Teferi only frowned and looked at the vultures.
“They didn’t bury them?”
“We were battle-weary, and shorthanded, with our own dead to bury. Havilah said they deserved to be left for the vultures.”
“You don’t think so?”
“They were evil creatures who deserved to die, but they are also of my people.”
Anok nodded and put his hand on Teferi’s shoulder. “Come then. I will help you bury them, and to do whatever it is your people do for the dead.”
Teferi smiled sadly and nodded. “Perhaps I have not lost my friend Anok to darkness. Not yet.”
THAT NIGHT, ANOK sat alone at the fire. Teferi had been there for a while, but neither had been in a talkative mood, and Teferi had finally retired to their tent.
Anok wasn’t sleepy, and he was having vague memories of dreams from the night before, troubling dreams, doubtless brought on by the Mark of Set.
Yet today, at last, he wasn’t sorry he had the mark. Whatever he’d done, he had saved them all. Magic had won out when blade, skill, and muscle had failed him. Was that so bad?
If the others feared him, what of it? Back in Khemi, he had seen how a fearful reputation could be an effective tool. It had served the temple, it had kept the gang lords at bay, and it had even served Fallon, merely by her slight association with him. It could serve him as well. In fact, should it not serve him first?
He was alone, but it suited him. He poked at the fire, watched the dancing flames, and kept company with his own thoughts.
So lost was he that he did not hear Havilah’s approach until the old nomad sat down on the stone next to him.
Anok glanced over at him. The old man looked into the fire, shadows dancing across his craggy face in the light of the flickering flames.
“Don’t you fear me, as the others do?”
The old man did not turn to face him. His eyes did not move at all. But after a time he spoke. “I fear your power, yes. Only a fool would not. But I do not fear you.”
“Then you are wise. You and your sons are honorable and brave, and have served us well. I mean you no harm, and offer only my service and protection.”
Havilah did glance at him finally, from the corner of his eye. “What you mean is of little consequence. Magic serves the passions of the heart more than the will of the mind.”
Anok chuckled, that this old nomad should lecture him about sorcery. “What do you know about magic?”
Havilah looked insulted. “I have traveled the caravan roads of Stygia all my life. I have traveled with countless wizards, sorcerers, and priests. I have even escorted Thoth-Amon himself through the wilderness three times, once half-dead after an encounter with the barbarian king of Aquilonia. Though I pray each time that it will be the last, I have seen dark sorcery many times before yesterday.”
Anok blinked in surprise. “Forgive my arrogance, then. My father taught me to respect my elders. I shouldn’t have forgotten that lesson.”
Havilah smiled slightly. “You defer to your father’s wisdom. That is not something one often hears from a sorcerer, much less a priest of Set.”
“I’m only an acolyte, not a priest, and barely more than a novice at that.”
“But you have power.”
“That I do.”
“Then you must know that in the Cult of Set, that is a better coin than gold and even more tempting to those who would steal it.”
“What do you care? And you still haven’t told me why you don’t fear me. You have experience, yes, but I would think it would make a reasonable man more fearful of magic, not less.”
He chuckled. “True. Why do you think I was so angry at Moahavilah for offering you passage with us? But as I said, magic serves the heart, and your heart is true. For now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I come to offer you advice, because I feel I owe you a debt. I have taken countless seekers of knowledge to Kheshatta, some, powerful wizards like Thoth-Amon, others, eager students of learning, seeking only pure knowledge for its own sake. And many of these same travelers I later take away. I warn you, that none come back the better. Some return mad, some are corrupted by forbidden knowledge, some consumed by blind lust for power.”
Not I! But Anok said nothing.
“Your pure heart will not serve you there, for in each man there are the innate seeds of evil. We are flawed by our nature, and your goodness will be undone.”
“If you think me doomed, then why bother to tell me this?”
He smiled sadly. “I could tell you to turn back, to stay at the oasis tomorrow, and return to Khemi on the next caravan, but you would not. I know that. But you are different from any other seeker I have seen in my long years, and so perhaps your fate may be different. I only tell you this: Seek only power, and it will be your ruin. Seek only knowledge, and it will be your ruin. Seek first redemption, and perhaps you will not be consumed by the first two.” His eyes narrowed as he watched Anok.
“When I said ‘redemption,’ you touched that ring.” Anok looked down, startled, realizing that he was unconsciously turning the silver ring Sheriti had given him.
“Do you know what it is?”
“A man at the marketplace said it was a carving of a demon worshiped by some”—he glanced at Havilah in realization—“nomads.”
“It is Jani, and indeed, he has his cult among our people. We believe he is more than a demon but less than a god. A spirit of the desert, who travels the sands by riding the whirlwind. He is many things, Jani, but he is best known for rescuing fools from peril.”
“Fools?”
Havilah smiled. “We are all fools, in our own way, especially in matters of the heart. Who has not been blinded by love, driven helplessly by anger, or misled by pride? Yet fools often survive their foolishness. We are more aware of this in the desert, where even a simple mistake can kill, and so we see Jani where city men may see only chance. Yet Jani is everywhere. Did he not lead you, an unbeliever, to this ring?”
