I am Darien, magician to the D’Ibelins; son of Jared, magician to the D’Ibelins before me; and grandson of Deter, magician to the kings of the Aquitaine. Can anyone deny my powers after the Horns of Hattin? But, no, no one but me knows of what really happened there in miracle of the stronghold of Belvoir. And that, perhaps, is as it should be. But as I glide across the sky, I look at that brand on my belly of the dagger through the moon and I wonder if the sacrifice was worth the victory.

My master, Hugh d’Ibelin, had been reluctant to include me in the company of horsemen who rode out to parley with the great Saracen chieftain, Umar ibn al-Hakam, almost the peer of the incredible Saladin. But, thanks to my visions, I knew better than Hugh what was at stake, and I had to be there to make eye contact for the magic to work—and I had to be riding the great white steed. The lives of all of those under siege within the walls of Belvoir depended on that, although none but I knew that, or would ever know that.

Weeks before there had been another such parley, one that didn’t go nearly as well as this one must if we were to survive. Umar, astride his legendary white stallion, had demanded our unconditional surrender. And Hugh d’Ibelin, desperately counting on relief led by his suzerain, Guy de Lusignan, king of Jerusalem, the Levant, and Cyprus, was trying to play for as much time as possible. He tried to negotiate terms, but, with a laugh, the magnificent beast of a man, Umar, standing head and shoulders above all of his retinue, swept his beefy, hairy arms out wide to bring our attention to the many thousands of Saracen soldiers investing our redoubt on the Horns of Hattin—as if we were not aware of the sea of hateful unbelieving faces ourselves—and boomed out in a commanding and fearful voice that he saw no reason why he need negotiate at all, that he could sweep us away as quickly as a wave from the nearby Mediterranean could sweep away a grain of sand. Hugh huffed that, in that case, why were we even parleying—that both he and Umar knew that many of his forces would be needlessly sacrificed in any attack on the imposing stronghold of Belvoir. Hugh did say, however, that he would contemplate Umar’s terms, but that he was wary of Umar’s reputation for great treachery and cruelty.

While Hugh was making this blustery speech, Umar’s eyes had roamed about those Hugh had brought with him and they had fallen on me—and I knew, without using any of my magician powers, that he fancied me. That was the way that Hugh himself had looked at me when he took me into his retinue.

"Perhaps then, you will be comforted enough to consider the terms wisely and quickly, if we exchange pledges of safety—temporary safety," the Saracen chieftain offered.

"What pledges might you have in mind," Hugh asked, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. He had no illusions that Umar's forces couldn't easily take Belvoir in it's present condition. But Umar obviously didn't know how dire conditions were in Belvoir now. And any time given to Hugh to stave off attack was time well invested in seeing the lances of Guy de Lusignan's forces appear over the sand hills to the south."

"I would suggest mutual hostages. Nay, honored guests. Say