(Part 1)

Whatever you might need to learn, do it quickly, the Amir had counseled her, and as well as can be! If Mu could face a rebellion, so can we!

"And we know not how long we have," Azalea murmured the last line to herself whilst navigating the corridors leading away from the throne room. "Darn right you are, Dad... but just what sorta skill am I supposed to learn from here? Let's see..."

Within the span of two days, or thereabouts, this princess fancied herself to have learned quite a few things: from Zena and Isfir the shop-owner, vexing as it might have been, she had learned to make good her own words; from Lady Alista, her paternal aunt and one whose demeanor had particularly impressed her, the princess had started to take in the merits of delivering one's views and sentiments with grace befitting someone of her station; and most recently, from her own father, there dawned on Zalea a sense of urgency to which she had paid scant attention before, due in no small part to her own unrefined take on things.

This sense of urgency, moreover, begged for a new question: how ought the 'hag' Mirani be dealt with--for hers might well be one of the most menacing factors helping to prevent timely delivery of reinforcements for Mustafa, whom Zalea loved no less dearly?

Then there was Dastra. How best could that 'golden-hearted idiot'--in this princess's usual flair for terms--be made to understand that his dogged staying on Mirani's side was so-help-him-God not the correct move for any right mind?

"Well, well... Look who's back."

"Crap..!"

Azalea looked up with a snap at the voice. Amidst her musings, this princess had apparently neglected to pay proper attention to where she was supposed to be going. Instead of heading to her own chambers, wherein she had hoped to reflect said issues in greater depths, this princess had once more come across the very person she was coming to regard as the nemesis.

Neither wasted words.

"What are you doing here?" Zalea demanded.

"Dastra's finally of the mind to begin his training in earnest, I've seen him off," came her mother's cool reply. "What's that to ya? You've beaten Leia once already, oh, how those peons back there murmured of it of bein' a damn-close call. Do ya have the grace to at least leave your bro to train in peace?"

The daughter narrowed her own eyes. "Don't talk like you didn't have any scheming hand in it!"

"Oh dear, daughter, but this time I truly did not. Das chose his own training weapon of preference and, I was witness, saw his instructor on his own. Now we wait."

"What did he pick to train with?"

"The spear." Mirani did not stutter.

"On whose guidance?!"

"Go ask him."

Her mother's marked calmness this time around, once more gave Zalea pause. Grace, she thought. Since when did this witch, of all people, appear to be this dignified... or is it just me..?

"Oi, Mom!" this princess called after the lady.

"Kind of ya to remember that much. What?"

"Das's trainin' still won't change your plans of further deceit for Vessy's lot, will it?"

"That's at my discretion either way. Go refresh yourself already, Zal, ya do look like ya could use some."

"Might," the daughter conceded, biting her own lower lip with a faint blush. "Somehow you just sounded... different today, y'know. Less explosive."

"Came off alien to ya, does it not?"

"What the heck happened?"

As they walked on together (for the first time in weeks), Mirani thus relayed events of the day as had occurred to her. When Mama Viper came to the part when she had been called a 'heathen', her daughter found it particularly hard to decide whether to laugh or curse.

In the end, she smiled wordlessly.

"Can't say ya didn't see that comin'," Zalea pointed out after some thought, to the mother's slow nod. "Then again, Mom... about jumpin' clear from the Get-the-Amir game--can't be that simple."

Mira sighed with relief. Someone does realize, Allah Be Praised.

"Told Ves that much," Mama Viper conceded, "but that stupidly-pious lass apparently needed time to let that kind o' message to kick in. The webs I'd woven, informers I'd positioned, resources thus expended... those would not be undone in a single day, that much I can promise. Even then I'd be runnin' the risk of those overzealous freaks turnin' on me, as scoundrels are bound to do-"

"Sayeth the biggest scoundrel o' the lot."

Mira halted to smack her daughter on the back of the head.

"HEY!"

