Pale Queen's Courtyard

by Marcin Wrona

  Chapter 16: Alu-nin-hura

  The swamp’s solid wall of insects was no doubt thrilled at the opportunity to broaden its diet, and each remaining member of Barsam’s Hunt was covered in itchy welts.

  They were so few now. The Lugal of Nerkut had assigned a sizeable contingent of soldiers to accompany the Hunt, but of Barsam’s men, only Behrouz and Hesam remained; representing Majid were Kamvar, Tahmin and Yazan, who despite his injury had insisted on accompanying them into the marsh. His left arm was in bandages that constantly had to be changed in the fetid conditions, but he’d grown skilled at unfurling the bandages and replacing them without missing a step.

  The temple healers had assured Yazan that his arm would heal cleanly, but they’d balked at his decision to leave the medical tent so swiftly. There was a good chance of the arm growing gangrenous out here, in the swamp’s filth. Yazan, headstrong as ever, had ignored their orders. His only concession to the realities of his injury was a change of weapon; in place of his spear, he carried a short Ekkadi blade.

  “It’s incredible how quickly this place has become so… well, fetid,” said Akosh. He slapped at his neck and frowned.

  “What do you mean?” asked Tahmin, who’d once again forgotten his lessons.

  “This swamp is man-made.” Kamvar had not. “In another half-day’s march, we should reach what remains of Alu-nin-hura. Does that jog your memory?”

  Tahmin nodded his head. “I remember now – they dug a new river and drowned the place. You’re right, Akosh. It looks like this swamp has been here forever.”

  Kamvar wondered how many of the soldiers who accompanied them were the great grand-children of Alu-nin-hura. The city had been evacuated prior to the flooding, but hundreds – devout worshippers of Nin, primarily – had famously remained behind. It was said that they died in the deluge and rose again, cursed by the Temple’s dark sorceries to forever haunt the flooded ruins of their sacred city.

  “Poor bastards,” he muttered. “The Lugal’s soldiers, I mean. They look terrified.”

  “Aye, and we should as well,” said Akosh. “If the tales of this place are true, I’d feel better coming here at the head of a legion, and here we’ve been given… what, sixty men?”

  “If the tales are true,” said Kamvar. “Tales are always told of places like this. Listen to enough of the old wives, and you’ll learn that every last forest in Sarvash is haunted, to say nothing of graveyards and battlefields.”

  “Aye, if.” Akosh looked uneasy, which in turn raised doubts in Kamvar’s mind. After all, in his many years serving the Hunt, had he not seen things that men of a more skeptical bent would call impossible from the safety of their walled cities? Ghost stories were more often false than true, but he’d witnessed devilry enough that it was difficult to feel reassured.

  They had made good time earlier. A paved road had once led from Nerkut to Alu-nin-hura. Today, it was mostly overgrown, and uneven where paving stones had been removed to serve new construction, but it was still a road… for a few leagues, until the hillocks south of Nerkut disappeared behind them, replaced by a basin of soft earth that gave way an hour later to sucking mud. They’d been warned that horses could not make the full journey, and so they’d been accompanied by a score of pimply-faced soldiers-in-training whose role in this adventure was to play hostler. Some of the more stupid boys had looked put out at being ordered back to the city, but they were few. Alu-nin-hura’s repute was too dark even for glory-hungry teenagers.

  Now it was mid-afternoon, and the easy travel a half-day behind them had become a trudge through mud and ankle-deep water.

  The plan was to push as close to the river proper as was possible. They would likely reach it well before nightfall, by the estimation of Adnalu, a bald-headed sergeant who knew this country as well as any man, and had as a consequence been pressed into service as their guide. Then, with some luck – and many boats – their journey would become a much easier matter of paddling where possible and portaging when the water grew too shallow.

  Barsam approved of this plan, noting that they would be able to sleep and row in shifts. He paused often to concentrate and get his bearings, ever pursuing the elusive scent of sorcery. “She’s close,” he’d often mutter, or, “She certainly passed this way.”

  Barsam, Kamvar decided, was a Hound in earnest. Majid had been able to recognize and follow the use of sorcery – that was after all how the Hounds earned their moniker – but he lost scents frequently. Majid’s Hunt had caught as many Daiva with his nose as they had with threats, bribes and investigation. Barsam appeared to know precisely where he was going. He had caught the scent, and could follow it as easily as a hound could a fox.

  They reached the river, as expected, perhaps two hours before Shimurg disappeared from the sky. The swamp had gradually turned from mud dotted occasionally by green rushes to a splendidly coloured garden – mangroves and reeds, purple flowers and gold, bushes with jagged leaves and red berries that the sergeant warned were deadly poisonous. The diversion from the Shalumes was impressively broad but sluggish, a deceptively sedate aspect for something that had drowned a city and killed hundreds.

  Kamvar and Tahmin were first at the oars. Each coracle seated four men comfortably, but because they shared a boat with Yazan, they were forced to take on a fifth to row, a soldier who had introduced himself as Mua-tu but said little else. He and Akosh slept now, while Yazan, unable to make himself comfortable, trailed a hand in the water behind them.

  Some furtive phrases carried on the stagnant air, but on the whole, few men spoke, neither in their boat nor in the next, nor indeed in any within earshot. Even the snoring seemed subdued. Even in sleep, men were mindful of what was said to lurk behind the mangroves.

  “Pull your hand out of there,” whispered Tahmin to Yazan. “Like as not, you’ll be pulled overboard, or gnawed by a fish.”

  A smile twisted Yazan’s ruined face, but he left his hand where it was. “Like as not, this Hunt will kill us all. What does it matter if it’s now or an hour from now?”

  Thus ended their conversation.

  They rowed in silence for a time, listening to the buzz and chirp of the marshland wildlife, while the sky darkened. Soon, the dying embers of day limned the mangroves, giving them haloes of pink and orange that were reflected in the placid waters of the murderous river. Moments later, the Shimurg passed over the Bones, and the world gradually darkened from grey to black. Three more hours at the oars, and then it would be Kamvar’s turn to sleep.

  If we live that long.

  He could not help but grow uncertain under the weight of a lifetime of superstition; if the dead did walk in this place, this would be their hour. The Serpent’s Eye was a slit, angry and thin as a knife scar, and under its silver light every noise took on a sinister echo. The buzzing of flies sounded like the final rattling breath of a dying man; the keening of some night bird brought to mind the unearthly shrieks of a spectre.

  Sahar, Ashuz… I may die here. I pray that my letter finds you.

  He felt a hand tap his shoulder. Tahmin pointed into the distance, and Kamvar’s eyes followed the line of his arm to the riverbank. In the darkness, he could see nothing.

  “What?” he asked. In the quiet of the night his whisper felt like an intrusion.

  “Look carefully,” responded Tahmin. “Something’s moving.”

  Kamvar squinted. An uneventful moment passed, and he was about to say that he’d seen nothing when he heard a rustling and saw what appeared to be reeds bending. “It’s probably just an animal come to drink,” he whispered.

  Tahmin shook his head. “I thought it had to be wind blowing through the trees, but then I realized I haven’t felt a hint of a breeze in hours. No, I saw something. Clearly, Kam. Don’t look at me like that. I’m no child. Whatever it was went on two legs.”

  “If you’re sure…” Of course he’s sure. Tahmin was no green recruit jumping at shadows. “…we need to tell Barsam. Our quarry may have posted sco
uts. They’re sure to know we intend to pursue. Ahamash knows I’ve seen enough of ambush in my lifetime.”

  Tahmin nodded, and redoubled his rowing. They overtook the boat ahead of them, and then another, drawing up swiftly alongside the Hound’s coracle. Barsam prayed while Hesam and Adnalu pulled at the oars. Kamvar beckoned to Hesam and pointed to the Hound. The bald Huntsman looked curious, but did not say anything. He laid a hand on the Hound’s shoulder, stirring him from his devotions.

  “Kamvar. What is it?” Barsam sounded sharp, alert. No trace remained of the melancholy night that had preceded this one.

