3

I darted after without thinking. Neither Dabir nor I were ones to touch women unasked, but we both lay hold of her arms.

Yet there was no moving her. Najya’s whole body had gone rigid and she was fastened to the spear as surely as if she were bolted to the thing. She began to shake, as men will when they have the falling sickness, and she gripped the haft so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Pry free her thumbs!” Dabir shouted to me.

As I slid my hand beneath hers, my palm pressed against the surface of the spear, and a cold spread through me such as men must face when they die upon the mountaintops. I shuddered violently in the sudden chill and my mind flooded with jarring and disjointed images. I stood upon a plain sheathed everywhere in ice and snow. The sky was a slate-gray tombstone. A village of thatched round huts lay beneath a thick sheet of frost and snow. Strange beasts stomped across a frozen river, followed by giant manlike beings with long silvery hair and shining white skin. Fur-clad warriors charged with flint-tipped spears. Bodies lay strewn like leaves over the icy ground, stained red beneath them. A bearded man stared back at me through a slab of ice, his mouth open in a silent scream.

The visions vanished the moment I pulled Najya free with trembling hands. She collapsed senseless in my arms.

Dabir was there on my other side, demanding to know if she was all right, and what had happened to me. I lifted the woman in my arms and spoke with a trembling jaw. “The weapon is cursed,” I told him. “Its touch froze me to the bone.”

“Place her upon the settee,” the governor ordered, and this I did, casting a blanket over her that I found upon the back of the furniture. By this time the guards had rushed forward, and the governor sent Kharouf running for the hakim.

“She lives,” Dabir said, and he pulled fingers back from Najya’s neck.

The woman’s face was pale as the white marble inlays in the patterned floor. She shifted very slightly beneath the blanket, but did not open her eyes.

The governor frowned down at her, then turned to us, drawing himself up to his full height. Though we each topped him by at least half a head, we bowed in deference. “Explain,” he commanded.

Dabir then relayed, in short, succinct sentences, all that we had experienced since Najya’s arrival. I would have left to stand over a brazier, but I did not wish to appear disrespectful

The governor’s expression grew more and more grave as he listened, but he asked no questions. My friend finished by pointing to the weapon on the column. “It seems, Your Excellency, that the wizard Koury captured Najya to aid him in finding this unusual spear.”

“That thing?” the governor asked. “But why should anyone want it?”

Before Dabir could answer, the reception doors thumped open and Tarif of the palace guard walked in. He was trailed by four soldiers, each holding the corner of a canvas. Upon that canvas lay the blackened figure of the wooden man I had consigned to flames. One of the arm joints still smoldered. Tarif came to a halt six feet from the dais, and bowed.

The governor descended to speak with him. I glanced down at Najya; she was still pallid but breathing regularly. Dabir was scanning me with concern when I turned to him, but I waved him off, and we followed the governor down the steps. I managed at last to put hands over some hot coals, and breathed a quiet sigh, for the warmth was most pleasant.

“Set it down and return to your posts,” Tarif directed his men.

Some called Tarif ugly, but that was not entirely fair, for when seen only from the right side he was a striking figure of a man. A Greek spear had smashed into his left cheek, ruining his lip and taking out a number of teeth in the bargain. He was better off than some with like injuries, for he could close his mouth and speak clearly, but his features were forever marred by lumpy flesh and a patchy beard. Despite all this, or perhaps even because of it, all of the governor’s soldiers looked upon Tarif with favor.

As his men departed Tarif raised his deep voice to a more formal level. “Excellency, this is one of the wooden demons that the wizard set against folk in the square. Asim pitched it into the fire, where it died. The other one fled after killing two of my men and badly wounding another.”

The governor stared down at the motionless form, saying nothing. The long-bearded court hakim came in through the open doorway, a female attendant trailing. They bowed to the governor, who pointed up to the settee, then moved off to obey.

“I set riders after the wizard who commanded these things,” Tarif continued. “But he galloped away on a wooden horse, and vanished into the distance.”

The governor prodded one of the wooden man’s charred legs with his foot. “At great cost,” he said reflectively, “I have set up a place for my people to find succor in the square of my city.”