"Ya spat on me last time; fair price," the mother reminded, still brandishing her fist... before stooping down a moment later to kiss her fiery daughter once on the cheek. "And this is for rememberin' to come back, darling."

Azalea looked completely nonplussed now. "I... guess I'll just pretend that never happened." This princess cleared her throat and shook her head rapidly several times. "So--bein' challenged at yer own game without the other side knowin' as yet that with you, the bet's as good as taken; that's 'bout as good a knack as a snag. How exactly do ya plan to pull this off, might I ask?"

At this, Mirani grinned. "Be a good girl for once and tell me."

"...Excuse you?!"

"You had been put in this kinda situation before. Learned anything at all?"

Zalea flushed. "Dang it, Mom! If you're sayin' all that break-off thingy was no better than a game to ya..!"

"Nah, dear, that game was unfortunately in earnest; as is our current one, just with flipped objectives... which, heck, might as well be just as fun if not more. Hmm?"

"Frankly... I don't really know if I ought to divulge somethin' of this sort right away, Mom. Years we'd spent hatin' each other; how would I know you're not just doin' another shot at sweet-talking me?"

"Whoa, now..." Mirani ventured to pat the daughter on the head, and this time Zalea allowed it--if gingerly. "Never said anything 'bout hating ya in the first place, darling; a trick o' yer own mind, that."

"Oh, is it now? You fed Eara to the dogs; do ya deny it?!"

"No, the blame for that event rested squarely on me. My judgment had been very clouded then no thanks to a botched plot; nor had you proved very compliant in takin' those lessons, from which ya might now benefit... but I trust we can all be forgiven for that much? I'll get ya a new pet and ya can call it 'Eara' again, how's that sound?"

"She was my first!"

"Then you might as well get a second. A male this time?"

The princess just barely managed to keep whatever swirling thoughts she might be having at that moment to herself.

"What's more," Mama Viper continued, "back when ya defied me in that chamber, I spared yer sorry life when I needed not have. No true enemy of mine would've been so fortunate."

Zalea exhaled in exasperation, shrugging herself away from the pat. "Quite the concession, is that what you'd have me believe?!"

"I even risked my very life to bring you into this world, to think of it; not at all what a hateful person would even think to do. Now, about the plan-"

"Heck if I know!" the princess retorted. "Been through quite a darn-few things today, I tell ya. For somethin' o' this scale, methinks we'd need to talk it out someplace way quieter... and that can wait 'til after I'm suitably refreshed, aye? Feel like I could use a good soak n' all."

Mama Viper sniffed. "Fully agreed."

***

Rashid, meanwhile, following a brief respite of his own, set out to see for himself the progression of his brand-new bow, whose steps of making he had hinted to Zalea. To this end, this prince went up to the workspace of a certain Vaarsan, the artisan who had been willing to help him achieve the first leg of his dream.

'Dad is said to have led bands of horse-archers as well as being one himself,' Rashid had related to this artisan during one of their early encounters, 'but as you can see, that would be way too early for me.'

Vaarsan had nodded to this. 'Doesn't mean you can't get to learn the basic trade, sir, with due respect. A bow of your very own could be crafted here, if that would suit you.'

Mustafa's true brother had beamed at that prospect. 'I could only welcome it!'

'However,' the artisan had resumed, 'I must point out now that this is not going to be free work for either of us. I shall naturally take some pay, though on account of your tender age that'd be half the normal rate if you're fine with it--I am, after all, making a small investment in a skill I think you have. In return, I shall help you craft this bow and instruct you to that end. You, in the meantime, shall by yourself be on the lookout for the proper materials and bring them to me, at your leisure. The faster this is accomplished, the sooner you might begin to train with a weapon of your own making.'

Thus had the deal been made. During the next eight days since that encounter, Rashid had indeed been on the lookout; until he found out that a birch was in need of cutting down. He had offered to help with it in return for getting to keep several thinner pieces of the timber, and this too had worked to the benefits of all. When he had brought said wood to Vaarsan, the artisan had promised to start fashioning it as soon as he could spare the time to.

