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  He eased his hold and turned to Mab.

  “I wish I lied, Grandmother. I wish this were a fanciful tale. Where others doubted me before, the Prophetess always believed. She spared Karchedon from bitter enslavement because she trusted me.”

  Mab sneered. “Then tell us why her most trusted slaves held you like a prisoner earlier.”

  “Who entered the inner sanctum with the Prophetess?” Himilco asked. “Was it you? No. It was me.”

  A murmur of assent strengthened Himilco’s hope.

  “Who tore me from the blasphemies of Karchedon?” he asked them. “The Prophetess’s visions did. She did. It is impossible to describe my gratefulness to her.” Himilco managed a shrug. “Perhaps Bel Ruk gave me this wonderful sight because it was I who opened the city gates to your host.”

  “You were a traitor once,” Mab said. “Why not practice treachery twice?”

  Himilco wanted to boil Mab in oil. He hated the old suspicious ones. Instead of giving license to his feelings, he tried to match the soft smile on Thirmida’s face.

  “It is as the Prophetess foretold,” he said.” She told me people would view me as you say. She said we must all bear burdens for Bel Ruk’s sake. This is my burden.”

  “That is more than strange,” Mab said. “The Prophetess told me she distrusted you like she would a snake.”

  “That is how you perceived Bel Ruk’s kiss,” Himilco said slyly.

  “Maybe it is a sign,” Thirmida whispered.

  Himilco only hesitated a moment. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Thirmida disengaged her hand from his. He backed away in obvious respect.

  “Who will lead us now?” Mab asked those in the chamber.

  “The Karchedonian along with the Prophetess witnessed Bel Ruk’s appearing,” Thirmida said. “Our god saw fit to give the Karchedonian instructions. By this sign, he has clearly chosen the priest—”

  “To lead us?” Mab asked with contempt.

  “No,” Thirmida said. “The chieftains must lead us in war. But I think Bel Ruk has chosen a new suffete for the city.”

  Himilco looked on in serenity. This was better than he could have hoped.

  “We shall see,” Mab said with a scowl. “What I would know first is who will instruct us concerning Bel Ruk’s wishes?”

  Himilco made a swift calculation. Mab was clearly his enemy. He could trick Thirmida. His word counted for little among the other Nasamons. Still, a word spoken at the correct time could move mountains.

  Himilco raised his right hand. Their burning stares focused on him. In an attempt at majesty, he took several slow steps toward Thirmida and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

  “I am a lowly city dweller,” Himilco said, “although it is true that Bel Ruk appeared to me as he appeared to the Prophetess. I didn’t understand the words then.”

  “What words do you speak of?” Mab demanded.

  “The Prophetess spoke to me,” Himilco said. “Before Bel Ruk revealed his purpose, she said that Thirmida should wield the knife.”

  “What knife?” Mab asked.

  “I dare not say it.”

  “Speak, Karchedonian,” Mab said. “I order it in the Prophetess’s name.”

  “Who will seal the Prophetess’s marriage to Bel Ruk?” Himilco asked. “Once the Prophetess lies on the altar, someone must plunge the knife into her chest, giving her to our god. Whoever performs the holy deed…shouldn’t she wear the spotted robe, take up the scepter and don the skull-mask? Will not that one hear Bel Ruk’s voice and tell us his words?”

  “Thirmida is too young,” Mab said.

  “I do not know your customs,” Himilco said. “But didn’t many once say that about the Prophetess?”

  Mab eyed Thirmida. The young beauty must have felt the scrutiny, for she lost her faraway stare. She met the crone’s gaze.

  “Will you help me, Mab?” Thirmida asked.

  Mab’s wrinkled face softened. “You believe the priest’s tale?”

  Himilco held his breath. Here it was.

  “I searched the chamber for a serpent or an eagle but found none,” Thirmida said. “I walked around the chamber and it was solid stone. There were no holes for a snake to slither into or an eagle to fly away. Who else could have bitten the Prophetess but Bel Ruk?”

  Mab nodded, but she continued to eye Himilco with distaste. “It is a wild, improbable tale. He would not have dared to fabricate it, expecting us to believe, unless it was the truth.”

  “Yes,” Thirmida said. “He speaks the truth.”

