling me this. Why? So I wouldn't make too much of a fuss when you need something done? When the both of you decide which strings to pull and when?"

Nazir's expression grew cold at that, and he took a small satisfaction from it. It was meant to be an attack on his honor, and he was glad he could inflict a wound, even if a small, insignificant one.

"Believe me," Nazir's amber eyes glowed hauntingly as he spoke, as if they belonged to a ghost who'd just been disturbed from its resting place, "if I wanted to pull those strings you'll still be in someone's bed right now doing what you do best behind closed doors to get me what I need. And you'll do it," he paused, smiling the kind of smile that made his skin crawl, "if I only propose to tell Djari every little thing you don't want her to know."

How much of an ignorant fool could he be, Hasheem thought, to ever think that he could care about something without paying a price for it? He'd been expecting a different threat. A revelation of his past to the council perhaps, or to the kha'a, if it ever came to that. It would mean execution, and he might still consider that an acceptable way to die with at least some of his pride intact. But there was dying, and then there was being considered unworthy by Djari. The latter just wasn't an option, not for him. Nazir knew this, and had decided to strike at him where it would hurt the most.

"Of course. That is why I'm here. Why you've suggested that she takes me as her sworn sword and blood. Tell me," he said, "did you even hesitate when you switched the arrow to bring me into this, or when you decided to put me back in shackles, knowing what you knew?"

He wasn't sure what bothered him more—being used by the enemies that had burned down his home, or by the people that were supposed to be on his side. They were beginning to look the same to him the longer he stayed around here. Except Djari, who should have been the only one with the right to move him at will, but had never wanted to do so.

Nazir drew a breath, as if to still something within, and then released it with a heavy sigh. "What should matter to you is not whether I hesitated, but that I have chosen to tell you this tonight despite the power I possess to do otherwise, to give you a choice that no one had ever given you."

A gust of wind rushed by them from the south, pushing back the hood of Nazir's robe and revealing the straight, silvery strands of his hair that looked nearly identical to Djari's. Nearly, except that Nazir's was almost white, and carried with it an air of something eerie and terrifying especially at night, like a being that was out of this world, and belonging nowhere.

"You can choose to be a part of this and make something out of it, or you can wait for fate to drag you along screaming. That is why we are going to my tent to have a civilized conversation over a drink," he said, his lips pulled back into a playful grin, "where I hope my irresistible charm and a promise of a good wine would be enough to seduce you to my cause. What do you say?"

Hasheem stilled for a time, considering the proposal he hadn't seen coming. In a way, Nazir had a point. There had been no need for him to hold back until now if he'd had an intention to pull those strings or to tell him the things he had tonight, including his own secrets and plans for the future. He was trying to play nice—as nice as his position and duty could allow it. Still, there existed a feeling, a small hunch in the pit of his stomach that this could be nothing more than Nazir's unfailing ability to wrap people around his fingers.

"And if my answer is still no?"

"Then we will drink and talk," Nazir said, leaning forward to give Springer a few pats on the neck. "I can also use a friend who doesn't want to kill me to become khumar. I was hoping you wouldn't say no to that at least."

For a moment that lasted too brief, Hasheem thought he saw a glimpse of vulnerability in Nazir's eyes. There was always a sense of bleakness in the air around him and Djari, a feeling of isolation that hung around them like shadows. He'd had the same feeling watching the salar lounging alone on his balcony from the bottom of the Tower, or Za'in izr Husari standing outside his tent looking up at the stars when everyone else had gone to sleep.

It's always colder on the top of the mountain, someone had said. The truth was, where isolation was concerned, he was no stranger to the feeling, even if for a completely different reason and circumstances.

"I can't say much about your charm," he told Nazir, "but I'm not one to turn down a promise of good wine."