“You are a very shepherd to your people,” Shabouh broke in, bowing his head.

You might think that Shabouh was one of those who sought praise from his superior by giving it, but you would be judging the poor old astrologer unfairly, for the comment was heartfelt and shared by anyone with sense in the whole of the city.

“This is not to be tolerated.” The governor’s head rose resolutely. “My people were endangered, and my soldiers murdered. Tarif, I wish you to find this wizard and bring him to me to answer for his crimes.”

Tarif grinned fiercely. “Nothing would please me more.”

“If I may, Excellency,” Dabir said, “there is a man I know in Harran who is a great scholar, and knows much about the history of wizards, perhaps even the identity and powers of this one. I believe he could be of tremendous help to us.”

This was the first I had heard of this matter, or of anyone important in Harran, and I eyed my friend curiously.

“I shall send for him,” the governor announced.

“Better, I think,” Dabir said, slowing his speech so as to be more respectful, “if I go to him. He is disinclined to travel and cannot bring his library with him. Together the two of us might find the clues we need to ascertain the true aims of this wizard.”

The governor frowned. “What are we to do if the wizard comes for the woman while you are gone?”

“It was my thought that I might take the woman and the spear with me so that the scholar could examine them both.”

The governor’s expression had softened, but he did not speak for a long while. “I care not a whit for the spear,” he said finally. “If I might rectify matters by hurling it into the Tigris, I would do so on the moment. But the young woman is afflicted with madness. Shouldn’t she be left in the care of her relatives?”

Again Dabir bowed his head. “She has no relatives in Mosul, Excellency. And I do not think she is mad. Her reports match the strange things that we have seen. I suspect she is suffering from her treatment at the hands of the wizard. I hope that my friend—the learned Jibril ibn Jaras—may be able to help her.”

The governor turned to Shabouh. “What do you think of all this?”

The astrologer patted his ample belly. This, I think, was the moment he had been waiting for. “Excellency, have I not been warning you of the dire signs? Merrikh and Mushtarie are both passing through Al-Jabbar.”

“So you have said,” the governor replied. “And things surely have grown worse. But what is to be done?”

A lesser man might have used that moment to further his own schemes at Dabir’s expense, but Shabouh was no Baghdad courtier. “It is folly to hesitate,” he said. “I think you should heed Dabir’s plan.”

“Let us go get this man of Dabir’s straightaway,” Tarif agreed, eager for action. “If Dabir knows about wizards, then let him come with us.”

The governor considered this briefly, then nodded. “Let it be done. Make arrangements, Captain.”

Tarif bowed. “We will see whether magic can stop a spear thrust.” He bowed again and departed.

I smiled to myself, for I liked Tarif’s sentiment well.

The hakim had been waiting at the edge of the conversation for a short while, and was staring down at the wooden soldier with great fascination.

“How is the woman, Ari?”

“She seems well enough.” Ari sounded years younger than his white beard would have suggested. “She is weak, and sleepy. Rest would be good.”

“What is wrong with her?” the governor asked.

“I cannot say, for certain. She is cold, and will not rouse from sleep. Your guard said she has suffered a fit. Is she prone to this?”

The governor looked to Dabir.

“We do not know her well,” Dabir explained. “But she has undergone great trials, and may have experienced privation.”

I thought to mention it wasn’t privation, but a greater blast of whatever had almost frozen me, then realized that Dabir deliberately avoided further discussion of sorcerous doings, though I knew not why. Thus I stayed quiet.

“That might explain it.” The hakim did not sound completely convinced. “If she is in your care, you must do better. She must be dressed more warmly in weather like this. She’s chilled. I would see that she rests in a warm bed. When she wakes, give her a light meal. Broth. Tea. Durriyah will stay with her until she rises,” he added with a look to his attendant.

“Thank you, Ari,” the governor said.

The hakim bowed to the governor, nodded to his female assistant, kneeling beside Najya on the dais, and left the room. One of the guards closed the door behind them.

The governor turned to Dabir as the thunk of the door’s closing echoed through the chamber. “I will house the woman in the palace this night, and tomorrow you may be on your way. I cannot say that I envy your travel through the snow.”