Presently, Rashid was coming to see how far it had gone.

"Peace be to you, Vaarsan!" he greeted. "How's our bow going?"

The artisan, currently working on the later stages of forging a longsword, looked up and smiled at the young visitor.

"And to you, sir. Do have a seat, apologies for the lack of refreshments. I'll be with you in a moment."

Rashid obliged, staying put for the next five minutes, looking around the workshop until he heard the sizzle as Vaarsan dipped the still-red-hot longsword into the water.

"Now then, my prince," the artisan said, having stored the weapon away and wiped his own brow with a clean rag, "as to your order: I have finished shaping the birch wood into a proper bow, but not yet put on the string. We might bring out said bow now, see how you like the grip and such other things. Only then might we proceed to fit the string."

The prince nodded. The half-finished weapon was nicely crafted, measuring about four and a half feet in length, light in color and well-polished in texture. Rashid held the string-less bow aloft in his left hand, then in his right, squinting in turn at the boiled leather hanging about three feet away amidst various other weapons.

"I like the grip, yeah," the prince commented. "Is this the sort of bow that my dad would have used, on horseback?"

"I would say so, sir. Too long and it would have been impractical, and therefore highly inconvenient. Then again, shooting arrows from horseback at full gallop, and in concert with so many others in the face of determined opposition besides, does take a lot of skill at so many fields. What you're about to do..." the artisan nodded at his newest craft, "is but a small sip of that."

"That much I understand. Have you prepared the arrows too?"

"Naturally." The artisan walked over to the rack holding three rows of quivers, one atop the other, and gestured to it for Rashid's attention. "Mostly iron-tipped ones, sir, for earnest campaigns, as you can see; which is why I'm providing you with ones of sharpened wood, and only ten of those for that matter. Archers are best known for frugality, and ten volleys shall be more than enough to disorient the opposition."

"But I might not have to shoot in volleys," the prince observed.

"With luck, you never would. There is also another point you have to remember..."

"Yes?"

"Always keep a sidearm with you, my prince. Bows are meant for longer ranges, but there's always the chance that the opposition shall endeavor to close this single advantage of yours."

"Troublesome indeed. And that sidearm would be..?"

"Why, something for use at close quarters, sir. A dagger, perhaps."

"Daggers--I may need more than one. But before we get on with that, Vaarsan, there's... something you must know too."

"I am all ears."

The boy prince avoided the artisan's friendly gaze. "Have you... heard of the attempt on Akhi Mustafa some three years ago?"

"Oh, sir!"

"Have you?"

"Certainly; I was just beginning my service at that time. But I didn't think-"

"I was there too," Rashid put in, unwilling to be interrupted. "I was there! All we could manage to pull off was staying away from the reaches of their blades, and we were only rid of them thanks to the help of Cousin Idris, then an active officer, and a sentry.

"Since then Akhi had taken to swordplay, hoping to better protect his dependents, being heir and all. But in my case, I... I was so..."

The silence was allowed to stretch.

"I was so afraid. The flash of their blades, then the sticky feel and stench from their pool of blood, so up close... I didn't think I'd last that night, yet here I am. But since that day I've vowed to not be so near such a... mess again."

"That must be why," Vaarsan offered thoughtfully, silently admiring this boy's capability to relate such an event and not retch in disgust or fear, "you took to archery."

"Yes. It allows me to, ah, contribute, so to speak--without actually having to soil my hands. Instead, you're proposing that I should have a close-quarter sidearm! Such indiscretion!"

Vaarsan bowed deeply.

"My heartfelt apologies, my prince; I had spoken without bearing such an unfortunate encounter in consideration. But, sentiments aside, you still must have sidearm, sir, for your own royal sake."

"I know... and thanks for offering. I just... don't think I can take the sort of sidearm that would put me in direct contact with the... opposition."

