A spontaneous cheer rose from the crowd: a cacophony of chants and ululations that originated back in the time when the Matile herded cattle and fought clan wars and dreamed of something more, something beyond the confines of their fields and pastures. Caught up in their hosts’ fervor, the Fidi joined the celebration, adding victory songs from their own lands to the tapestry of triumph.
As waves of approbation continued to wash over him, the Emperor Gebrem locked eyes with Kyroun. The Degen and Imba Jassi had met several times, well in advance of the coronation, to discuss what should be done during its immediate aftermath. Alternatives had been discussed. Plans had been made. Tasks had been assigned.
“Now, my friend, our work truly begins,” Gebrem said.
Kyroun nodded.
5
One person in the crowd was not the same as all the others, even though he looked like the rest of the people, and shouted and sang in celebration as loudly as anyone else. But he was different – unique.
As far as he knew, Sehaye, the islander spy, was the only Uloan left alive in Khambawe. He had not crossed paths with any others. There was no longer any danger of discovery; he had long since overcome the madness that had claimed him after Retribution Time had turned into a calamity, although some of it remained, touching his consciousness like strings of spider-silk. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, his disoriented behavior had not been noticed, for it was not unusual. Eventually, his mind calmed, and he did what he needed to do in order to stay alive.
He often thought a similar madness had afflicted the other spies in the city, whose identities in any case remained unknown to him. He did not want to know who they were, or whether or not they still lived. He only knew there had to be a purpose in his own survival. And that purpose would become clear when Legaba decided it was time for him to become aware of it.
In the meantime, Sehaye focused his attention fully on the royal platform: on the pretender who wore the crown that rightfully belonged to Jass Imbiah; on the foreign interloper who had wrongfully assumed the role of Leba. He sensed those two were somehow involved in his own destiny. But he did not yet know how, nor could he even guess what lay ahead.
He knew the answer would come. Legaba would give it to him. And when he received it, he would be ready to act.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Complications
1
The Emperor Gebrem meditated alone in Dardar Agaw’s chamber, where Alemeyu had spent so much of his time. Gone were the elaborate panoply and accouterments that had accompanied his coronation. His crown and royal vestments were close at hand, but now was not the time to wear them. He was clad in simple garb: plain white tunic over senafil, like most Matile of lesser rank. The long braids of his hair were unadorned. When he presented himself to his new god, he did so as an ordinary man, even though he had become much more – a man who possessed the ultimate in both secular and sorcerous power; a combination that had never before been seen on the Lion Throne. Even the great Issuri had been only a warrior, and not a sorcerer as well.
Gebrem sat cross-legged on the bare, stone floor, his hands folded in his lap. His eyes were closed, and his lips set in a straight, unsmiling line within his beard. Gebrem still looked like a man who was approaching old age, his hair rapidly becoming more gray than black. Inside, though, every fragment of his being radiated a vitality he had never known even when he was a youth – the power of Almovaad magic, a power far greater than anything he had ever experienced when he utilized ashuma. At times, Gebrem felt as though he could do anything he cared to do simply by waving his hand. But he also knew better than to fall into the foolish trap of acting as though that belief were true.
Now, his body was in the chamber of the long-dead Emperor Asfaw. But his soul was in the Realm of Almovaar ....
Gebrem stood in the midst of a desert unlike any that existed in Abengoni. Golden sand stretched as far as his eyes could see, merging in the distance with a saffron sky in which no sun was visible. Yet there was light everywhere, emanating from the sky and glowing from every grain of sand.
Dunes rose like the multi-humped back of some gigantic beast slumbering just beneath the surface. Rills of sand rolled like water down the dunes’ slopes, whispering in a language Gebrem could not understand. There was no indication of life’s presence in this sere landscape ... none of the hardy plants and animals that clung to existence in the vast expanses of the Khumba Khourou wasteland, which lay far to the south of Matile Mala.
Yet even though there was no life, there were ... shadows. They were human in shape, but Gebrem saw no one who might have cast them no matter where he looked. After a moment’s thought, Gebrem realized that these shadows must be Almovaar’s Children ...
Heat burned into the soles of Gebrem’s bare feet. A dry, searing wind whipped the braids of his hair into a frenzied tangle and billowed the tunic and trousers away from his lean frame. But the Emperor ignored both the heat and the wind. For he had been to this place before in the months that followed the defeat of the Uloans, though always with Kyroun at his side.
However, the Realm had always been empty the other times he had been there. Never before had he seen these shadows. They stretched in elongated silhouettes on the sand, not menacing Gebrem in any way, but also not reassuring him with their presence. They neither