“Sometimes one chooses the journey,” Dabir said, “and sometimes the journey chooses him. If I may, Governor—I would like to study that spear in a room with better light.”

“Of course.”

As my friend moved to claim the weapon, I could hold comment no longer. “Dabir, that spear leveled the girl and set me to shivering. I don’t know that anyone should touch it.”

“Let us be sure, then,” said Dabir.

He approached without hesitation and, over my objection, brushed fingers against the thing gently, once, twice, then grasped it solidly.

“Interesting,” he said.

The governor waited for explanation, but I think it was my dumbstruck surprise that evoked Dabir’s response.

“If the spear alone caused your reaction, some poor slave would have been frozen flat while hanging or cleaning the thing years ago. We would have heard of it.”

The governor stepped forward to lay hand on the weapon himself. “Now that I look closely at this spear, there is something disquieting about it.”

“I doubt it is dangerous unless Najya is touching it, or if someone is touching both Najya and the spear,” Dabir went on.

“Why?” I asked.

“That,” Dabir said, “is one of any number of questions for which I have no answer at present.” He bowed his head to the governor. “With your leave, Excellency, there is much to do.”

The governor asked us to sup with him that night before ordering one of the soldiers to remove the spear and carry it to a room in the east wing where Dabir would be working. Slaves arrived with a litter for Najya and I had a final glimpse of her being lifted carefully onto it before Dabir and I strode into the hallway. I bethought then of all that the lady had endured, and hoped for her sake that we might soon deliver her from her troubles.

Dabir set up in a first-floor room with two ample windows viewing the courtyard, which meant it was bright as well as cold. He questioned me at length about all I’d experienced when touching the spear, but seemed less satisfied the more he learned. Then he sent me back to our house to retrieve some old scrolls and a book. I did not ask why. Before I left I saw to it Kharouf was posted outside, for, while inexperienced, he was serious by nature and a capable soldier.

When I returned, I watched until late in the afternoon while Dabir turned the spear every which way and laboriously copied each mark he discovered on the old weapon, regardless if it seemed a carving or a scratch. Occasionally he’d pause to rifle through references. He grew completely absorbed in the work, as he was whenever presented with a compelling puzzle.

I did not interrupt him, even though I wondered why anyone would bother making a weapon from a bone. Perhaps its use was merely ornamental, for surely the edge would break under strain. I sat with my arms crossed near the brazier slaves had brought in, and my mind returned repeatedly to Najya. We were supposed to be informed when she recovered. I hoped the silence did not mean that her condition had worsened.

Dabir could not be parted from his studies for food, so I alone joined the governor, Shabouh, and several other court intimates. They pressed me for details about Dabir’s discoveries but I could only shake my head. “Dabir never likes to speculate before he is more certain of an answer. He would not wish me to say.” This was true, of course, though I could not have told them Dabir’s theories even if I wished, for he had not shared them.

After evening prayers at the governor’s side, a servant informed us that the woman had roused and asked for Dabir and me, so I excused myself and went to find my friend.

Kharouf still leaned against the wall outside. Inside, a partially eaten meal of stewed dates and lamb rested near at hand, but Dabir was otherwise as I had left him, studying a text and making notes. A densely packed ring of candles now burned off the encircling darkness.

“Najya is awake and asking for us,” I told him.

“Ah. Good.” He nodded, glancing up. “You should go talk to her.”

“She asked for both of us,” I said, though I was not entirely sure the servant had truly conveyed the lady’s request.

“Yes, but I am busy.”

If he was at all interested in her, he was doing a poor job of showing it. I began to think it was the problem, and not the woman, which held his attention. “What do you want me to say?”

Dabir looked blandly up from the scroll. “Convince her to come with us.”

“Cannot the governor simply order her to do so?”

“Nay—she is not a criminal, and she is not of Mosul. The governor, being a just man, will not exercise authority over her he does not have. And she must accompany us, for her own safety.” He looked back down. “Oh—ask if she, too, witnessed anything when she touched the spear.”