  “By Bel Ruk,” Himilco said, “I swear to the truth of what I’ve said.”

  There was a moment of silence until Mab stirred.

  “We must speak with the chieftains,” Mab said. “In this, we need their wisdom.”

  -2-

  Himilco waited in a side chamber as Mab spoke to the assembled sheiks and chieftains. The priest practiced slow breathing as he attempted to calm his nerves. Whenever fear threatened to shake his resolve, he recalled the Prophetess’s contempt for him. She’d thought him too small, too weak for her. Yet, she lay unconscious and he still lived, possibly soon to gain control of the city. He could outwit these desert dwellers. He was Himilco Nara, once a waif and a thief, now a sorcerer-priest of note.

  It was a dangerous game, and he would not underestimate his enemies. Before she left, Mab had insisted he pen a note. In it, he’d instructed the temple guards to return to their homes and barracks. Mab wanted him apart from them. Nasamons presently waited with him in the chamber. By their manner, the warriors were uncertain of his status.

  One among them stepped near. He was a younger nomad and wore the green sash of a messenger. He carried an elephant-hide shield strapped to his left forearm. A single greasy lock of hair dangled from the back of his tattooed head. The youth spat between Himilco’s feet.

  “Have a care,” Himilco said. “Bel Ruk has chosen me as the new suffete.”

  Undaunted, the Nasamon stepped closer still and ripped an ornament from Himilco’s belt. Himilco shoved the youth. The messenger staggered, but he raised his prize, a glass emblem containing an embedded blue star.

  “Give it back,” Himilco said. The emblem had cost him fifty silver shekels.

  The youth laughed as he showed the others what he held. “People say it’s good luck to wear a talisman from a condemned man. Death sniffs the talisman and then seeks elsewhere for flesh to reap.”

  “I am the new suffete,” Himilco said.

  “Not by the fire in Mab’s eyes, dead man.”

  “You dare mock Bel Ruk’s chosen priest?”

  The youth’s smile slipped just a little.

  “What’s your name?” Himilco demanded.

  The youth’s eyes shifted uneasily. Finally, while thrusting out his chest, he replied, “A dead man’s curse cannot harm me.”

  “That’s true,” Himilco said. “And is that why you refuse to give me your name?”

  The youth glanced at the others. They watched him with interest. Once more, the messenger expanded his chest, slapping it as he regarded Himilco.

  “I am Dabar of Zama Clan. I am one of the war-chieftain’s messengers. He—”

  A door opened. A sheik in a flowing black mantle looked in. “You.” He pointed at Himilco. “Follow me.”

  Dabar tightened his grip on the glass star, laughing silently as Himilco passed him.

  Himilco ignored the desert dog. He followed the sheik to the great antechamber of the temple. Nasamon warriors filled it with their dung-smelling bodies. Many knelt on goatskin rugs. Many simply knelt on the marble floor. None of them sat on the benches provided.

  The grim sheiks and chieftains kneeling in the front rank stared at him like hungry hyenas. From the open doors and past the cyclopean pillars, Himilco heard the roar of flames. Faint howling sounds drifted through the doors. Two hundred feet below, the sons of the desert celebrated their victory. The Prophetess had spared the city from sack, but the drunke
n victors seemed not to understand the shades of differences between a victory feast and red-handed butchery.

  Himilco glanced at the assembled Nasamons. Thirmida wasn’t in evidence. Instead, he noted Mab standing in the shadows. That seemed ominous.

  The Prophetess’s war-chieftain—a wizened old man with bowed legs and dour eyes—climbed to his feet. His left hand shook. Noticing it, he gripped the hilt of a curved dagger in his sash. He walked gingerly, as if his feet pained him. He had sun-darkened skin and moonlight-silver hair. He wore a goatskin burnoose and gripped an old iron javelin, the symbol of his authority. He climbed the steps toward Himilco, grunting with each step.

  The old man’s eyes burned with fanatical zeal. “So you’re the one who witnessed the Prophetess’s elevation as the bride of Bel Ruk?” he asked.

  Himilco almost sank to his knees in relief. “She has risen into the ranks of the divine,” he said in a husky voice.

  The war-chieftain grunted, this time like a man who had sold his goat and obtained more than he’d anticipated.