“It was a gift, from someone important to me.”
“It is written, an honest man is not honest for himself, he is honest for others. Did your father give you this ring?”
He shook his head. “A woman, dead now.”
Havilah’s eyes were sad and knowing. He nodded, clearly a man who had known grief. “But she is with you still?”
Anok nodded. “Always.”
“Then for her, save yourself.” He stood. “Jani often saves those in peril, but he always fails those who come to depend on him. Ultimately, you must save yourself. That is all I have to say.” He walked away into the night.
Anok turned the ring, and for a moment there was clarity. “Help me, Sheriti, to find my way through the wilderness.”
But he knew she would not be enough.
11
BY RIDING LATE under a bright moon, they reached a large oasis the next evening and spent one day there watering and fattening the camels and tending the wounded.
Word was sent to the nearest garrison of the Stygian army, who would doubtless seek to hunt the bandits down. The caravan trade was the lifeblood of Stygia, and in turn, the Cult of Set. Perhaps the bandits would be caught and killed. Perhaps they would pull up their camps and return to Kush. Either way, they would be gone.
Moahavilah was doing well. Anok had learned that the bandits often poisoned their arrows or dipped them in dung to cause infection, but not this time, and the wound had been clean, without damaging anything vital. His arm would be sore and weak for some time, but he would recover.
More gratifying to see was the new respect with which Havilah and the older brothers now treated their youngest. As he watched them, Anok felt something so strange it took him a moment to recognize it.
Jealousy.
He would have given anything to have a living father, even to be a least-favored son. He had lost so much when his father had been murdered. There had still been so much to learn. So many good days ahead of them.
Stolen. Stolen from them both.
Leaving the oasis, they traveled for three more days. On the third day, the land began to change, with stretches of greenery along dry stream- and riverbeds that must occasionally flood. It was still hot and dry, but there were occasional farms, with herds of goats, camels, and skinny, humped cows.
Anok overheard Meshavilah, the eldest son, talking, and learned that they were nearing Kheshatta. They would not reach it by nightfall, but early the next day.
That afternoon, Fallon rode up next to him on her white camel. After the battle with the bandits, she had replaced her awkward sedan platform with a saddle taken from one of the fallen camels, and her riding skills were rapidly improving.
She pulled even with him and nodded in greeting.
Anok was surprised. They had barely spoken a word since the bandits, and he had wondered if she would ever speak with him again.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“For being afraid of me?”
She squirmed in her saddle. “I am Cimmerian. We fear nothing.”
A lie. But he remained silent.
“I doubted you.”
He smiled a bit. “Do you believe in sorcery now?”
She smiled back. “There may be something to it. In fact, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into, going to this city of sorcerers, or what I’ll do when I get there. Just as like I’ll pick the wrong pocket and end up being turned into a toad!”
“That is a danger,” he agreed. “But that you had a patron.”
She grinned. “Perhaps there is someone there who still has need of an old-fashioned sword.” She reached over and brushed his arm, and he felt an electric tingle. “Or perhaps more gentle services.”
Knowing her as he did, Anok could not help but laugh out loud at the suggestion. “Don’t jest with me, barbarian! Whatever else you may be, you’re no whore!”
She smiled slyly. “But if one could be paid for services that one would render freely, then wouldn’t one be a fool not to do so?”
He laughed again. Her straightforward manner had a way of brightening his dark moods. That gift wasn’t something to be quickly forsaken.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ve been given gold enough to rent a villa when we reach Kheshatta, and to pay Teferi as my bodyguard. It isn’t much, but perhaps there is silver enough for two swords, and enough roof to go over your head as well. As for the rest—well—all else is negotiable.” He chuckled.
“I’ll give it some thought,” she said.
Then, a moment later. “That’s enough. Yes, you may have my sword—and my negotiables!”
THEY CAMPED ALONG a dry riverbed, where firewood was plentiful, and the sons of Havilah were able to water the camels merely by digging into the sandy river bottom until muddy water flowed in to fill the bottoms of the holes.
The mood, which had been somber since the bandits’ raid, improved greatly. Havilah was talking of the camels he might purchase to replace those slain, and the songs around the fire were no longer merely prayers for the dead.
With the others so engaged, it was little trouble for Anok to slip away by himself. Well, almost.
He had no sooner walked down to the sandy banks of the dry river and sat down when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Is there a problem, brother?”
“No problem, Teferi. Merely delayed business to take care of.” He frowned. “I don’t think you’ll like it though. It’s magic.”
“Are you ripping out hearts again tonight?” he asked dryly. Anok chuckled. “Only very small magic tonight. I can wait till you leave.”
Teferi considered for a moment, then shook his head. “If I am to aid a sorcerer, I cannot continue to shy from such things. I will stay.”
“Very well then.”
Anok reached beneath his robe and removed a silk-wrapped bundle. He opened the silks to reveal a crystal sphere, glittering in the moonlight. “The mother of the smaller one you gave Rami,” he explained.
He held the sphere in his hand, rubbing his left palm over the top of it. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, even in the chill of the desert night. It began to glow slightly, and there was a faint tinkling, like small bells. “Rami,” he said, “I would speak with Rami.”