Feeling somewhat useless to him otherwise, I had Kharouf point me in the right direction and then found a servant to lead me to the well-appointed room where Najya waited. There were braziers there, and a platter of breads and cheeses, and also a girl attendant who was brushing Najya’s hair by candlelight as she sat on a couch. Najya had removed her veil and did not bother affixing it on sight of me. Without the fabric she proved even more lovely, with a clear complexion, a small, full mouth with bright lips, and a delicate, rounded chin.

I had a sudden misgiving about why I’d been thinking of her all day, and didn’t realize I was staring until several uncomfortable moments passed while she waited for me to speak. I think she’d acknowledged me with “Captain Asim.”

I brought myself back around with some effort. “It is good to see that you are well.” I then noted that she wore a dark blue dress and decided to comment upon it, for women delight in such things. “Is that a new garment?”

“It is a gift from the governor,” she said with disinterest. “Captain, the servants say I am to ready for a journey to Harran. But surely,” she emphasized, “that cannot be right.”

Here I’d been thinking I’d have to break the news to her, but naturally palace gossip had reached her ear already. I doubted that would make my mission simpler.

“So it is true?” she asked.

“There is a man in Harran who Dabir thinks can help you.”

“Dabir promised he would help me return to Isfahan.” Those stunning eyes pierced me like spear points. “That is two weeks the other direction from Harran.”

When the matter was broached this way, I knew shame, for Najya was absolutely right—word had been given, and must be broken if Dabir had his way. Speech failed me, and as I struggled for a proper reply Najya’s scrutiny intensified, which made concentrating on a response all the harder. I could not help wondering if Dabir had sent me in his stead because he’d anticipated some of this. “You are right,” I admitted. “Dabir promised to return you to Isfahan. We fully intend to do so … but right now…”

Still she glared daggers.

The servant girl could not have been more than eight. She lowered her head while brushing, as if she expected us to begin hurling pottery at one another.

Truly, I had been more comfortable fighting strange monsters. “We didn’t know the power of the men who had kidnapped you. Or that you suffered strange fits. Or that there was a peculiar spear involved. Did you, too, see strange visions when you touched it?”

At this last, she left off glowering; now her stare was more blank, which was equally disconcerting. It would have been nice if she made some reply. But she did not, so I was left to continue the conversation on my own.

“So. Eh. There is a man in Harran, and Dabir thinks he can set everything aright with you. Also, he is an expert on the kind of wizards that Dabir thinks are chasing you.”

Najya pressed lips tightly together, then raised a hand to still the servant tending her hair. “Thank you. You may go.”

“Madame?” The girl lowered the brush.

Najya turned her head, and her voice was firm, though not harsh. “I said to go.”

The girl collected all the feminine beauty articles in a little basket beside her and exited hurriedly.

Najya waited until the girl had shut the door, then considered me with more care.

“I do apologize,” I said. “But you were not conscious, and we … Dabir, I mean—”

“What did you see in the visions?” she asked.

I found it far easier to discuss the distressing images I had seen than to speak to her about Harran, so I welcomed the change of topic. I omitted nothing.

She did not listen like Dabir, with interruptions. Instead she waited pensively and allowed me to reach a natural conclusion. After, she sat looking troubled.

Once again I tried to prod her forward. “Did you see something similar?”

“Somewhat.”

With that admission, it was easier to take the initiative. “You see, then, why we need to speak with someone better able to help you? Dabir would not have suggested going to Harran if he did not think it would aid you.”

“I believe you,” she said finally, and touched a hand to her face.

It was a relief to know my arguments were seeing me to victory, and I began to relax. Another fine point had just come to me, one I might have mentioned earlier if I’d been thinking more clearly. “If we return you to Isfahan, who is to say the sorcerers would not simply follow and take you away once more?”

She frowned, seemingly in acknowledgment. “Who is this man Dabir is taking me to see?”

“I do not know him,” I confessed. “But he is a scholar who helped train Dabir. Dabir is one of the brightest men in the caliphate, and if he respects the fellow, he must be wise indeed. I am sure he will be able to cure you.”

“Very well,” She said resignedly. “I will go.” She then addressed me with great dignity. “Your … friend is very kind to me. I will happily remunerate him for these expenses. My family is not without resources.”

It took me a moment to decide how to respond. “That is thoughtful of you,” I said at last. “But Dabir is not a hireling. He is a trusted servant of the caliph. He does not aid you for money or any other favor, but because it is the proper thing to do.”