  Himilco took that to mean the war-chieftain had been afraid of the Prophetess. Maybe a cunning old leader like this had chaffed under the Prophetess’s strict control. Maybe the war-chieftain saw his authority rising with the Prophetess’s passing.

  “When should the sacrifice take place?” the war-chieftain asked.

  “At dawn,” Himilco said.

  “The Karchedonian said your niece Thirmida should wield the killing stroke,” Mab said from the shadows.

  The old war-leader eyed Himilco anew.

  Was that a sly smile on his face? Himilco couldn’t be certain.

  “So be it,” the war-chieftain said, as he scratched a cratered cheek. “You were in the inner sanctum with the Prophetess when the Lord of Dragons appeared. Mab says you are the new suffete of Karchedon.”

  Himilco bowed his head.

  “The one who pulls out the Prophetess’s heart will become the new Prophetess,” the war-chieftain told Mab.

  “Thirmida will become the heart of our host,” Mab intoned.

  “Yes,” Himilco said, believing it wise to keep his hand in this.

  The war-chieftain sneered. “You’re a Karchedonian, an oath-breaker—”

  “Bel Ruk has—”

  The old chieftain stepped close and shoved his seamed face near Himilco’s.

  “Never interrupt me again, jackal. Bel Ruk may have chosen you…” The war-chieftain considered his words and maybe thought better of them. “Bel Ruk will give us the world. The new Prophetess will give us the god’s words. You will serve in the temple and tear out the hearts of all the Karchedonian sacrifices. You will make certain that all in Karchedon serve Bel Ruk. You shall cut out the hearts of those who fail to serve. You will obey the new Prophetess as you obeyed the first.”

  “May I ask, Lord—” Himilco began.

  “Do not speak to me unless I ask you a question, priest. You are a jackal of a Karchedonian, a traitor. Bel Ruk chose you, but I do not trust you.”

  Himilco nodded. He hadn’t expected love, but this overt hatred…it might be time to flee Karchedon. It appeared that, in his loathing of Zarius, Himilco had made a mistake. He thought the Nasamons would honor the one who gave them victory. Instead, they were ignorant barbarians, shortsighted fools. He would bide his time. He was all too aware of Mab watching from the shadows. The other chieftains and sheiks had heard the war-chieftain’s words. He even spied Dabar. It was clear he would never hold honor among these desert dogs.

  “Tonight,” the war-chieftain said, “I have one question for you.”

  Himilco waited quietly.

  “Many Nasamons witnessed an evil apparition moments ago,” the war-chieftain said. “It floated on air and carried a woman, a she-warrior. Do you know this she-warrior?”

  “May I ask you a question?” Himilco asked.

  The war-chieftain considered that, finally nodding.

  “This apparition,” Himilco said, “did it wear a body of flesh?”

  “One of our warriors pierced it with a dart. There was no outcry, not even a hiss. Another warrior said it creaked like leather as a gust of wind struck it.”

  “What did this warrior-woman—” Himilco scowled as he realized whom the nomads had seen.

  “Ah, you know this woman,” the war-chieftain said.

  “Yes,” Himilco said. “She is a Rhune.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Mab moved closer. “Sahib, I know.”

  “Speak, Mab,” the war-chieftain said.

  “Rhunes are the Night People,” Mab said.

  The war-chieftain scowled at Himilco. “You Karchedonian jackal. You summoned one of the Night People to slay our Prophetess?”

  “Lord,” Himilco said, “I shudder to tell you the truth. We have fallen so low in Karchedon that our former suffete lay with a Rhune princess to sire that monstrosity.”

  Mab gasped in horror.

  “It is true,” Himilco said. “Against the gods of nature and fertility, the visiting Rhune princess conceived. Your warriors this night saw her daughter.”

  “Is the daughter a sorceress?” the war-chieftain asked.

  “No,” Himilco said.

  The old chieftain spat on the floor. “This daughter of a Rhune flew above the city, likely casting curses on us. Warriors said she headed across the bay toward the Tyrant’s camp.”

  “The Rhune is dangerous,” Himilco said. “Her father was the great sorcerer Zarius Magonid. She may possess a gauntlet that was a symbol of authority here.”

