“Yes, Tressa.”
“I thought I heard him on the stairs.”
“Not yet.”
“Aie-a!” she sighed and closed her eyes again.
She lay like one dead. There was no sound in the room save the soft purr of the fire.
Suddenly from the sleeping girl a frightened voice burst: “Yulun! Yulun! Where is that yellow maid of the Baroulass?... What is she doing? That sleek young thing belongs to Togrul Kahn? Yulun! I am afraid of her! Tell Sansa to watch that she does not stir from the Lake of the Ghosts!... Warn that young Baroulass Sorceress that if she stirs I slay her. And know how to do it in spite of Sanang and all the prayers from the Namaz-Ga! Yulun! Sansa! Watch her, follow her, hearts of flame! My soul be ransom for yours! Tokhta!”
The girl’s eyes unclosed. Presently she stirred slightly, passed one hand across her forehead, turned her head toward Recklow.
“I could not discover the Namaz-Ga,” she said wearily. “I wish my husband would return.”