  “We saw movement on the banks – men. I fear we may be discovered.”

  “I know,” said Barsam. “But they are not men. Not any longer, at any rate. They’re all blood and death, and mindless hunger. You’ve heard the stories, no doubt.”

  A chill ran through Kamvar’s body. “You mean that they’re true?”

  “The night hides many horrors. Yes, the stories are true. The dead walk in Alu-nin-hura.” Barsam made as though to return to his prayers, and then turned back towards them. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “They will not want to approach us. The sanctity of our prayers keeps them at bay… and if they grow too desperate and worst comes to worst, I have a means of protecting us. It’s just…”

  Kamvar waited a moment, but it seemed that the Hound had no intention of finishing that sentence.

  “Never mind,” Barsam finally said. “You did well to come to me, but there is nothing to worry about. Good night.”

  Barsam turned back to his prayers. “Nothing to worry about,” muttered Tahmin later, when they had returned to their place in the middle of the line of boats. “Ahamash.”

  Kamvar stifled a nervous laugh. “At least if we die here, Ahamash will see our deeds.” But will he approve?

  “I hope this is the end, Tam. If this Ilasin slips through our grasp again, if again we are forced to chase after every shadow of Ekka, I think I’ll lose my mind. Ahamash, what I wouldn’t give to wake up in my own bed, with my own wife.”

  Tahmin chuckled. “Aye, I wouldn’t mind waking up with your wife either. Instead, here I am, with your foul breath in my face every morning.”

  Kamvar forced a chuckle, but could not sustain it. He bowed his head and breathed a heavy sigh.

  “What sort of life is this?” he asked the humid night. There was no response to interrupt his thoughts, and so he continued. “We should be hunting goats in the mountains, or breaking new horses in the plains. I cannot do this any longer. Nor should you. Find a wife, sire some fat, happy babies.”

  “And leave them behind for months at a time while I leap into the lion’s jaws?” That stung, and Tahmin must have realized it. “I’m sorry, Kamvar, I didn’t mean it that way. Just… I’ve thought about marrying before, and then I think of our fathers. I … I could not.”

  “I know. You need not apologize. You’re right. I intend to leave the Hunt.”

  “I know.”

  Kamvar had expected the announcement to come as some surprise.

  “I’m that obvious?”

  Tahmin’s laugh confirmed his suspicions. “Of course, you idiot. You don’t sleep, you don’t joke. Every sentence you speak is punctuated by sighs. Even the thickest among us can tell that you’re unhappy, and… well, I may very well be the thickest among us, but I know you better than anybody.”

  “I suppose you do, at that. Tam, do the same. Don’t give your life to the Hunt.”

  Tahmin was silent a moment. “I have thought about it. But it’s too late for that. I’ve sworn an oath, to Majid and… and to myself. I’ve sworn that I will serve Ahamash by my life and my death. I will stay.”

  He added, “Not that I think any less of your decision, mind. I agree. You are not made for this life. Maybe you were, once. I blame Sahar – she’s made you soft.” If Tahmin’s words were reproachful, his tone was not. “There’s nothing left for you but to grow fat and toothless. Harrying the village kids with in-my-day tales of past glory, Kam… that’s the life for you!”

  Kamvar smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone that will listen about all the times I had to pull your meat from the pot. Tahmin the Bungler, I think I’ll call you. There will be songs.”

  Tahmin clapped his shoulder. They rowed in friendly silence for the rest of their shift, then woke Akosh and the Ekkadi soldier. Kamvar wondered if he would have difficulty sleeping, but the last sleepless night and the exhausting journey conspired against his whirling mind. He fell into dreamless black moments after wrapping himself in a cloak, the riverbank horrors forgotten.

  Kamvar woke to a misty dawn. The pink sky of morning was reflected in the vapours, painting the swamp with a palette that seemed too bright for this forlorn place. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, peering out at the riverbank. Signs of last night’s interlopers were nowhere to be seen.

  “Good morning, Kamvar,” Akosh said. “You’ve a few moments yet, if you’d like more sleep. We’re casting about for some dry land to stretch our legs and eat before continuing on.”

  If Akosh was still disappointed in Kamvar’s decision at Kutuanu’s temple – or, at least, in what he thought Kamvar’s decision had been – he had shown no sign of it since they’d left the city.

  Kamvar took in their surroundings. The swamp’s features had certainly changed – when last he was awake, the river they followed was distinct, a green furrow surrounded by solid banks of land. It had broadened while he slept, until the swamp resembled nothing so much as a shallow lake. Here and there could be seen tiny bands of earth, but they were few. Even the mangroves that had characterized the early parts of their journey had disappeared; the only greenery that remained was found in patches of tall reeds that poked through the broad river’s surface, and below that a tangle of weeds, occasionally visible when the light was right.

  Kamvar shook his head. “No, I’m awake. I wasn’t certain I would wake, so I may as well enjoy it.”

  Akosh turned to him and grinned. “I’m sure your bird-god has greater plans for an august hero like you than dying at ghoulish hands.”

  “Ah, so we did wake you last night.”

  Akosh nodded. “I heard your conversation with Barsam… and the other, with Tahmin. I like your decision, Kamvar. I hope you live long enough to see it through.”

  “I thought you would approve.”

  A cry from one of the boats ahead indicated that they’d found a likely place to stop, if only for a moment. Land, such as it was, consisted of a medallion of mostly-solid ground bisected by a reed-choked rivulet that rendered the centre of the island as muddy as its edges.

  Still and all, it’s nice to stretch my legs. Kamvar passed water, then ran on the spot for a moment to loosen his cramped muscles. Breakfast was a biscuit, runny white cheese from a clay jar, and a handful of nuts; not the best of fare, but certainly not the poorest. His soldier’s stomach was accustomed to worse.

  He heard a yawn behind him, and felt a hand on his shoulder. “Morning, Kam. Ahamash, but it’s nice to stand on… well, mud, I guess. Have you eaten? We’re back at the oars after prayers.”

  “Yes. Get it while it lasts. Our escorts didn’t skimp on provisions, but even so we’re running out of cheese.”

  Tahmin did not have much time to fill his stomach. Moments after he left in search of breakfast, Barsam called for attention. The morning prayer was brief and subdued. Shimurg was barely visible, a patch of bright haze peering down through fog and a bank of grey clouds. Rain? An ill omen.

  Or perhaps a good one. Do you really want Ahamash to see you today?

  After prayers, Barsam cleared his throat and spoke.

  “The scent is very strong here, and getting stronger. We are nearing our quarry. Again. Sergeant Adnalu informs me that we will draw near to the ruins of Alu-nin-hura before noon, and he suspects that this is where we will find Ilasin and her abductors. I know some of you…” this was directed more to Nerkut’s soldiers than the Hunt, “… have he
ard many tales about the cursed city. I will not say they are not true, but I will say this: our enemies will be simply flesh and blood. There are sorcerers among them, but you need not fear their power. Ahamash will hear my prayers, and he will protect us from devilry. As they say, all you need fear is sword and spear.”

  Scattered murmurs could be heard among the Lugal’s men. Their tone indicated that the men were not entirely convinced. Barsam continued, heedless.

  “My Hunt… this is our chance to end this and return to Sarvagadis. Those of you who came to Ekka alongside Hound Majid will be welcome to join my Hunt, if you so wish. We have all of us lost many brothers, and you have proven yourselves dependable. But there can be no mistakes. It is my great shame that a mere girl has eluded us for so long, and I do not intend for this farce to continue. Her guardian, this ‘Leonine’, may no longer be with her, but even so, be vigilant. If indeed he was not a party to her capture, expect him to have followed in pursuit. And if you see the Shinvat this day, know that you have done His work.”

  Barsam looked for a fleeting moment as though he wanted to say something more, but he decided against it. “That is all. Finish eating and return to the boats.”

  The coracle lurched suddenly, grinding against a hidden sandbar. The water had grown shallow, turning their boating into a dreadful slog. Kamvar grunted, pushing his oar hard against the mud below. It sank deep before the riverbed grew thick enough for him to find purchase, but he managed to free the coracle from its earthen prison. Until the next, anyway. They ran aground more frequently with every passing hour, rendering this last shift at the oars more tiring than he’d expected.