  “What do I care about that?” the war-chieftain asked.

  “The former suffete used the gauntlet against our warriors,” Mab said. “This one speaks about the ice bolts that shattered several of our assaults.”

  The war-chieftain laughed mirthlessly and eyed Himilco closely. “You want such a precious thing, eh?”

  “I merely tell you what I know, Lord,” Himilco said. “Maybe the Rhune will use the gauntlet to bargain with Alexon. She might try to win passage on one of the Tyrant’s ships.”

  “Let her go,” the war-chieftain said with a wave of his hand.

  “Or the Tyrant Alexon might hire her,” Mab said.

  Himilco nodded in agreement. “It might be wise to capture her.”

  “Capture her? Why?” the war-chieftain asked.

  Because she is an assassin, Himilco thought, one who threatened to kill me.

  “Lord, the former suffete may have taught his daughter secrets about the Temple Mount and about the temple. It is not safe to let such a one sell her knowledge to those who hate the Nasamons.”

  The war-chieftain turned away in thought. After a time, the old warrior grunted. “One of the Night People working hand in hand with the Tyrant…” The war-chieftain whirled around to glare at Himilco. “Tell me about her, tell me all you know.”

  “It is little enough,” Himilco said. “She is half-Rhune, likely trained in their evil arts. I recall that she had a Rhune tutor.”

  “Who was he?” the war-chieftain asked.

  “A wanderer from the Land of Shadows,” Himilco said. “He was a troubadour and taught her for a time. Despite growing up in Karchedon, she is likely skilled in their dark ways. It might prove interesting to learn what she knows about the Night People. She could tell us their secrets.”

  “I will unleash Ert and his vultures,” the war-chieftain told Mab. “We cannot allow Alexon the services of one of the People of the Night.”

  “That would be unwise,” Mab agreed.

  “Go with Mab,” the war-chieftain told Himilco. “Keep the traitor away from his Gepids and any Karchedonian messengers,” he told Mab. “Let him help you prepare the sacrifice. And Mab, until we’ve secured the city and disarmed all the Karchedonians, I want him where I can kill him.”

  Himilco bowed low, but the war-chieftain had already turned away and limped toward his waiting sheiks, clan champions and a thoughtful Dabar of the Zama clan.

&nb
sp; Escaping these desert dogs is going to be harder than I anticipated, Himilco thought.

  -3-

  Elissa hung horizontally below the creaking skay. The silk harness around her upper torso and shoulders held the majority of her weight. She grasped the steering strut while her booted feet rested in the sling behind her.

  It was so quiet up here, so peaceful. The only noise was the occasional strain of the bamboo tubes and the creak of parchment. She’d left the crackling flames of fallen Karchedon behind. She’d left behind the even more hideous screams that floated upward on the heated air.

  She’d spiraled up to the smoky haze above Karchedon. Once over the cold bay, however, she sank fast. It was a race now. There were no night breezes, no winds barreling off the Great Sea onto land. She tried to coax the last ounce of flight from her skay so she might land near a sandy shore.

  Like a true Rhune, Elissa hated salt water and had a great fear of sharks and octopuses. The boneless octopuses seemed hideous with their rubbery limbs, sucker discs and parrot-like beaks. They grew to outrageous size on the southern coast of the Great Sea.

  She’d also heard the sailors’ tales of the brutal sea battle a little over a month ago. Alexon’s quinqueremes and cheating tactics had put over a hundred splintered Karchedonian galleys under the waves. Alexon’s merciless archers had feathered many of the swimming sailors and soldiers with arrows. The bay had run red with blood, and sharks had knifed through the shrieking mass of floundering, dying Karchedonians. The butchery had sickened even Alexon’s hardened crews. One sea-beast had smashed a rowboat filled with sailors trying to pick up fallen soldiers and hireling archers. That’s when Alexon’s archers had turned their shafts on the sharks.

  Elissa knew that lions and other land predators often frequented the areas where they’d known their greatest feasts. Surely, the same held true for sharks.

  With her superior night vision, she scanned the placid waters about fifty feet below. She barely managed to throttle a scream. Something massive beyond understanding glided just under the dark waters. She could barely make out its shape. Frothy water showed the upper tip of its monstrous tail.