10

Koury, with his silver hair, green eyes, and haughty manner, was, as previous, garbed in crimson, though this robe was far thicker than the first, and his hood was fur-lined. In marked contrast was the thickset, dark-haired woman beside him. The cloth of her robe was thin, and it flapped open to reveal a similarly thin, ebon dress decorated with red blossoms. Her skin was pale olive, as though she had been sick for a long while. Her eyes, though, were a vivid brown overlaid somehow with rose.

Their comrade was small and the shadow of his hood obscured his face so that I could see little more than a thin nose and cunning smile. He wore a tawny brown coat and thick gray breeches.

I sent Kharouf galloping back to form up the ranks. The Sebitti stopped a horse length before me, as if waiting. Dabir and Jibril came up on either side, with Najya close after; Abdul had arranged the men in an arc behind.

I knew not what more to do. We had orders to kill Koury and Gazi on sight, yet it seemed folly to try. If Gazi had been present, I might have felt differently, for it was he who had murdered Tarif, but something told me that neither of the others was him, and I was inclined to hear what they had to say in any case.

Dabir must have felt the same way, for he urged no action of yet.

Koury raised his palm to us. “Dabir and Asim.” He spoke without emotion. “Again we meet.” He indicated his companions with a nod. “My brother and sister are more forgiving than I.”

The small one laughed. “Lamashtu? Forgiving?” His Arabic was spoken like a native. The woman glanced over at him, but it was Jibril whom she fixed upon with a sneer. He stiffened in his saddle.

“More patient, then,” Koury continued with a humorless smile. He eyed us soberly. “We must speak with you.”

“Talk.” Dabir sounded remarkably nonchalant. As for myself, I looked to left and right, thinking to see other Sebitti allies at hand. Behind me my soldiers shifted in their saddles and a few horses pawed the frozen ground. I could see or hear nothing else. The snow fell, silent and blinding, in every direction.

“By this point you surely know whom you face,” the small one said, steel edging into his voice. “A wise man would show respect.”

“You cannot hope to stand against our combined forces,” Koury told us sharply. “I do not threaten,” he added, “I merely state fact. None of you need be hurt, so long as you are reasonable.”

“I am a reasonable man,” Dabir offered.

How strong were they, truly? Koury’s confidence, I thought, might be feigned. Yet why meet here, unless they had us as they wanted us?

“We have watched you for a long while,” Koury continued. “Your skills are not without merit, and, from time to time, we need men and women with skills, for we cannot be everywhere at once. I’m sure that you may not have quite the proper impression—”

“You belabor the point,” interrupted the smaller man. “I am Anzu.” He cast back his hood to reveal a lean, handsome face with well-tended beard and tousled brown hair. “And this is the Lady Lamashtu. You had better luck getting the spirit to help you than we did, so we let you go find the bones.”

“I know that one,” Lamashtu interrupted, her accent thick, her smile chilling. She had not left off staring at Jibril. “He once bargained with me for the life of his woman.”

“And you killed her,” Jibril said with gritted teeth.

“It was you who killed her,” Lamashtu countered.

This accusation sent Jibril into a rage. “Liar!”

“That is unnecessary,” Koury said sharply. “We must stay on topic.”

“I am so sorry, brother.” Lamashtu sounded not at all sorry, merely amused.

Dabir briefly considered his former mentor, who was clearly struggling to say silent, then turned his head to the Sebitti. “Why are you here?”

He sounded so casual. I hoped that he had some idea of what to do next. Najya, beside me, watched with wrathful eyes.

Anzu spread wide his arms, as if to indicate the blizzard. “Because we need the weapons you have obtained sooner than we planned. Look at this!” He laughed, and in contrast to the stiff, silent woman or the arrogant Koury, his manner was inviting. “It’s not getting any warmer.”

“Here is what we propose.” Koury frowned in irritation. “From time to time we ally with mortals like yourselves—”

“Like the two of you,” Anzu interjected smoothly, speaking, I supposed, to Dabir and myself.

