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There had been terrible stories of what Queen Fruela had ordered done to the grey…haired Kindath chancellor after he had walked； unarmed； into her camp。 Jehane knew that the worst of them would be true。 She also knew； bitter and grieving； that the Muwardis would have done much the same； had they been the ones outside Ragosa's walls。
Who are my enemies？
How did one rise above hatred at these times？
Ammar slept still。 It amazed her that he could。 She was tempted to trace his features with a hand…eyes； mouth； ears； the straight nose…like a blind woman； to memorize him。 She shook her head； pushing the thought away。 His breathing was quiet and slow。 One arm lay across his chest； oddly childlike。
He could die today。 If he did not； Rodrigo would。
It had e to this。 Were mortals only playthings for the gods they worshipped； to be tormented in their dying？
It had been agreed between the heralds of Ashar and Jad that leaders of each army would fight before battle； to invoke the will and the power of their gods。 One of the oldest rituals of men at war。
Had they somehow guessed that this day might e； the two of them？ Had that been the terrible foreknowing that lay beneath the last words they had spoken in the darkness of Orvilla？ Or even earlier： in Ragosa； staring at each other that first morning in the brightness of the king's garden with the stream running through it？ They had refused to fight each other。 There； they could refuse。 There； they could fight side by side。
Jehane made herself a promise at that moment； watching her lover sleep； hearing the camp ing awake outside： she would do all she could not to weep。 Tears were an easy refuge。 What was to happen today demanded more of her。
Ammar's eyes opened without warning； vivid and blue； the same color as her own。 He looked at her。 She watched him settle into an awareness of the day； what morning it was。
He said； first words； 〃Jehane； if I fall； you must go with Alvar。 He can take you to your parents。 There will be nowhere else； my love。〃
She nodded her head； not speaking。 She didn't trust herself to speak。 She leaned across and kissed him on the lips。 Then she laid her head down on his chest； listening to the beating of his heart。 When they spoke afterwards； outside； it was about inconsequential things。 The absurd pretense that the world was a normal place that day。
There will be nowhere else； my love。
Alternately hot and cold as the setting sun slipped behind and then out from the swift clouds in the west； Jehane stood on a windy height beside Miranda Belmonte d'Alveda； looking down on a plain between armies。
Alvar de Pellino； a herald of Valledo； garbed in white and gold； was with them as escort to Miranda。 So was Husari…granted leave by King Ramiro to acpany his herald。
Husari was the governor of Fezana now； serving Valledo。 Jehane did not begrudge him that。 He had chosen Ramiro over the Muwardis； making his choice of evils in a time that forced such choices upon all of them。 Ziri had decided otherwise； it seemed。 He had not left Ragosa with Rodrigo's men。 Jehane understood。 He would not fight under the banners of the god whose followers had killed his parents。 She had no idea what had happened to him。 You lost people in war。
She looked down。 The armies below were roughly balanced。 The ground was even。 Neither leader would have been here with his forces had it been otherwise。
The temporarily united Jaddite troops could not remain in the field another winter； and the tribesmen had no disposition for a war of siege and attrition so far from their sands。 Tomorrow would see a battle on open ground。 A rare thing。 There might even be a decisive result； or this could go on and on。 Slow； bitter years of fire and sword； disease and hunger and cold； in the breaking of a world。
But before tomorrow could e； with its armies in that plain beneath banners of blue…and…gold or silver…on…black； there had first to be this evening's sunset。 Jehane reminded herself that she had vowed not to weep。
Ceremonial battles between Ashar and Jad took place at dawn or at day's end； in the balancing moments between sun and stars。 There was one moon in the eastern sky…the white one； nearly full。 It was； Jehane thought bitterly； irrelevant to the duality so harmoniously shaped and decreed。
A handful of soldiers from each army were on opposite sides of the slope below them。 She knew the Jaddites。 Rodrigo's men： Lain； Martin； Ludus。 They were not really needed as guards； for Alvar was on the hill and the traditions of heralds were being honored in this campaign。
Men were like that； Jehane thought； unable to check the bitterness from rising again。 This was warfare as savage as could be imagined； but the soldiers…even the Muwardis…would defer to the herald's banner and staff。
And they would watch now like boys…enraptured； overawed by the ancient symbolism…what was to happen on the plain between armies。 A challenge of gods！ Each faith with its great champion； its holy lion of the battlefield！ Poets would write verses and songs； chant them at feasts or in taverns or in the dark under desert stars。
〃Will there ever be a time when it is not a curse to be born a woman？〃 Miranda had spoken without turning her head。 〃When we can do more；〃 she added； staring down at the plain； 〃than stand by and be extremely brave and watch them die？〃
Jehane said nothing。 She could think of no answer that was adequate。 She would not； before today； have called her own womanhood a burden； aware that she'd been luckier than most…in her family； friends； in her profession。 She didn't feel very fortunate today。 Today she thought she could agree with Miranda Belmonte。 Standing on this windy height； it was easy to agree。
There came a new sound below them。 Both armies reacting to something。 Loud cries； a banging of swords on shields。
From opposite directions； north and south； two men were riding towards each other across the ground west of Silvenes。