"Well, sir," the artisan grinned, "do think on this. Daggers are so versatile; they need not be used in such a close proximity to the opposition. Where suitable, they might be thrown... but this too, like the archery itself, shall require hours of practice. Are you up to such a task?"

"So long as I wouldn't have to close up, sure."

Vaarsan smiled in approval. "If that be the case, sir, I shall undertake to craft you a belt of such daggers... for free."

"Oh! Would you be so kind?!"

"You are a prince--the prince, in the royal absence of His Excellency Prince Mustafa--that others shall turn to in times of need. This kind of fear is not baseless, methinks... but it can and must be overcome, with your earlier willingness being the first step."

Rashid laughed, genuinely pleased. "You're doing a tad more than any common instructor here, you know that? And yet you would not take extra pay..."

"Oh, but we are subjects to this realm first, sir; we should be happy to see those who shall come to rule us improve and flourish."

"How long would work on this peculiar belt take, do you think?"

"Since I already possess the required materials, sir, I don't think it shall take more than a further three days. Do come here again then, that we might perform last-minute adjustments. To that end, do you find the bow to your satisfaction?"

"Ah, I nearly forgot... Yes, this one's good enough. Three days, and I'd have this bow fitted with strings, the quiver, and the special belt?"

"If it would please the prince."

"It surely would."

(Part 2)

"So then, Mom," Zalea remarked, having secluded herself alone together with the arch-schemer in the latter's chamber, connecting minds for the first time in years, "what exactly are ya gonna do 'bout those... erstwhile pet mongrels o' yours?"

"That's 'we', Zal. One head ain't gonna suffice for this."

"Question stands."

"These are no ordinary mongrels, mind ya. They'll be posing as common courtiers, kiss me otherwise... and I'm afraid I've lost track on just how many more puppies Razin had taken in and positioned without my knowledge, and where. Safety nets, see."

"Freak." The princess gritted her teeth. "None of Vessy's get would have any damn-good reason to suspect that a full-blown crisis due to take place anytime might well be fomented right under their royal snotty noses, besides. Worse, there are as yet just the two of us! Darn it..."

"Two razor-sharp minds, let's not overlook that," Mira corrected, "for Razin almost certainly would not. We need to start picking allies, but darn, I can't figure out whom to contact at this juncture..."

"And this when Das's training's about to take place in earnest, huh... In that case we might have to make do with existing factions. Try the vazir's."

Mama Viper looked fit to choke, such was the surprise.

"What- Grovelin' for crumbs from that doddering egghead- Are ya sane, lass?! Half his agents, or near enough as to make no matter, are already out against me, and they're hardly pushovers!"

"Same guys helped free me from yer clutch," the daughter reasoned. "I failed joinin' their ranks once. This time-"

"...Shall be even tougher," the arch-schemer observed. "What are ya gonna tell 'em? 'Hey, Zal here with your reformed nemesis in tow, wantin' to join as one package now with my royal self, pretty please!'? Wretch."

"Got better options, broach 'em! Cobbling up fresh names will take time, and who knows how soon 'fore that filthy lapdog gets wind of our newfound understanding. No, Mom; we've got to have gathered enough against whatever kind o' first strike the mongrels would bother to conjure. 'Sides, that doddering egghead's dedicated to protectin' Dad's person, as do us now, so why the panic?"

That gave Mama Viper pause; at length, she nodded. "Start findin' someone that the egghead would bother listenin' to, then."

"Your job!"

***

Having with some reservations taken up the unenviable task of being Dastra's instructor in a field that the latter had scarcely practiced in, Raidan Alavis the aspiring spearman was in the midst of a tight but casual chess match with his commanding officer that same evening when the northern news filtered through.

"Them turncoats got guts, gotta say, if not half the brains," the officer remarked, glaring at one of his rooks, unable to decide if it should be used to take out Alavis's own rook or bishop currently angling for his queen. "Rebelling against our Prince Mustafa, of such valor and imagination... Worms, they are, and gonna be squashed like such in a matter of days, mark my words."