  Kamvar heard a murmur from ahead. In the first coracle, some fifty yards ahead, a figure had drawn a sword and thrust it into the air, where it gleamed dully in the occluded midday light of Shimurg. This is it. They brought the boat to rest, and leapt into squelching mud.

  Two of the Lugal’s soldiers were skilled military scouts, and these men would be their eyes. They would find few hiding places in the squat shadows of noon, but the sergeant had assured them that his men were cat-quiet and prudent, that their skills were equal to the task.

  They were impressive enough, Kamvar had to admit. Moments after the Hunt and their escorts had gathered at the rotted gate of a decades-old livestock fence, the scouts jogged nimbly away to survey the path ahead. They returned periodically to flash hand signals at their sergeant, which he interpreted to mean that all was clear. The company advanced uneasily, eyes drifting left and right, waiting for the scouts to show themselves once again.

  This pattern continued for what seemed like hours, while the ground solidified beneath Kamvar’s feet. The change was gradual at first. The reeds and mangroves that had characterized the choking swamp thinned, replaced by signs of prior inhabitation. They soon came upon the jagged remains of a mill, whose mud-brick roof had long since collapsed, taking with it large chunks of the wall. The ruins that still stood had the look of a mouth full of splintered teeth.

  “We’re getting closer,” whispered Tahmin, pointing ahead. Their Hound looked intent, excited. He looked back at them frequently and beckoned with his remaining hand for them to hurry, breathing heavily through parted lips. He looked like a man brought to climax. Whether it was bloodlust or something else, Kamvar could not tell, but it made him uneasy in any case.

  They passed another crumbled building, then another, before Kamvar felt slick stones under his feet. The water was still to his ankles, but beneath it was the unmistakable pattern of cobbled road. Akosh stopped suddenly enough that Kamvar almost walked into the old man’s broad back.

  “Look,” Akosh said, pointing ahead of them. In the distance was a high city wall, obscured by the bushes that congregated at its base and the vines that clung desperately to the cracks in its exterior. They had arrived in Alu-nin-hura.

  Before they reached the walls, the scouts returned, waving their arms overhead in warning. The soldiers stopped where they stood, some looking nervously to their weapons. Kamvar feared almost to breathe, until the scouts talked to Barsam. The Hound nodded, and whispered something to the men nearest him, who passed the message to the next men in turn. Akosh turned to Kamvar and whispered in his ear; Kamvar then turned to Tahmin to repeat the same message.

  “Eight armed men at least, possibly more, on the parapets. There’s a breach in the wall some twenty yards away from the gate, and it’s all they could find. Not much of a way to approach quietly by day. The Hunt and any other skilled archers are to report to Barsam at the head of the line. We will try to get in position and kill as many of the lookouts as we can before attacking.”

  Tahmin blanched. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  And so it begins.

  Kamvar, concealed behind the bole of a leafy tree, bent the staff of a bow around his leg and attached – too easily – the loop of a bowstring. The Ekkadi bow was a feeble thing with a weak pull, but at these distances its power would be sufficient. The sureness of its aim was another matter entirely.

  He tested the bow’s draw, then peered at the walls some fifty yards away. This was as close as the Hunt had been able to come, crawling snake-like in the muck behind trees, grass and reed.

  Whoever now camped in the ruins of this ancient place had prepared for the possibility of attack. Within a stone’s throw of the walls, the foliage had been cleared away. The scouts had spoken of a breach, a collapsed section wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Alu-nin-hura’s inhabitants had not rebuilt it, but from this distance Kamvar could see that crates had been stacked up in the passage in such a way as to provide a narrow egress and cover for defenders.

  The Lugal’s soldiers, less the eight of them that Sergeant Adnalu had identified as skilled bowmen, were concealed further still, where the swamp remained wild and green. They were to come running at the first signs of clamour.

  Perhaps it would not come to that, but Kamvar did not like their chances. They were only twelve, eight of the Lugal's men and four Sarvashi, shooting at eight targets that they could see, who could take refuge behind the wall’s crenellations at a moment’s notice.

  It would take a miracle to do this quietly, and if there were as many men behind the walls as there were atop them, the archers that had so painstakingly crept into position could well be dead before their reinforcements arrived. Still, Kamvar had not expected to make it this far without attracting the lookouts’ notice. Ahamash was watching. There was nothing left but to trust in the divine plan.

  Bow strung and an arrow notched, Kamvar looked to where Hesam lay concealed in the reeds. There were not enough trees for all of them, and so the best of the group – at least, by Barsam’s estimation – had chosen the most difficult role. Hesam's rise from the foliage would be their cue to fire.

  Kamvar’s heart began to race. In moments, there would be blood. The waiting was always worst. He measured his target, the second man visible from their left. At this distance, he was unremarkable, a small man with a small leather-capped head. He had made more difficult shots with his own bow, but it hung from the wall of his farmstead and he had little faith in this one. Ahamash, guide my arrows to strike true, and if this is to be my last battle, may Shinvat be steady beneath my feet.

  And, he added, if it isn’t… please, guide my feet upon the path I have chosen. The path I feel is right. Grant me your strength that I may follow my convictions, and your forgiveness if my actions are hateful to you.

  Hesam rose from the reeds and fired in one fluid motion, and then Kamvar’s own arrow was in flight. As soon as he released it, he knew he had missed. The shot was too weak, too low. A second arrow was notched by the time the first had splintered against the wall. It was in the air by the time Hesam’s man toppled from the parapets, an arrow through his throat. This second arrow was true, as though guided by God’s own breath.

  He notched another, but by this time their surprise attack had come to an end. Before Kamvar’s third s
hot could find its wings, no targets remained. He counted two heads before they disappeared. How many men had they hit?

  Two loud horn blasts split the air. Kamvar cursed in resignation, wheeling to the uncomfortably close breach. Now, they had a soldier’s duty. The Huntsmen, even with Nerkut’s help, were too few to afford casualties. If there were more men back there, behind the walls, they had to be kept from fortifying the only means of passage.

  “To me,” Kamvar shouted, hanging the bow from a branch and taking up his spear. He swung the shield he had been issued from his back. He felt clumsy beneath its weight, but was nevertheless glad of its solidity. They had prepared for a battle of ranks and files. There was no telling how many enemies were here.

  Kamvar ran to the wall, the others behind him, and followed its length to the breach. He could hear the stomps and battle cries of their reinforcements, who were still far away. He was the first man to the gap – an unenviable position – but his worries were unfounded. The entrance was deserted.

  “Damn.” Tahmin, behind him, breathed heavily. “They retreated?’

  Kamvar nodded, and sidled along the edge of the broken wall, shield at the ready, to peer cautiously into the courtyard beyond. Save for the corpse of a man they had shot from the wall, it was empty.

  Kamvar carefully approached the dead man. His neck had been broken in the fall, and his head now lolled in parallel to his arrow-punctured shoulder. A slave-brand was etched into the man’s forehead. He was not armoured, and save for a broad knife at his side, unarmed. If this was their enemies’ first line of defense, perhaps this would be less dangerous than expected.

  Remember the sewers? We lost brothers to men such as this.

  “I don’t like this, Kam,” Tahmin said. “They’ve probably retreated to hole up some place more secure, or intend to come back with reinforcements.”

  Before Kamvar could reply, the stomping and splashing of many feet announced the arrival of their company.

  “There’s nobody here. They ran,” said Kamvar. He shouldered his spear and waited for orders.

  The city was in significantly greater disrepair than its wall had been. It was said that when the full might of the Shalumes was unleashed upon the city, the waters rose to the height of the great temple of Nin itself. It seemed a fanciful exaggeration, yet the streets through which they crept were still drowned in places in fetid, ankle-deep water.

  The soldiers tried to move as swiftly as was possible without giving away their position to every enemy within a mile, but the water made this difficult. It was tiring work, wrestling at every step with moss-slick stones, facing at every turn the prospect of an ambush.