“You hold him in high regard.”

“His wisdom has unraveled great mysteries.” It occurred to me then that she still had told me little that Dabir had asked me to learn. “Your pardon, but one of the things he asked me to, eh, ask you was whether you yourself had seen visions. And what they were.”

“The coals have dimmed,” she said.

I had been looking at nothing but her for a long while now, and though I had noticed a fading light, it had not occurred to me to see if the coals in both braziers had left off steaming. I was not so foolish that I had missed her change of subjects, but I did not wish her to be uncomfortable, either. “Are you cold? Shall I call for more?”

“Nay. Though my skin is cool.” She touched fingers to her face once more. “Are you warm?”

“I, too, am fine.” Now that she mentioned it, I had been chilled ever since I had touched the spear beside her, but I did not mean to reveal it.

She adjusted herself into the cushions, then considered me seriously. “Tell me, Captain. Do you think I am a witch?”

“Nay.”

“Do you think I am mad?”

“No, not at all. You have borne yourself through difficulties that would send some men quaking in fear.”

She weighed me then with her eyes, and her shoulders sank a degree. She proceeded tentatively. “There is something I think I should tell you. Dabir should probably know. I did not say anything of it sooner because … well, I thought this would end quickly, and I did not wish to speak of it.”

I could not imagine what she was about to admit, but she held my complete attention.

“Since I was a little girl, I have sometimes had dreams about things that had not yet happened, but that later came true. My grandmother used to call them visions.”

I knew not what to make of this. “Did you dream about something that the wizards wanted?”

“I don’t think so. My dreams were almost always…” Her voice trailed away. “… mundane.”

“What do you mean?”

At last she seemed to relax. “Once I dreamed my grandfather would return home early with presents for me and my brother, and that he would bring my brother a toy sword. He did, the next day. I dreamt my cousin would find her kitten wandering in the field across the way when it went missing.” She paused briefly, and her voice softened. “Once I dreamed my father was crying, and the next day we learned his uncle had died. Until now, that was the worst dream.”

“And did you ever dream of these wizards?”

“No. But for the weeks before my … my attack, I had been dreaming of great fields of snow that covered rooftops. And—” She watched me for a moment, I think to gauge whether or not I would scoff or mock her.

“Speak on,” I urged.

“There were strange beings all around me, and riders. Fierce warriors wrapped in furs, shouting and waving swords. Before us flew ghosts that chased down men. We were heading for a little hill in a valley, and I think you were there, fighting someone with a club.”

I could not keep the skepticism from my voice. “Do your dreams always come true?”

“Only the true ones. But I can always tell.”

As disquieting as her dreams were, I was no learned man, to guess their import. “This seems like the kind of thing wizards like. Did they ask you about your dreams?”

“I don’t think so.” Her lips twisted into a frown. “I scarcely remember my time among them. It is mostly hazy.”

“Do you remember anything?”

She puzzled over my question for a moment. “After my capture, but before I came here, there is one moment…” Her voice grew more certain as she continued. “I lay in near darkness, in a stone room. There were a few candles.” She pointed to left and right, as though placing memories. “I was groggy and light-headed, and it took me a moment to focus, but I grew alarmed when I smelled blood. I opened my eyes to see a woman was bent over me, and she, too, looked troubled. I thought she might be worried for me, and I asked if she had come to help.” Najya’s voice hardened. “But she had not. She pulled away as if I were a snake, and she spoke quickly with a man I realized must be standing behind me. I know only a little Greek, but I’m sure the man was worried that something had not worked, and that the lady hadn’t done it properly. And that made her nervous.”

“Do you remember anything else?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, and let out a long breath. For the first time that evening she wore her sorrow and weariness openly. I wished then that I was not a stranger, that I might comfort her. “I really thought the Greek woman was going to help me.” I found that she was still looking at me. “I did see strange scenes, Captain,” she confessed. “When I held the weapon on the wall. You said you wished to hear it.”

Looking at her strained expression, I was no longer certain I wanted to know. “Is it worse than what I saw?”