"They probably regarded the prince as having been cornered 'twixt a rock and a hard place, Sir Besnaris," Alavis offered. "Beyond him would be the untamed heathen lands, and our prince is leagues away from any immediate prospects of reinforcements by his own side. If they could just march quickly enough-"

Besnaris scoffed, having elected to use his rook to take out the opposition's bishop... only to be taken out in turn by Alavis's queen, barreling from across the now-cleared field of play. "Thinking to outwit the prince now, do they? Wretches. Darn-practical type of guy, he is; if our own people is rendered unable to come to his aid, he's definitely gonna seek others who can."

"Heathens!" Alavis blurted, not bothering to disguise his surprise.

"Backups, lad, and that's for a start. Who knows, he might even be able to strike common chords with 'em. Least we can do from here is wish him well, 'til further notice."

"Queen Vestra would not be amused."

"Nor is he seeking to amuse her."

"I heard it said that Lord Balkir Sabris of the north is a witless blunderer."

"Pray do not let his only daughter hear that. The Dragoness will roast ya crisp, the rumors have also hinted... relative youth notwithstanding." Besnaris rose. "Checkmate. Your game."

"Dragons." Alavis rose with him, scoffing. "Do you truly believe they exist, sir, with due respect? In our faith-"

"Our faith does not prohibit believing in anything, short of worship, which might serve to further Allah's Cause, Glorified Be He; the prince knows that much. Do you?"

(Part 3)

"What are you saying?!" Lady Vestra, usually servile, erupted. "My... our Mustafa actually dares to consort with heathens? Him of all people... Outrageous! Impossible! Urdin, go ahead, let me know this isn't a monstrous slander!"

The Amir closed his eyes for a moment. As darn-expected. Good thing the door's barred too.

"Try and put yourself in his boots, would you, Ves?" he managed. "He's got a full-on rebellion and, so help us, it just might have taken tolls on his reserves. What other prudent measures do you think he's supposed to have resorted to?"

"What are your oh-so-famed legions even doing?! I thought you aspired to see these lands unified, and I have stood for that, for twenty years! How could you let this happen?!"

"My supposed consent has nothing to do with it, Vestra! The distances involved-"

"The NORTHERN LANDS-" the lady practically roared, "are even filthier than ours, darn you! It's reeking with..." she shuddered, "...unspeakable vices. I agreed to let Mu assume his duties there out of conviction that he might then light the beacon of faith, not to have him mingle with such unpurified peoples! Darn it, if you are no longer fit to rule, you might as well step down this instant and restore our nephew's birthright, so unfairly taken..."

"Idris too is up north," the Amir replied evenly, "and, as I was saying, our legions are being needed elsewhere: safeguarding the sea lanes from those blasted Sigistan marauders, keeping watch on the city of Ardis, and keeping highwaymen off our land-based caravans. Total northern subjugation, if indeed it shall ever take place, shall be a very involved affair; and frankly, we have not the resources for that. Definitely not now."

"Do nothing?" Vessy blinked. "That's your wise counsel? Do nothing and let your heir be engulfed in a bloody tide of heathens and turncoats?!"

"Even heathens would recognize loyalty, if you would reflect," Urdin posited, "and you'd do well not to make light of such zeal. With a proper man at their head, they shall be a force even you would tremble to behold. For now, though, instead of throwing such tantrums--which even the headstrong Azalea is learning not to--do support Mu with your prayers, dear. Heathen or otherwise, mothers' prayers would be a factor to be reckoned with."

The mother let herself fall onto the four-poster canopied bed, sniveling and covering her face for some time. "First a heathen bed-warmer, and now this... May Allah Reward us well. What are you going to do, though, my Amir?"

"Find out whom exactly that our firstborn is reaching out to, for starters."