  Yet they saw neither prey nor pursuers. As far as the eye could see, there were only tumbled walls, and now and again stone buildings that had been carefully dismantled to serve in new construction. Most of the houses and stores that they had passed were less artfully ruined. The humble mud-brick buildings of Ekka were built for dry heat, not torrent and flood. They had the look of melted candles, brick having given way to clay and thus returned to the river from which it had been born.

  Barsam led them through the streets with the speed and determination of a man reaching the long-awaited end of a journey... or of a hound, straining at the leash, its prey’s scent driving it wild with exultation. Yazan shouted at the Hound to stop, to stay behind them, but Barsam ignored him. He appeared to fear neither arrow nor spear. Only the Hunt was real to him now.

  The Hound stopped suddenly, beside a fish-shaped fountain from which water no longer poured, the bowl matted with lichen. He turned to the company and exclaimed that a great sorcery had happened here, then fixed his eyes on the fountain. Mouth hanging partly open, breathing shallow, Barsam looked like a man caught in the throes of a religious fervour. Or an orgasm.

  “A sorcerer,” Barsam explained, wiping sweat from his brow. “Not the girl. Definitely not the girl. But strong. Very strong.”

  “The singer?” asked Tahmin.

  Barsam shook his head in response. “No. Too strong. That singer cannot compare to Ilasin, much less this… this force.” His enthusiasm seemed somewhat dampened as he considered the implications, which made Kamvar uncomfortable. A dark muttering rose behind him. Men intoned the names of their Ekkadi gods, praying for delivery from evil.

  Barsam, having noticed, snorted and shook his head. “We’ll not need your gods, never fear. This sorcery is strong, but I have faced stronger with Ahamash guiding my hand. If we are attacked, stay near me, and protect me from swords and arrows. As long as I am alive, I can keep us safe from the rest.”

  “That’s why you should be behind us… please, your Eminence,” Yazan said.

  Barsam nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I shall have to be more careful.”

  The Hound’s prudence did not last. The closer they drew to the centre of the watery labyrinth of Alu-nin-hura, the more feverish he became. He sweated profusely and muttered breathlessly, voice too low and too swift to make out individual words.

  It was not until they reached the base of a steep hill that Kamvar came to recognize Barsam’s litany. The words were still indistinct, but the chant had a rhythm he’d heard before, many times, in Majid’s clear voice.

  Shimurg, grant me your sight, that my eyes may pierce the veil of wickedness. Ahamash, grant me your arm, that my blade may pierce the heart of wickedness.

  The magical assault had already begun.

  They climbed the hill by way of a winding street in better repair than those below, assailed by sorceries Kamvar knew were there but could neither see nor feel.

  As they climbed, they passed collapsed roofs and crumbled walls, but as they neared the summit, these were replaced by buildings of enduring stone. Kamvar found himself peering uneasily at windows and doorways. Behind every recess could lurk an assassin’s blade or a poisoned arrow.

  Barsam was in the thick of a hedgehog of soldiers, spears glimmering in an afternoon sun that had finally clawed its way through the clouds, shields at the ready. The rest of them had no such luxury.

  They saw nobody, but signs of passage were plain. The dust that lay thick on the streets was in places disturbed by the prints of human feet and donkey hooves. All the footfalls led in the same direction, following the road that wound its way up and around the hill. Their prey had been here. Were they here still?

  Moments later, they happened upon an emptied wagon, and beside it two donkeys hitched to a post. The road had stopped winding, had turned into a stairway that led directly to the summit. It was too steep for a wagon, and too difficult for the beasts of burden to navigate.

  “Anki’s Chariot… I don’t believe it.” Barsam had ordered Akosh to be part of his human shield, but the old man had simply snorted and waved him away. Barsam had not been happy with that – nor indeed was Yazan, whose response included the choicest of Sarvashi curses – but at this point disobedience was expected. The offense had passed, like so many others, without remark, leaving Akosh free to walk with Kamvar at the head of the line. As a result, he was the first to see their final destination.

  The hill was crowned with the first three steps of a ziggurat, its top obscured by scaffolding. To the left of the temple’s great stair was an enormous wooden construction, a leviathan of pulleys and winches, and huge stones sitting atop platforms. Kamvar could make out a small group of armed men standing beside the machine, too distant to count.

  “Ahamash,” said Tahmin, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re building a temple.”

  “Rebuilding,” said Akosh. Kamvar detected a note of pride in the old man’s voice.

  Here, in the upper reaches of Alu-nin-hura, had stood the Firmament of Night, the second of Nin’s great temples to be torn stone from stone. Its blocks of granite and marble were too ill-omened to be used in construction, and so they had been scattered in the marsh. Until, evidently, somebody decided to dig them up and put them back where they belonged.

  “Rebuilding,” echoe
d Kamvar. “Ahamash, how many years must they have spent here, hidden away from the rest of Ekka?”

  “Admire their craftsmanship… another time,” said Barsam, his voice ragged with exhaustion. “It seems we’ve stumbled upon something… something even more than the girl. They need men for such a construction… hundreds, perhaps. But we are many, and we are armed and trained, and their sorceries will not touch us.”

  Barsam took a deep breath. Tired, head bent, he looked for a moment like an old man, but there was no hint of weakness in his voice when he spoke again.

  “You have all seen, or had described to you, the girl we are hunting. She is up there. I can feel it. If you can take her alive, do so. But we have a new priority. There is a greater devilry here than anything I had expected, and this… this heresy cannot be allowed to continue. We will purge this place. We will fall upon these heretics with bronze in our fists and flame in our hearts, and when the last of them falls, this accursed temple will be torn down anew.”

  His eye wild with fervor, Barsam pointed to the crest of the hill.

  “Forward!”

  The attack was less a charge, and more a slow, methodical trudge. They had crested the hill with no greater challenge than the tiring work of climbing so long a stair, but the difficult work began in earnest as they neared the temple steps. As they drew closer to their goal, it became clear that they were outnumbered. The enemy party was at least half again as large as their own.

  The whistle of a hundred black arrows greeted their arrival at the base of the stair. Shafts splintered against the steps and ricocheted away. Only a select few reached the company, and most of these ended harmlessly embedded in the shields of prepared soldiers. Kamvar heard one strangled cry, one blistering Ekkadi curse. First blood had been drawn, but they had survived the attack. Their enemies were numerous, but had few trained archers among them.

  “Company!” Barsam, his voice strained with exertion, shouted the order. “Answer back! Bristling Gate. Ekkadi, watch what my men do and repeat it.” An unnecessary order. These men were soldiers. Many had their own name for the formation, and the rest understood instinctively what was called for.

  Kamvar groped for his bow, then realized he had left it behind. Shrugging, he raised a shield. Tahmin was immediately at his left, and raised his own, so that the shields formed an interlocking wall. A moment later, Kamvar felt a tap on his spear-arm, informing him that he would be the right gate.

  “Fire!”

  Kamvar turned to the right, swinging his shield around; to his left, Tahmin did the same. The twang of a bowstring signaled the end of the maneuver. He turned back, closing the Gate.

  “Advance!”

  Tahmin and Kamvar took the stairs in lockstep, bracing at the distant hiss of bows releasing their charge. The archer that followed the pair huddled up against their backs, simultaneously supporting them against the coming impact and hiding himself from arcing arrows. Some of the enemy archers found their marks this time. The wooden drumming of arrows striking shields was everywhere around.

  “Fire!”

  The Gate opened and closed many times as they made their ascent. The closer they drew, the more arrows hit their mark. Kamvar’s own shield was struck, the force threatening to send him tumbling backwards, into and through their archer. He briefly envisioned himself lying dead, neck twisted, at the bottom of the stair.

  “Tam?”

  “Yes?”

  “We could have been farmers.”

  Tahmin laughed. “It’s more tempting some days than others, I’ll admit.”

  Once again, they heard the order to fire, and once again the Gate opened.

