Standing there was Hakem Rafi the thief, master of the daeva Aeshma—a small, wiry man dressed in a rich kaftan of deep purple and a turban of violet, in the center of which was an enormous canary diamond. Even without his fine garments the sight of Hakem Rafi would have caused a stir within the village because none of the K’lona had ever seen a man with skin so lightly colored.
“I am Hakem Rafi, your new king,” said the blackhearted thief, and the invisible Aeshma translated his words so all the villagers could understand him. “Bow down and pay me the homage you owe your master.” Hakem Rafi’s words rang loudly through the open air with a timbre that bespoke power and dignity.
The chief of the tribe stepped forward defiantly. He was an older man, powerfully built, with scars across his ch
