The Chronicles of Lymond, copyright estate of Dorothy Dunnett. No harm or disrespect is intended by this piece of fanfiction.
Written for Ishafel.



Jay Tryfanstone
April 2006


Liquid Arabic syllables words form with the flare of the lantern, a halting metre of madness. He speaks of love, this man, "Kifa, nabki, min zikra habibin oua manzili, ala sikkat el'liqua..."*

Binding cloth fallen away, his eyes are blue and blind, and his blond hair spools on the dull patterns of the carpet bright as silk in sunshine. Unlike the other men, his hands are undemanding, and the sound of his voice telling stories shutters the monsters away.

"Tell me, have you known love?" the Meddáh asks, in English.

"I am not afraid of the dark," Khaireddin answers, lying.

*Trans: "My friends, let's stop here and weep, in remembrance of my beloved,
on her traces, here at the edge of the dune."
Prince Imru'al Qays.