  Kamvar nearly stumbled when they reached the top of the first level of the enormous ziggurat, expecting a step and finding instead that they had reached a broad plateau. He heard another release of arrows and braced himself, heard more arrows striking shields, more cries from his companions.

  Once the volley ended, he peered over the rim of his shield to see how much further they had yet to go.

  The enemy was close enough now to be clearly visible. They were a ragtag band, reedy women and heavily muscled labourers, armoured mercenaries and robed priests, armed all of them with whatever was at hand – staves, sickles, hammers. Few among them were well equipped, though spears and gleaming armour could be seen. They had the look of a peasant militia, or an outlaw band, and Kamvar found himself pitying them. From the flat top of the ziggurat’s massive base step, the end of their climb – the finished third step atop which the scaffolds sat – looked much closer. Soon, the worshippers of Nin would be within range of the Hunt’s spears, and the massacre would begin in earnest.

  Barsam’s band fired in response and pushed on. From this distance, Kamvar could see the chaos their shots had wrought. Above them, men and women screamed and fell, or shoved each other away in a desperate bid to find shelter – any shelter – behind stone or scaffold. As had happened so many times before, arrows answered their own, but the volley had grown thin. Kamvar did not know whether the temple’s defenders were running out of arrows or archers.

  They reached the wide plateau of the ziggurat’s second level far more swiftly than they had the first, owing not only to the faltering defense, but also to the temple’s construction. It had been erected in the monolithic style of the most ancient of Ekkadi temples, with the first step at least twice as high as the remainder. Before them was but one more stairway, and then they would be at the top.

  “Onward!” Yazan shouted. He was with Barsam at the very centre of a shield wall. The Hound was flagging. His face was still that of a dervish in the throes of religious ecstasy, but his breathing was ragged and his shoulders drooped. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. So complete was his concentration that he was no longer able even to give orders.

  What sorcery must this be, that has bent him so completely? It was best not to dwell on the answer. Magic enough to wear down a Hound’s God-given defenses would no doubt spell the end of their assault, if by some means Barsam’s protection was taken away. Nerkut’s soldiers – Ahamash bless them, they were braver men than he had ever expected they would be – had been made to understand the enormity of their task, and so the Hound’s wall proved impenetrable. Fallen men were replaced swiftly and uncomplainingly by whoever was closest at hand, every warrior well aware that Barsam's death meant his own.

  “See how the heathen fears us!” cried Yazan. “Press on!”

  They were close enough to see the desperation; close enough to hear orders shouted in a deeply accented male voice: “Cowards, hold the line!”

  Moments later, when the vanguard of their assault had made it halfway up the stair, a final surprise was unleashed. “Now!” shouted the enemy commander. Kamvar heard grunting from above, interspersed with anguished shrieks.

  “Brace!” shouted an Ekkadi at the point. Kamvar dug in his heels and supported the man in front of him, another of the Lugal’s soldiers. He could see nothing over the next man, and found himself grateful for the strong shoulders pressing into his back. Ahead there was a metallic din. The man in front of him swayed only a little from whatever impact had taken place up front.

  The scrape and clatter of bronze against stone drew Kamvar’s eyes to the right, and suddenly he understood. They had been hit not by a stone or a log, but a man, one of the few armoured worshippers of Nin. Kamvar watched as he careened down the stair, and saw the splinters of a snapped arrow shaft protruding from his split helm.

  The corpses. Ahamash, they’re throwing their dead at us.

  Kamvar heard a woman’s pained scream far ahead, and moments later another scream in the same voice, as their column shuddered and swayed from impact. And… and their injured, he realized, a sickness in the pit of his stomach.

  The morbid avalanche continued, until finally he lost count of the bodies – alive and otherwise – that he saw pass.

  They lost one man, when a dead labourer bounced unpredictably o
ver the shields of the men in the fore and took with him a surprised Ekkadi at the edge of the column. “Nua!” called an anguished voice, and then Kamvar saw the Lugal’s man – one of the scouts, he realized with a start – tumbling down the stair. Kamvar hoped the man would live, that he would escape a broken neck or a shattered spine. If he did not, he would be the only casualty of this last desperate gambit. The line had held.

  “At them! Charge!” Yazan cried finally. The column lurched onward, at first slowly and then picking up speed. Kamvar felt the heaviness in his legs drain away as he jogged up the stair, battle cries stirring his blood.

  “Ahamash!” Tahmin’s shout nearly deafened his left ear, and they ran side by side, breathing like bellows. Above them, the dying screamed in concert with the shriek of bronze against bronze. The defenders did not manage to hold the high ground for even a moment. They were bowled over, hurled aside, pushed back. When Kamvar finally crested the final steps, he found a plateau soaked in blood.

  The defenders fought ferociously, but they were clearly outmatched. The temple stair was strewn with the dead and dying, as many of them wearing Nerkut’s colours as not. At the plateau’s centre, shaded by scaffolding, the most martial-looking of Nin’s worshippers had formed a circle around something Kamvar could not make out through the press of bodies.

  “Protect the priestess!” shouted the accented man that had bellowed orders while they ascended the temple. His voice drew Kamvar’s eye. A Bhargat, he realized with a start. The commander, strangest of a strange company, was at least two heads taller than anybody around him. Eyes like glowing coals dominated his flame-red face. From so close, the mixed nature of the temple guard was clear. They were men and women, many slave-branded. Some were soft and doughy, others whip-thin and made leathery by the sun.

  A cry alerted Kamvar to a small band of robed men with spears and long knives, who chanted prayers as they fought. At their feet were many bodies, and they continued to push forward. The battle in Inatum’s sewers, which now seemed so long ago, was brought again to the fore of Kamvar’s mind. He looked around him for support and found Akosh beside him. The old soldier followed the line of his finger and grinned lustily. Together, they charged.

  The closest that Kamvar came to injury that day was a sword swing that skittered off the edge of a shield brought too late into play and bounced harmlessly from the bronze scales that covered his arms. His own spear fared better. He did not know how many men he had killed and how many he had injured, but his and Akosh’s arrival had turned battle into rout.

  Elsewhere, the attacking forces pressed inexorably against the tight knot of defenders at the plateau’s centre, two walls of shield and spear, their own larger and better armed. It was now only a matter of time. The Bhargat commander seemed to be the last to realize this – he still bellowed orders, and probed the Hunt’s defenses with an enormous long-bladed spear. Still, his line of men continued to thin before the soldiers’ onslaught, and soon even he had to concede the loss.

  It was said that the Bhargat did not know the fear of death. Here, at the highest point of ruined Alu-nin-hura, Kamvar saw the truth of the adage. The man from the Molten Peaks, inflamed, threw back his head and roared an unfamiliar word in a language Kamvar had never heard spoken. He leapt from the cover of his men into the enemy, a charge of one man, casting about with his cruel weapon. His prodigious strength hurled bronze-armoured men aside as though they were children, killing several. But he was still only one man. He was surrounded and brought down, Yazan’s blade in his back.

  With this final loss, the resistance faded. Several of the harried defenders cast away their weapons and sued for clemency. None was granted. They were cut down to the very last, a sweat-drenched Hakshi woman who swayed unsteadily on her feet: the priestess, unarmed, but for ineffectual sorceries.

  “Take her alive. We give her to Shimurg,” said Yazan, Hound Barsam leaning wearily against his shoulder.

  It was not to be. Alu-nin-hura’s final defender produced a knife from her sleeve, and cut her own throat.

  “It’s over,” said Barsam wearily. The sorceress’s blood pooled at the base of an altar to which a gagged girl was bound.

  The Hunt’s losses, in the end, were minimal. Beyond cuts and scrapes, the Huntsmen were unharmed – at least, they were no fewer than they had been that morning, and that was a cause for some relief. Tahmin complained of a pain in his right elbow, which had been struck by an errant club, but the wound was superficial. Hesam’s chin was split with a gash that looked more painful than it truly was.

  The Lugal’s soldiers had fared less well. The temple climb had failed to dent their armour, but the battle at the summit had rent it. In the final moments of their mission, they had lost almost half their number.