No one escorted either man； so no one knew what it was that Rodrigo Belmonte and Ammar ibn Khairan said to each other when they stopped their horses a little distance apart； alone in the world。
Each man dismounted； however； after a moment； and each turned his horse and sent it cantering back the way he had e across the grass。 Then they faced each other again and Jehane could see Ammar say one last thing； and Rodrigo reply。 Then they lowered their helms。
On that watching height at day's windy end； she saw each of them take a round shield from where it hung upon his back and then each of them drew his sword。
There would be an eagle on Rodrigo's helm； Ammar's had a pattern of vine leaves。 These were things she knew but could not see： she was too far away on this hill and the sun was wrong； behind the two men； and low。 They were almost silhouettes against the light； standing alone。 Even the horses had finished running away from them。
Is it wrong to love two men； she had asked the summer before； in darkness by the river。
Without taking her eyes from the plain below； Miranda crossed her arms over her breast as if holding tightly to something there。 Jehane had seen Rodrigo use that same gesture； exactly； in the moonlight of Orvilla a year ago。 She wondered； if she and Ammar were granted enough time； would they； too； e to share gestures like that？ And would they ever make a child to be loved as much as the woman beside her and the man below loved their sons？
There will never be enough time； she had said to Ammar。
Looking towards the sun； she saw Rodrigo feint and then swing his blade； hard； back the other way and she watched Ammar parry that blow with a movement of his own sword； smooth as Husari's silk； as a line of verse； as a good wine tasted at the end of day。 He turned the parry； seamlessly； into a driving thrust； low； and Rodrigo…fast as a dream of a hunting cat…pushed down his shield and blocked it。
The two men stepped back。 They stood looking at each other from beneath their helms； motionless。 It had begun。 Jehane closed her eyes。
A heavy sound arose from the armies： hungry； needing； enthralled。
Opening her eyes again； Jehane saw that Husari had e to stand beside her。 He was crying； without concealment or pretense。
She looked at him； and then away； without speaking。 She was afraid to attempt to say anything。 She had made a promise to herself。 Had sworn she would not weep。 Until it was over。 Until time had run away from them like those horses on the plain。
They were a match。 Both of them had always known it。 In a way； the desperate exigencies required to stay alive now were a good thing： they made it harder for the heart to intervene and cripple with its sorrow。
There were reasons for staying alive。 There was a woman on a hilltop east of them。 There was love。 He blocked a low thrust； barely； cut forward with the motion…a difficult thing…and was parried； elegantly。 Never a swordsman like this before。 Never a match。 Could it be called a dance？ Should they embrace？ Were they not？
One let the body rule here； faster than thought； movements not even imagined； a blurring engaged by the same when blades met。 The mind floating just above； out of the way except when it noticed something。 A weakness； a faltering。
No faltering here at red sunset。 He hadn't thought there would be。
On that hilltop to the east there was love。
Once； during their campaign for Ragosa； when they'd lured the old bandit ibn Hassan into ambushing the parias party for them； Jehane had joined the pany by the fire one night； and had offered a Kindath song。
Who knows love？
Who says he knows love？
What is love； tell me。
〃I know love；〃
Says the littlest one。
〃Love is like a tall oak tree。〃
〃Why is love a tall oak tree？ Little one tell me。〃
〃Love is a tree
For the shelter it gives
In sunshine or in storm。〃
He stumbled unexpectedly as an attack pushed him back； swore as he felt himself falling。 Too careless； distracted。 He had seen that rock； had thought of using it。
Twisting desperately； he released his shield…behind him； the grip upwards…and blocked his fall with his freed left arm； palm braced hard on the grass； sword sweeping into position to take the other man's descending blade and turn it away。
He let himself roll with the weight of that blow to the necessary place； reclaimed the shield and was up again…all in the same smooth motion。 In time to blunt the swift second stroke。 Dropped to a knee then and slashed across； faster than he should have been able to。 Almost got through with that one； almost buried his sword。 Didn't。 They were a match。 Both of them had known。 From first meeting in Ragosa。 That garden with the tame stream。
Who knows love？
Who says he knows love？
What is love； tell me。
〃I know love；〃 Says the littlest one。 〃Love is like a flower。〃
〃Why is love a flower？ Little one tell me。〃
〃Love is a flower
For the sweetness it gives
Before it dies away。〃
It would have been pleasant； the thought came to him； to be able to lay down their weapons on the darkening grass。 To walk away from this place； from what they were being made to do； past the ruins； along the river and into the woods beyond。 To find a forest pool； wash their wounds and drink from the cool water and then sit beneath the trees； out of the wind； silent as the summer night came down。
Not in this life。
He thought； then； of something he could do with his shield。
It would have been so much better had she been able to hate the man trying to kill Rodrigo。 It was this man； though； who had given the warning that saved Diego's life。 He hadn't had to do that。 He was Asharite。 He was now the mander of their army； the ka'id。
But she had never； ever heard Rodrigo speak of another man…not even Raimundo； who had died so long ago…the way he'd talked about Ammar ibn Khairan during the long； waiting winter just past。 The way the man sat a horse； handled a blade； a bow； devised strategies； jested； spoke of history； geography； the properties of good wine。 Even the way he wrote poetry。
〃Poetry？〃 Miranda could remember saying to this last； in the voice she reserved for her most withering sarcasm。
Rodrigo had a liking for vers