The House of the Falcon
saved your life in battle, when we followed the trail of him who killed your wife and daughter. Is the mirror of your honor clouded? Or will you grant me the request that I will ask—the one thing I will ask of you?"
Iskander plucked forth his sword; his dark eyes roved and the veins stood out on his forehead.
"Speak!" he moaned. "I will obey. May Allah, the Generous, forgive!"
At this the Sayak chieftain glared, and gripped his dagger in a powerful fist. So deep was the mosque in shadow, so quiet the group by the vapor gate, they might have been five worshipers gathered in prayer—except for the veil that bound the limbs of the woman. Edith was watching Donovan steadfastly, biting her lips to quiet their trembling.
A slight breeze passed through the shadows, cooling the damp foreheads of Donovan and Iskander and touching the yellow curls of Edith Rand.
The white man put hand to belt. But, as the Sayak chief looked up intently, he slipped loose the leather strap at his waist and held it out to Iskander.
"Man of Tahir," he said, "here is a cord to bind me. If they lay Miss Rand upon the vapor gate, you must bind me and put me beside her. This is the thing I ask of you. I will not live if she dies."
Iskander drew back as though a snake had coiled in front of him. Donovan waited, his tall figure erect, the strap in an open hand. While four men kept silence, the balance of judgment was poised. Then some one spoke.
"The white woman must live."
In front of the damask curtain stood the priest of Yakka Arik. His haggard face, veiled by a venerable
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