  As Shimurg approached the Bones, the slapdash camp they had erected at the base of the temple still buzzed with activity.

  Not a man among them – neither Ekkadi nor Sarvashi – wished to leave the fallen behind in this ill-omened place, and so they had spent the evening of a tiring battle carrying the dead and wounded down the temple steps, while men too badly hurt to lift a body contrived stretchers from spears and cloaks. Among these was the scout Nua, the only man among them to fall from the temple stair. He had shattered a kneecap and broken a leg in the fall, and howled in pain while another man splinted the wound, but he lived. By the time night fell, he was even jovial. He teased his companions for being saddled with work from which he was exempt, and made light of his impending vacation from Nerkut’s guard.

  Kamvar’s last man was a grey-bearded veteran who had suffered a grievous stomach wound. Several hours ago, the man had begged for a soldier’s mercy. Now he had his repose. Kamvar lowered the dead man carefully to the street outside the camp, his owns muscles groaning in protest at a bloody day’s work.

  Can I really do this? Tonight? How far can I possibly get with my legs shaking so?

  The rest of the men would be just as spent. Kamvar was making excuses, and he knew it. Still, it was so tempting to call the mission complete and return home, to forswear the idiot’s life that he was now mystified he had ever chosen. All I would have to do is… nothing.

  And yet, Ilasin had well and truly broken his heart. She lay trussed and gagged now at Barsam’s feet. Her hair was matted and filthy, and her eyes were red from weeping. She was, in all, a piteous sight. For all that she remained stick-thin and saturnine, she was very different from the girl he had sighted briefly in the sewers of Inatum, before that horrific shriek had split the stillness and shown him visions of death and horror.

  It was her gaze. He had caught her eye, an hour or so ago, while carrying the body of a boy who looked only days too old to have been sent back to Nerkut with the horses. The look in her eyes was flat, disinterested, dejected; that of a broken slave, not a ten-year-old girl. She was so young; much too young to have been so ill used.

  Stealth no longer an issue, the company had elected to start a fire. Barsam, who was clearly bone-weary, seemed nevertheless jubilant when he rose to speak to them. His voice was no longer the curt growl of a man worn down by a lifetime of pent-up rage. Exhausted and elated, Barsam brought to mind Sahar after the birth of their son.

  Ahamash, don’t be ridiculous. Can I think of nothing but children these days?

  The Hound did not speak for long. He thanked the men for their sacrifice, and promised them a place at God’s table. He reminded them that their duty of vigilance had not yet ended, and would not until they returned safely to Nerkut. Then, he staggered away, a grin contorting the scar that marked his lost eye, and all but collapsed beside Ilasin. Yazan had followed him, and the two exchanged a brief word that ended in another smile from the Hound. He clasped Yazan’s hand and waved him away.

  “Volunteered for Barsam’s Hunt, I don’t doubt,” said Tahmin.

  Kamvar nodded. “Most likely. They are made for each other, these days.” There was a bitterness in his voice that he had no intention of conceali
ng. “Please, Tam… I know you have your reservations about my piety, but please. Just tell me that you won’t do it. If you must, find another Majid.”

  Tahmin smiled at Kamvar and shook his head. “No, I’ll not be joining him. For one thing, I have no interest in Sarvagadis. I’ve seen enough of swamps. For another… well, we’ll see. Never mind.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  Tahmin shrugged. “I was thinking of joining the priesthood, actually.”

  Kamvar stared at his friend, dumbfounded.

  “The peaceful one!” Tahmin added, then laughed. “But don’t tell him I said that. I’ve been thinking it through. I don’t enjoy this life – of course I don’t – and I think maybe my oath to the Prophet should be served a different way.”

  “You know you’ll need to… uh, learn, right? You know, read books. Prepare sermons.”

  Tahmin punched Kamvar in the shoulder, and then winced as the momentarily forgotten pain in his elbow flared up.

  “I won’t be far. You had best believe you’ll be helping me with my lessons again. Can you believe it, though? Me, a priest?”

  Kamvar could, and said so. It seemed somehow fitting.

  “What will you do, Akosh?” asked Tahmin.

  “Hm?” Akosh yawned, bearlike. He had been drifting in and out of sleep. “Do about what?”

  “About… well, life. What will you do now that this is over?”

  “It’s not over yet, Tahmin,” he said, but the reminder seemed perfunctory. The look in his eyes was that of a man gazing far into the distance. “I will return to my post as Ila-uanna’s guard captain. And then, gods willing, I’ll show her the Stone of Lanapish.”

  For a moment, Tahmin was confused. Then he started to laugh. “I hope it’s as impressive as the stories say.”

  “I’ve never heard any complaints.”

  “Well, goats have a certain quiet dignity,” said Kamvar.

  “Funny man,” said Akosh, rolling his eyes – still, a smile pulled at the lines of his face. “So that only leaves you, Kamvar. Have you decided what to do?”

  Yes. Ahamash give me strength, I have.

  “Yes. I will forswear this life and return to my homestead. I’ll spend the days eating Sahar’s too-dry cooking, tending to my horses and pigs, and teaching my boy letters. And, Ahamash willing, I’ll put another child into Sahar. Then perhaps a third. Maybe I’ll sire a whole litter.”

  It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth, and his cheeks reddened. Honourable men did not lie, especially not to childhood friends, but what other choice did he have? He trusted in the night to hide his face from Ahamash and Tahmin alike. Still, his oldest friend regarded him with a look that seemed to probe at his defenses, a gaze too knowing for his comfort.

  You’re being paranoid.

  Mercifully, Tahmin’s attention was diverted by nervous laughter that had taken hold of a group of soldiers nearby. As quickly as it had started, it was gone, leaving the men looking uncomfortable, even bashful. Kamvar sensed a tension among them that he recognized as every victorious warrior’s curse to bear: elation at having survived, tempered with guilt. Laughter seemed an affront to the dead when the wounds of their passing still bled.

  One of the men noticed that Tahmin was looking his way and averted his eyes with a scowl. I wonder how much blame they place on us for this. For all that they had fought together, there was nevertheless a palpable distance between the Lugal’s soldiers and their own men, the more so now, after they had suffered so many casualties and the Huntsmen so few.

  Even Akosh, normally popular with the rank and file, had avoided the soldiers’ company. Earlier, Kamvar had asked the old man why he did not join a group of soldiers dicing and drinking around the fire. Akosh had dismissed the question, claiming that he’d no money left to put up, but his broad face had betrayed a strange melancholy.

  Still, not all the Ekkadi wished them ill. One of the nearby soldiers stood up, a wineskin in hand, and wandered over to the three friends with a smile. Kamvar recognized the man, though he did not know his name. They had exchanged condolences earlier, while carrying dead men from the temple stair.

  The man sat down with them. “You are the three that visited the High Priest, are you not?” he asked, passing his wineskin to Tahmin on his left. Tahmin took a pull and winced, a sour expression on his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the skin to Kamvar.

  “Yes,” said Tahmin. “What on earth is this?”

  “It is koumiss; a wine made of mare’s milk. We found several skins among the cultists’ belongings.”

  “It’s… different,” said Tahmin, forcing a grin. “Bracing.”

  Kamvar elected to sniff the stopper. His nostrils were assaulted with the acrid, salty smell of curdled milk.

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” said Akosh. “I’m sure you hill-men drink far worse.”

  Shrugging, Kamvar tipped the skin back and took a swig. The drink was sour, but refreshing. “It’s unusual, but not unpleasant. Thank you.”

  “You’re joking,” said Tahmin. “Ahamash, we really do need to return home.”

  Kamvar ignored him, and offered the skin to Akosh, who snatched it lustily from his outstretched hand. “You asked about the High Priest?”

  “Yes,” said the soldier. “The High Priest prayed with a few of us, before we left. He said that you three were honourable men, ready to do what is just, and that we should feel proud to fight alongside you.” He gave Kamvar a strange look, as though he was sizing him up.