The light of the crystal flickered and changed, and an image formed within the crystal, as though looking out from within a crystal sphere at some other place.
The crystal seemed to be resting on a wooden platform, perhaps a table. Around the sphere were coins, silver and gold. Beyond, Anok could see flickering candles burned quite low, and he could hear men’s voices.
Then something clattered onto the table in front of the sphere with a clatter, tumbling and rolling till they came to a stop.
“Six,” called Rami’s voice, “I win!”
There were groans.
One of them was Teferi’s. “Rami? You only said there would be magic. For magic I would stay. For Rami, I would have left.”
Anok ignored him. He focused on the crystal and his eyes narrowed. “Rami! I told you not to gamble with the crystal sphere!”
There were gasps of surprise, but still nobody was visible.
“You didn’t say it was magic,” said a man’s voice, “you just said it was pretty!”
He heard Rami sputtering, trying to think of something to say.
“You told us that ladies loved to touch it, and with it any woman could be won to our bed,” said another voice. “But you didn’t say it was haunted!”
A hand scooped up the crystal, and he saw Rami’s face from below, looking elsewhere, a nervous smile on his face. “It’s not haunted. It just talks sometimes. There’s a nice little man inside. Say hello—nice little man!”
Anok was not feeling nice. “Hear me! I am the sorcerer Anok Wati! This thief has stolen this orb from me, and he is cursed to die. All who do not wish to share his fate—flee!”
There was a moment’s silence, then he heard chairs toppling over, running footsteps, and men shouting. Then they were gone. He was looking up at Rami’s face. He swiveled his head, looking around at the unseen room, and smiled down at the sphere. “Hey, that was a good scam! We could make a lot of—”
“We will not! I left this mystic orb with you so that we could talk at a distance. For no other reason. And I expect it to be returned!”
Rami laughed anxiously. “Well—sure.” His smile faded, and he leaned forward so that his eye seemed to fill the entire crystal. “Where are you, anyway?”
“Outside of Kheshatta, five days’ ride distant, which means you’ll have five days to get your affairs in order if you lose this sphere!”
He coughed and nearly choked. “Hey, no, I wouldn’t do that!” He leaned closer to the sphere again. “Kheshatta, huh? That’s amazing. You sound like you’re right here.”
“Well, I didn’t summon you to chat. Teferi told you I had a job for you.”
“Yes, sure, but he didn’t tell me what it was.”
“He didn’t know, and he didn’t know what the sphere did either, or he probably wouldn’t have carried it.”
Rami grinned a little. “Playing a lot of tricks on people lately, aren’t you, Anok?”
“Don’t judge me, Rami! You of all people shouldn’t judge me.”
“Not judging, just saying: Who am I to criticize? I’m actually kind of proud of you.”
Anok scowled. “Rami, I want you to keep an eye on Dejal for me while I’m gone.”
“Dejal? He’s at the Temple of Set. I can’t get in there.”
“You don’t have to. The priest, Ramsa Aál, is sending him on some kind of mission. He’ll be leaving the temple in the next day or two. Try to find out where he’s going and if he brings anything back when he returns.”
“What would he be bringing back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something big, maybe something small. Maybe a golden medallion, like the one those pirates had at the Great Marketplace.”
Rami smiled. “Gold,�
�� he said, as though savoring the word.
“Don’t steal it. Don’t let him know you’re watching him, and don’t interfere with him unless I tell you to, do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand. If I learn something, how do I tell you?”
“Go someplace quiet. Hold the sphere in your hand, focus your mind, such as it is, on it, and call my name until I answer. Really, all you have to do is think it very hard, but it’s easier just to say it aloud. Understand?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll go to the temple tomorrow and try to find somebody who knows something.”
“I’ll talk with you again in a few days. Just do what I told you!”
He waved his hand over the sphere, and the light faded. He wrapped it in its silks and hid it away again. He looked up to see Teferi staring at him. “What?”
“This is Rami we’re talking about.”
“Yes.”
“I have heard an old Stygian poem. It goes something like this:“Oh how I hate this wretched slave,
I wish that I could sell him
He never does just what I want
But only what I tell him.”
12
ON THE COAST of Kush, there is a break in the coastal mountains, a gap like a broken tooth, through which the prevailing ocean winds, laden with clouds, can pass.
Along the coast there lie mangrove swamps and great, treacherous, salt marshes, where whole armies have vanished without a trace, where it is said the crocodiles are big as ocean ships, and unknown fevers can strip away a man’s skin and turn his flesh to liquid in but a day.
Beyond this, the clouds give forth to support a strip of dark, forbidden rain forest that extends many days travel north and west into the interior of Kush.
Farther inland, the clouds grow thin and lean, but still sometimes offer their tears to the normally arid savanna below. When they do, the grasslands bloom, and the watering holes fill as nowhere else in that arid plain. Great and terrible beasts graze in herds beyond number, and are stalked by fearsome lions with teeth like swords. It is from this region that the famed Kushite warhorse hails, and where brave, or perhaps foolish, men perish by the score each day in pursuit of ivory.
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