“If you agree to do as we direct, we shall reward you,” Koury went on. “Knowledge, power, wealth, whatever it is you desire.”

“Life,” Lamashtu offered in a low, whispery voice. She had not left off looking at Jibril. He scowled, and trembled, and mastered himself only with difficulty.

Dabir was still polite. “What is it you would have us do?”

“First turn over the bones you have found.” Koury’s voice was almost dull. “Then we would have you seek out the other two. You seem to have reached some kind of arrangement with the spirit; whatever you have promised her, then, we will fulfill.”

Dabir did not correct this assumption about Najya. “That is not precisely what I meant,” he said. “What is it you mean to do with the bones?”

Koury smiled. “I’m not sure you’re fully capable of understanding that.”

Jibril spoke then, steely-eyed. “They mean to blackmail the world’s nations to follow them, or they will turn their lands into a frozen waste.”

Something about Jibril’s speculation amused Koury, who smiled broadly for the first time. “Your ideas are so small. It is enough that we allow you to live, and have a part of what we do. You should count yourselves fortunate. We shall be goodly shepherds. Wise. Firm, but tolerant.”

“Once we have the bones,” Anzu said genially, “all will be well.”

“That,” Najya declared beside me, “shall never happen.”

She pulled something up over her head. At the same moment I recognized the amulet, she tossed it into the snow before her. It lay with its silver hexagon winking in the failing light

The cold, powerful voice that came then from Najya’s throat was not that of the woman I had come to know, and blue ice seemed to gleam in her irises. “They made no agreement with me,” she told Koury, her voice rising like the wind. “Only the woman whose body this was. You have opened the door, and have no hope of closing it!”

“Fight this, Najya!” I urged.

She did not respond to me. She tore off her veil and pushed back her hood. “These mortals gave me time to build my strength apart from you!”

The Sebitti looked on, though they seemed more appraising than alarmed, or even surprised.

“Asim!” Jibril shouted. “You must act!”

I drew my sword, not sure what I meant to do with it.

The spirit leapt off her horse. She did not fall, but was caressed by the whirling wind, which lifted her higher and higher—some six feet above the ground. She spread her arms, exultant, as if the wind were a lover and she thrilled to its embrace. Directly behind our line of men, materializing from curtains of falling snow, were rank after rank of women spun from ice and frost, and behind them lumbered larger shapes, indistinct within the blizzard.

“Ride!” Dabir shouted to me. He turned his head to the others “Ride for your lives!”

That we did, though something fragile within me had broken and I felt its ache. We kicked our horses into gallop. There was no time to think!

The Sebitti shouted. Some of their words I think were meant for us, but it was impossible to hear over the wind and the thunder of hooves and the cry of our men. As we charged around the ancient sorcerers, wooden soldiers and a great wooden snake rose up from the snow to shield their master Koury, at whom Gamal leaned out to swing. Anzu had somehow vanished. Lamashtu extended her hands and from them swept a pulse of intense heat that shredded seven of the snow women to raindrops.

Then we had ridden past. For a brief moment I thought we were clear, and then another line of drifting snow women emerged from the blizzard directly ahead of us. I slowed us to a halt, and my mare shifted restlessly beneath me. They meant to encircle us.

Dabir reined in beside, Jibril just behind. My friend tore free the ivory spear and cast its wrapping aside, where it fluttered in the buffeting wind. He looked up at me expectantly.

Never had I thought to make a cavalry charge with Dabir, much less while wielding a club against ghosts formed all of ice. I ripped the club from its lashings on my saddlebag. “Form behind us!” I shouted to Abdul, and he called the others into place.

“Couch the spear, like this,” I told Dabir. I unlimbered the club and leaned down with it in my right hand to demonstrate. Dabir, on my left, rested the white spear against his saddle like a lance, then nodded to me.

We shall see, I thought, how these do against the spirits. “God is great!” I cried, and as the shout passed through to the men, I kicked my mount into gallop.

Our horses grunted their fear but sped on. I perceived then that the snow women formed more than a single line—they floated two or more deep.