  “Some of my friends do not agree. They would be happy to slit you from stomach to throat if need be. Many of us are proud men, and do not love the Merezadesh. But I trust that High Priest Ananta is a better judge of character than we are, and you have never shown yourself to be anything but honourable. So consider this a peace offering, of sorts, between honest men. We do you a great wrong by turning up our noses and cursing under our breath. You have fought bravely at our side, and I hope that you will do so again.”

  “Th-thank you,” said Kamvar to the unexpected compliment. “That is very kind… I am sorry, I do not know your name. Too many new faces.”

  “I am Lubash,” said the soldier. “Will you join us in our tent? Perhaps if the men have a chance to speak to you and drink with you, they will warm to your presence.”

  They drank that night with Lubash and Belshanu, Adnad and Debu, and two other men whose names Kamvar had difficulty matching to faces. Some of the Ekkadi were distant at first, but their reservations seemed to melt away when they learned that the old Karhani who traveled alongside them was, in fact and not rumour, none other than the Stone of Lanapish. It seemed sometimes, Tahmin noted, that every fighting man between the rivers knew Akosh by reputation. Akosh had reddened, but he reveled in the attention.

  During Akosh’s third tale, sleep began to take Kamvar. He nearly drifted off after Akosh’s cattle theft, discovered, turned from a small larceny into an armed standoff between two cities.

  A look at the sky confirmed that it was indeed getting late. The night-fires had begun their nightly descent, and many bedrolls were already full with men who snored in concert with the piteous moans of the painfully wounded.

  Kamvar excused himself, thanking the Ekkadi for their hospitality, and rose to his feet. They were steady, which was good. He had been mindful of the koumiss passing his lips. He stretched out on his furs and closed his eyes, wishing that if he opened them he would see his wife and son. He could not sleep, however. It had to be tonight, while everybody was weary and inattentive. If not, he was certain to lose his nerve.

  Moments later, a hand shook his shoulder.

  “Kamvar.”

  “Tam? You look serious.”

  Tahmin nodded. “I… just need to tell you something. Earlier, when you said that I doubted your piety, you were wrong. I don’t. I don’t at all. Ahamash, we’ve known each other our entire lives. I know the measure of your character better than any man here. It�
�s… this is embarrassing.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just that the things you say, sometimes, the doubts that you have, about the Hounds and about the Temple. I share those doubts, Kamvar. Of course I do. And it shames me to admit it sometimes. It goes against so much of what we’ve been taught, but…”

  Tahmin trailed off, groping after the words to describe sentiments he was loath to admit.

  “How well do you remember my father?”

  A gap-toothed grin hidden inside a thick beard; the scent of leather and sweat; big, hairy-knuckled hands handing him a lovingly carved wooden sword on that last birthday they spent together, before Tahmin’s father and Kamvar’s died in lands they had only ever seen on a map. Kamvar felt tears coming on. Oh, that wounds so old can still sting. He took a breath and composed himself.

  “I remember. He reminds me so much of you. Or the other way around, I guess. In those days, he seemed like he was always smiling. He always had a treat for us. Do you remember that harvest moon, when he pulled us from our beds and marched us into the common room, pretending all the while that he was furious that we’d dared to go to bed with the beer jars still sealed? We must have been... what, seven years old?”

  “I remember. I remember him laughing at me the next morning, too, when I was too sick to touch breakfast.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Tahmin turned to him and smiled wanly. “If he’d known we followed in his footsteps and became fighting men, I think he’d have killed me with whatever was at hand. He’d have bludgeoned me with a goat, Kamvar, and then he’d probably have gone after your father for letting you get away with such foolishness. He dreaded being called away to battle. He told me once, maybe a year before Dolnaya, that one day a messenger would come to our house to tell us that he would never come home again. And then, when I burst out crying, he took me by the shoulders and s-shook me.”

  Tahmin closed his eyes and collected his thoughts, drawing deep breaths to steady himself. “He told me, ‘It’s too late for me. I’ve sworn my oaths. My son, don’t repeat my mistakes. I know you like to wave your sticks around and play at war, but some day – and it could be some day soon – you’ll need to be a man, and put those games away. Follow the teachings of Ahamash, of God. Not of men. There’s no glory in stepping over corpses, wondering how many friends you’ve lost this time. Live a life of peace. Tam, you’re headstrong and emotional, and you always will be, because you’re my son. Promise me that you’ll be careful, and follow Kamvar. Kamvar’s careful where you’re impulsive, and thoughtful where you’re… well, like me. Let him be your guide, and I promise you’ll do well.’ And then,” said Tahmin, thrusting a finger into Kamvar’s chest, “you went and joined the seminary to become a Huntsman, and made a liar of him. And I followed you because he was right – I am headstrong and emotional.”

  Kamvar, sheepish, hung his head. “He said that? I can’t imagine Uncle being so… eloquent.”

  “Well, there was more cursing and bluster, and he repeated himself a lot more. I’ve had almost twenty-five years to clean it up.”

  Kamvar laughed. That sounded a little more like uncle Siyamak. “I guess we are destined to make the same mistakes as our fathers,” he said. “Hopefully, I’ve recognized mine before it’s too late. I really don’t want Ashuz to grow up like I did, without a father to guide his hand.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. And… well, I still think my father was right. And I’ll still follow wherever you lead.” Kamvar thought he detected a subtle mockery in the curve of Tahmin’s smile and the sly narrowing of his eyes. Could he know?

  Kamvar glanced furtively in both directions to ensure nobody was listening in on their conversation, and sidled closer to his lifelong friend.

  “Tahmin,” he whispered. “What are you saying?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. Whatever you’re planning, I’m with you.”

  “How do you know I’m planning something?”

  “Do you really think I didn’t know you were lying, there in the temple of Kutuanu? ‘I’ve sworn an oath’ indeed. You know, you underestimate me. You always have.”

  Kamvar’s cheeks started to burn.

  “… And I think,” said Tahmin, “that I – and Akosh – already have some idea of the foolish and dangerous thing you intend to do. He’s with us also.”

  “I… I am humbled. I really have underestimated you, and I’m sorry. I’ve been too self-absorbed to think that you might also be struggling with your beliefs.”

  Tahmin shrugged. “You have my forgiveness without the need of asking it… although it is nice to hear you admit that. But anyway, about what I was saying earlier: I don’t doubt your faith, Kam. I doubt my own, for doubting you. If there’s anyone in this world that I can trust to be doing Ahamash’s work, it’s you.”

  I pray that I am worthy of your trust, my friend. He clasped Tahmin’s hand and pulled him into his embrace.

  “Where is Akosh?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the emotion that threatened to overcome him. “You’re right, I do intend to spend tonight doing something foolish and dangerous. I really do not want to involve you, but…”

  “Save it. We’re in, and that’s that.”

  “So what’s the plan, then?” asked Akosh, a half-hour later. “I know you have something up your sleeve, and unless I miss my guess, it has to do with the High Priest’s daughter.”

  “Yes,” said Kamvar. “Of course. I … I don’t like this whole thing. Nerkut is playing politics with a child’s life, and I am ashamed that we have had a part in it. Sorceress though she may be, she’s… what, nine years old? Ten? I… I can’t. I have to save her.”

  “So,” said Akosh, unperturbed. “What’s the plan, then?”

  Kamvar looked from Akosh to Tahmin. Both men looked determined, and neither seemed at all surprised. I hope Barsam doesn’t find me so transparent.

  “I… well, Barsam’s still with the girl. I was thinking to offer to take over the watch. If he agrees, I’ll wait until he’s asleep, cut the girl loose and then we run back to the boats. With three men, it’ll be easier. We can take two boats, and load one up with supplies. Knock holes in the rest. We ought to be able to reach the Shalumes before the rest of the men can even get out of the swamp, and from there we can go any place our faces aren’t known.”

  “And if Barsam doesn’t go to sleep?” asked Tahmin.

  “Then I’ll do what I must.” It had taken some time to steel himself to the possibility that there would be bloodshed. He looked over to where the girl was held captive, and cursed.