Each of those ghostly women hung a handspan above the earth, and they reached toward us as we neared. All wore Najya’s face.

Dabir struck first, piercing the creature before him and shattering her into a thousand white pieces. I leaned out and swung, wincing as my weapon plowed through a white face. It fell into icy fragments.

The moment she dropped, though, more were there to take her place, reaching with alabaster limbs, and beyond were dozens more. The temperature had plummeted around them and the air in my throat burned. Another Najya loomed, and another, and I struck and struck, crying out to God both to preserve and forgive me.

Suddenly we were through, and there was nothing beyond but the falling snow.

From somewhere far above came the screech of a hawk, multiplied in strength a thousandfold. Our mounts whinnied and scattered even as a cowled figure strode from the blizzard ahead on our left. It was Anzu, though I knew not how he outraced our horses. He whirled a silvery thread that he then cast toward us like a fishing line. It flew, borne on invisible wings, and pierced Dabir’s horse in the foreleg with a spray of blood. The animal screamed, struggled to regain balance, then tumbled. Dabir threw himself clear just before he and the poor beast were obscured in the snow flung up by their fall.

“Give over the weapons, fools!” Anzu shouted.

I slowed my mount and swung around, searching frantically through the flying snow and press of bodies as I shouted for Dabir. Abdul and Kharouf, at the head of the column, had unsheathed their swords and rode even now for Anzu, who had pulled back the line and whirled it overhead once more. His movements were calm, unhurried, as if he were casting merely for fish. And I knew that he did not fear them, and that their challenge would only bring their death.

“Ride on!” I shouted. “Warn the caliph! Ride!”

They did not hear me, but I saw Abdul’s round face turn toward me as the rest of the men thundered past. He reined in. Three of the twelve I expected were nowhere to be found, and I felt a sickening lurch of my stomach. The last time I had led men forth, none had returned alive. I did not mean to lose these fellows too. “Ride, Abdul!” I shouted. “Live to warn the governor!”

He raised his sword in salute, and I turned.

I arrived to find Dabir’s horse struggling to stand and collapsing once more. My friend was on hands and knees some paces off, frantically searching the ground.

“The spear!” he yelled. “Help me find the spear!”

“There’s no time! Climb on my horse!”

Dabir ignored me and continued his search. Jibril galloped up from somewhere, his mount stamping to a stop beside me. “Hurry!” he urged.

Anzu’s needle emerged then through the meat of Jibril’s shoulder. Dabir’s mentor roared in pain, then was yanked backward off his saddle. He hit the ground with an agonizing groan. I whirled in time to see the Sebitti had somehow moved far to the left of where I’d last seen him. He held one end of the line that still pierced Jibril. Abdul’s horse was galloping, riderless, away from Anzu’s previous position, and Kharouf was shouting distantly for the men to charge. Allah, I feared they all would die.

I swung down from my saddle and hurried to Jibril. I meant to cut through the line the moment I reached him. The gleaming point of Anzu’s weapon still stood out from Jibril’s shoulder. Though the scholar’s face was a mask of pain, and blood soaked his clothing, he was fumbling with something at his belt.

I tossed the club down beside him and pulled my sword free.

“No,” Jibril said, then gasped, for the line grew taut. Anzu, it seemed, was trying to wrench his weapon from its target.

I stepped past and raised my blade.

“No,” Jibril insisted, and I paused. Was he stunned, or delirious? He had produced a book from his belt pouch and now ripped a page free with his right hand. Dabir came running up with the spear at the same moment Jibril pressed the paper to his shoulder, soaking it in blood. The parchment lit up with a flash and then Jibril touched it to the line. A heartbeat later Anzu stiffened in agony and he dropped to the ground.

“Hah!” Jibril spat victoriously. “I sent him my pain.” He winced as he set up. “Blood is simpler to get today than usual,” he told Dabir.

My friend bent to the scholar, telling him to hold still. It was then that our horses neighed and danced and cantered past us. A half dozen of the snow women sped toward us, glowing a bit in the dying light. Behind came what seemed, at first glance, a cloud of snow. Yet it was solid, and, like the women, moved with purpose. A frigid cold rose from them all, and I thought of the strange snowy blobs with eyes that the ancients had drawn on the spear. Was this what they had sought to depict?

I sheathed my sword and hefted up the club. “Get clear if you can,” I said to Dabir.

“Asim!” Dabir called, but I was already charging toward the enemy, and calling out to God.

My first swing passed through the arm and shoulder of one of the frost women, destroying her in a shower of ice, then struck the second. She, too, dissolved. A third touched me with ice fingers so cold they burned, and the whole of my forearm numbed. I gritted my teeth as I pushed the weapon back through her, stepping forward into the next. Najya’s icy face stared up at me and in the center of holes where its eyes should have been was a maelstrom of swirling blue and white. I closed my own eyes so I would not see as I jammed the pointed haft of the weapon into her forehead. I heard the fragments of her rattle together as she disintegrated. The other two had drifted on, but I could not chase them down until I confronted the cloud thing on my flank. It stretched a full man-height above me, and was easily the width of two wide stable doors. I saw no eyes or limbs within, but a wind rose up from it, of even greater cold than that radiated by the snow women. I gritted my teeth and stepped forward swinging, hoping Dabir could escape the two I’d missed.

My club tore a hole through the creature, yet it did not react. I was buffeted in a bone-numbing wind and I heard my teeth rattle. My arms shook as I swung again.

This attack tore another hole, and I might have rejoiced save that I saw my first strike already filling with more snow. I had to struggle hard against the instinct to curl in upon myself for warmth.

I swung, and swung again, staggering, and finally there came the sound of splintering ice.

I heard Dabir’s voice. “Behind you!” And then he was at my side, and stabbing with the spear.

“Get back!” I told him.

He did not, though, and I glimpsed Jibril hurrying up as well, a paper pressed to his leaking wound.

I was numb now almost to the core of my being, and could no longer even feel the club I clasped, but I drove on. Dabir and I stabbed and slashed and bits of the monster fell away. Yet it always re-formed, seeming to draw sustenance from the storm and the wind. My breath came in gasps, and it felt as though I breathed in chunks of ice.

Jibril meanwhile had staggered directly into the cloud, raising his bloodstained parchment with shaking hands. He let out a full-throated cry and the paper dissolved in flame. It fell in ashes but for a spark that swept forth into a ring. I was warmed, instantly, to the core of my being, and the monster dissolved, a splatter of rain upon the snow. I dropped my arms in stunned awe at the sudden change in fortune.

Jibril sank to his knees. I helped him rise, but refrained from comment about the profusion of blood still leaking down over his clothes or his pasty complexion. His beard was white with frost.

Dabir thanked him, but did not look pleased. “What have you done, Jibril?”

“There was no choice,” the scholar said wearily.

“There is no time for talk,” I cried over the storm. “More of the monsters come.” I pointed to two of the snow things barely visible against the darkness.

We turned and stumbled away as fast as we could, Dabir and I half-carrying the old bookseller. The vile clouds, at least, seemed a little slower than a man might run.

“Where’s Anzu?”

“Vanished,” Dabir said grimly. “I finished the other two frost women.”

“Kharouf?”

“When last I saw, he was charging Anzu.”

“The brave fool. I ordered them to flee. Their weapons would be useless against the ice spirits.”

Dabir frowned in agreement.

I whistled in the faint hope our horses might return. They did not, of course. My Noura would have come running, but she was still in Mosul.

It was no easy going in that thick snow, but fear made us fleet. A look over my shoulder showed the cloud monsters trailing at the edge of sight, but with the storm and almost all daylight faded, there might be less visible spirits on any side.

Once more I whistled, and something black came sailing out ahead of us. For a brief moment I thought it might be Jibril’s mare, but as it drew through the howling snow the image resolved into a person seated upon a carpet suspended a sword length above the earth.