  “Yazan. Damnation, Yazan has taken over for the Hound. Well, I suppose that changes nothing. I’ll still kill him, if need be.”

  Kamvar’s voice trailed away. If need be.

  They would be happy to slit you from stomach to throat if need be. Suddenly, Kamvar understood. The High Priest had no intention of trusting in the vagaries of fate.

  “Ahamash, I’m such a fool.”

  Tahmin looked at him quizzically.

  You have fought bravely at our side, and I hope that you will do so again.

  “Lubash, the soldiers. They’re the priest’s men. They intend to spring Ilasin. I’d stake your life on it.”

  “Ahamash, of course,” said Tahmin. “We are fools, aren’t we? It’s plain as day.”

  “All that remains, then, is to offer our own services,” said Akosh.

  They crept to the tent where they had drunk with the Ekkadi soldiers earlier that night, careful to stay out of the sight of sentries. Barsam had posted many guards – too many, Kamvar realized, and he was suddenly glad of the possibility of help – but the dangers of which they were aware lay outside the camp.

  “Lubash,” whispered Kamvar, passing through the entry flap of the large army tent. A number of huddled forms stirred beneath night linens; one of them rose to a crouch.

  “Who is that? Kamvar?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Lubash, I need to ask you a question.”

&nb
sp; “Oh?” Lubash’s voice was tense with pretense; he played poorly at nonchalance. Kamvar suddenly became aware of a man to his right, who moved behind him to block the tent entrance.

  I hope I’m right about this. But what was there to worry about? Of course he was correct. The signs could have been no plainer on a map.

  “To whom do you owe your allegiance? High Priest Ananta, or the Lugal?”

  The unmistakable hiss of bronze leaving a sheath came from behind him.

  For a moment there was silence, while Lubash considered his words. Finally, he said simply, “Ananta.”

  “I thought as much,” said Kamvar, sighing in relief. “We have come to take you up on your offer. We will fight side by side once more.”

  Outside the tent, a marsh frog let out a long croak.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” said Lubash, falling to his knees. “Kutuanu provides. I was afraid I was making a terrible mistake when I went to you, but his Holiness was right. Kutuanu provides.”

  Ananta’s men had numbered eight before entering the marsh, and had lost only two of their number. Lubash explained that they were members of a small group that had long served as the High Priest’s eyes and ears within the Lugal’s guard, under the direction of a general whose loyalty to Nerkut was both beyond reproach and largely imaginary. The High Priest was no stranger to the tawdry matters of intrigue and politics. Are they ever?

  The plan, in the end, was not at all dissimilar from Kamvar’s own. Three of Lubash’s men had drawn the watch that night, and were already at their stations at the southern edge of the camp. The remaining three, with Kamvar and his friends, would creep into position near them. Two other sentries, men loyal to the Lugal, were uncomfortably near their planned escape route. They would have to be killed.

  Kamvar would approach Yazan, who watched Ilasin in Barsam’s place, and offer to take over. Then, he would escape with Ilasin by the south, where the guards would raise no cry, and head for the boats.

  Yazan, please agree. If he did not… Kamvar did not want to think about it. He was committed, now. He could and would bring his blade to bear. Still, the thought of murder in cold blood – of a brother, no less, a man he had fought beside for years, a man he had once loved, still loved – turned his stomach. But it had to be done.

  Ahamash, forgive me. But it was night. His sins would be his own to carry, the God blind to his actions. That was less comforting than Kamvar had thought it would be.

  “Barsam has to die,” said Akosh. “If we leave him behind us, he will track us as surely as he has tracked the girl thus far.”

  Kamvar shifted uncomfortably where he was sitting. It was true, as far as it went, but he felt, somehow, that any such attempt would doom them, that the Hound would catch the scent of his treachery.

  “We cannot,” said Lubash, shaking his head. “He is too well guarded, and we cannot risk waking the entire camp – if we do, we shall never leave this place alive.”

  Relief warred with apprehension, but ultimately, relief won. There was something about the Hound that still made Kamvar feel as though he was just a silly child trying to sneak mischief past a stern father. And this little adventure would merit far worse than a switching.

  Akosh did not like the plan, and he said so, but he conceded that Lubash was likely right. And so, they were decided.

  “Can’t sleep?” asked Yazan.

  Kamvar shook his head, and sat down beside the grim Huntsman. In the dim glow of firelight, the burns that were Yazan’s face seemed less pronounced. Kamvar imagined that he could see the old Yazan, the man who had lost neither friend nor face to a Sarvashi Daiva.

  Idiot. Your guilt is making you stupid. Yazan is an obstacle; you can ruminate on the past when this is through

  “Had to piss,” said Kamvar. “And after I did, I realized I’m no longer sleepy.”

  “Lucky you.” Yazan yawned. “I’m two shakes from collapsing where I sit.”

  “Go to sleep, then,” said Kamvar, hardly believing his fortune. “I can’t, so I may as well take over.”

  Yazan looked his way – too appraisingly, thought Kamvar – then turned back, stifling another yawn. “I’d rather not. Hound Barsam expects to see me here when he wakes, and he’s not the sort of man I want to surprise. But you’re welcome to keep me company. I could use someone to talk to. Keeps my eyes open.”

  Kamvar’s stomach turned. He imagined himself plunging a knife into Yazan’s throat, then looked at Ilasin in a bid to steady himself. The girl seemed to be sleeping. At least someone is. “Tam thinks you took him up on his offer,” Kamvar said. “Do you intend to join Barsam’s Hunt?”

  Yazan nodded. “I have come to admire the Hound. He is strong, uncompromising. I’ll admit I was a bit contemptuous at first – I mean, we’ve all heard the stories, yes? – but I think I understand, now.

  “How many deaths has this waif caused?” Yazan asked, pointing at Ilasin. “Every place we followed her to, we found corpses. And she is only a child. What could she become? Barsam understands what it means to hunt Daiva. He is pitiless because he must be, because it is the only way to protect the rest of us.”

  “Majid never failed in his duty,” said Kamvar.

  “It was only a matter of time. Majid was weak and undisciplined. Like you.” There was bitterness in Yazan’s voice. “Sorry, but that’s the truth. He had all these big ideas, these foolish hopes of redemption for… creatures, demons. Not men. I was with him longer than you. He was exactly the sort of man who was just waiting to ‘interpret’ the Prophet’s words and damn us all. You should join Barsam too, Kamvar. It would be good for you. Your faith is weak. He can make it stronger, like he did mine.”

  He’s become a fanatic. Kamvar realized. Somehow, that made things easier.

  “Perhaps I will at that,” said Kamvar. “I still don’t know what to do with myself once this mission is over.” His hand inched towards the broad-bladed knife at his side, came to rest on the pommel.

  Ahamash, forgive me for what I am about to do.

  “Good,” said Yazan.

  Ahamash, the Merciful. Ahamash, the Forgiving. Majid’s faith had never been weak – it was true. The Shimurg rose anew every day. Even the freshest priest knew that his rebirth carried the promise of redemption for any and all.

  Ahamash will forgive me.

  The blade left its scabbard with the barest whisper; Kamvar twisted where he sat and swung the knife in an arc, pommel first, striking Yazan hard in the temple. He would not kill him. Not like this. Yazan also deserved to rise anew.

  His brother, struck unconscious, began to topple. Kamvar steadied him and looked around. The noise of the strike appeared to have gone unnoticed. There were no cries, and nobody stirred.

  He knelt down before Ilasin, sawing at her bonds. The commotion woke her. Her eyes were suddenly open, gleaming with reflected firelight.

  “Do not be afraid,” Kamvar whispered. “I am here to help you, to get you away from here.”

  No sign remained of the dejection that had so affected him. Ilasin’s eyes were clear and alert. When the last of the ropes fell away, he removed her gag. She looked uncertain for a moment, and then she smiled.

  It was not until several hours later that Kamvar heard a distant horn blowing an alarum. With a shrug, he concentrated on nearer sounds: Akosh snoring behind him, and the lapping of water against his oars.

  When Shimurg rose that morning, Kamvar greeted him proudly.