“More Sebitti?” I wondered grimly how one of them might take to the club of Herakles across the forehead. I gripped the weapon tightly.

The carpet settled to the snow only ten paces off, and the person seated on the thing stood and called to us at the same moment. “Dabir! Asim! Hurry!”

It was a woman, and I did not place her voice no matter its Greek accent, until we had almost reached her. It was then that I knew her for the sorceress Lydia.

“Climb aboard,” she urged.

Dabir’s voice rose with incredulity. “You are the Sebitti’s pawn!”

“No longer!” She spoke rapidly, her accent growing thicker as she did. “We have no time! Get aboard!”

The last time we had trusted Lydia it had nearly been our death. I fully meant to say something of this, but Lamashtu appeared then beside Dabir.

The Sebitti did not come striding slowly up, or drop out of the air, or even coalesce out of the mist. She just popped into being, and if I hadn’t just then been turning to skeptically say something to my friend, I would not have noticed.

“Down!” I cried, and he acted without question. Mine was a powerful backhand swing, and it missed Dabir’s head by inches. It seemed destined for Lamashtu’s chest, but she sidestepped with inhuman speed.

She did not bother addressing me. “Thief,” she spat to Lydia.

Again I swung; again the Sebitti dodged with stunning alacrity, the expression on her face not so much worried as annoyed.

“Give over the weapon, Arab,” she ordered. She held out her hand as if she expected me to obey.

Dabir was up then with leveled spear. “What will you use it for?”

She grinned maliciously. “Something wonderful.”

Dabir swung clumsily at Lamashtu. Only a moment did I wonder at his poor aim, for I saw then he’d deliberately driven her toward Jibril, who’d raised another bloody paper. He brushed against her robe, and the Sebitti was instantly consumed in a rain of fire.

Lamashtu shrieked as the blaze swept with alarming speed across her dress and into her hair, the sound cutting the air like the sharpest knife. She raised shaking hands, then vanished before I could land a blow.

Jibril sank to one knee, and I saw his eyes streamed with tears.

“By all that’s holy,” Lydia muttered. She sounded impressed.

“That … that’s it,” Jibril mumbled.

Dabir passed the spear off to me and bent quickly to his friend.

“Hurry!” Lydia urged.

I glanced back at the monsters, once again only a couple of dozen paces off.

Jibril was shaking his head, and sinking. And I realized that the white in his beard was not just snow. His face was deeply lined. He had aged decades in the last quarter hour.

“All that I have here … is yours,” Jibril said, pressing the notebook into Dabir’s hands.

Dabir took it without examining the thing, or caring that his hands were drenched with his friend’s blood. “Jibril…”

“I hope I killed her. She tricked me, Dabir. She changed Afya, to save her.” He choked. “I had to kill her.… I had to kill my Afya.”

“Jibril…” Dabir’s voice shook as he said his name.

Jibril gripped his hand tightly, and his eyes brightened with a last burst of strength. “Do not damn yourself, as I have done.” His breath caught in his throat. “Look for angels.”

“Allah,” Dabir said, his voice failing, “shall send angels to greet you.”

“That is not…,” Jibril said weakly. “I wish to see but one…”

“Hurry, fools!” Lydia shouted to us, and indeed, she was right, for the monsters were but a few paces off.

Jibril’s eyes fixed on a point beyond Dabir’s shoulder, and saw their last.

I pulled Dabir up and he choked out that we could not leave the body. Thus I grabbed the dead scholar and scrambled onto the carpet with Dabir, behind the Greek woman. Lydia spoke a phrase in a musical language and the carpet rose slowly, its edges fluttering. It did not hang loosely, but seemed flat, solid, as though it rested on a palace floor. At another command, we shot swiftly into the air and then away. From above I had a brief view of the battlefield—more of the snow women were knotted around a pair of figures that might have been Koury and Anzu, for dark men and beast shapes fought beside them. I thought also that I caught a glimpse of riders, my riders, galloping away at speed. I could not count their number. Of Najya there was no sign.