“I saw everything that you did, but I was the one attacking.… And some part of me was glad for all that happened. I was fighting against those men, wielding a weapon, stomping through the snow, eager for blood.… And I cast great waves of cold from my fingertips.”

I knew not what to say.

“I should not have told you that,” she said, watching me.

“You should tell me—and Dabir—anything that you see. If he doesn’t know all that you know, he cannot help you.”

Still she stared, looking more lost and alone than ever, and I could no longer help myself. I stepped forward and sank to one knee before her. “You are not mad,” I said. “I saw everything that you did. I faced the wooden men, and their keeper. I doubt nothing you have told me.”

“But you did not … feel the vision the same way.”

“The wizards have done something to you. And Dabir and I will set things right. This I promise.”

She looked at me again in that way she had in the house, upon the stair, and I felt suddenly uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, and climbed to my feet, very conscious of her proximity. “Is there anything more you need? Do you desire female companionship upon the ride?”

“No,” she said, which pleased me, for I had no stomach for shepherding a gaggle of women. “That will not be necessary. But I want a better horse.”

I smiled at the thought of a woman’s simple worries. “I shall find you one that rides most smoothly. I apologize for the cart horse’s bony back—”

“That is not what I mean,” she cut in. “I do not need some old woman’s nag, but one that answers to my lead.”

There was sense in this—if it came to a fight she might escape on a more responsive steed. “I shall see that it is done. Is there anything else you desire?”

“I should like a sword, Captain.”

This startled me.

“I am a general’s daughter,” she reminded me.

I then recalled how competently she had held Dabir’s blade. While it is true that women tire more swiftly than men, for they are weak, it can be prudent to show a woman how to handle a weapon, for it is a sad fact known by brothers, sons, and fathers that women sometimes must defend themselves when we are not at hand.

Najya took my silence as another challenge, and her chin rose imperiously. “I have one of my own, and I always wear it on my longer rides. As my blade is in Isfahan, I would prevail upon you to find me another.”

“I will present you with the finest blade it is in my power to give,” I promised, and the challenging look in her eyes melted away. A smile touched her lips. “Did you study sword craft with your father?” I asked.

“I did.”

“Perhaps during our journey you can tell me more of him. I have heard great things about his skill.”

“I would enjoy that.”

She seemed in an easier state of mind, and it was a true pleasure to see her smile. I noticed too late that I had once again said nothing for a while. “I should go,” I told her, though I did not move. “Is there anything else you desire?”

“Yes. I should write my brother another letter to let him know what has changed.”

“A fine idea. I’m sure the governor will be happy to send a courier.” I rose, then bowed my head to her. “Rest well. We shall depart in the morning.”

“Go with God,” she told me. I had the sense that she wished something else, but she did not speak of it, even as I lingered a moment in the threshold, thus I left her.

I found a slave in the hall and told him to bring parchment, ink, and pen, then returned straightaway to the room where I’d left Dabir, only to find him gone with the spear. Kharouf, lounging beside the room’s brazier and picking through the dinner remains, told me my friend had hurried off just a few moments before, carrying the spear and a bundle of books and papers. “He said to tell you he was heading to the astronomer’s tower.”

Understand that I had always found Kharouf rather reliable, so his carelessness in leaving Dabir without guard thoroughly astounded me. “And you did not think to go with him?”

Kharouf answered quickly. “He thought you might be worried if you didn’t know where he was. He asked me to stay.”

“He could have written a note!”

“Oh,” Kharouf said. “I suppose you’re right.”

I held off cursing him then and turned from the room.

“Should I go with you?” he called after.

“Stay and guard the brazier,” I snapped.

So it was that I shortly found myself with a lantern, trotting up a flight of stone steps into the darkness. They marched up and around the inside of the old square tower. Narrow windows were cut into the wall every ten steps or so, casting silver moonlight across the stairs. I imagined portly Shabouh puffing up and down them every evening, and wondered how he was not slimmer.

I emerged at last into the cold night air, my breath clouding before me. Dabir sat on a wooden stool, a bundle of papers clipped to a table secured to the wall. A lantern dangled from a hook beside him, near the spear.

“Ah,” he said, glancing up only briefly. “You got my message.”

I snorted. “Did you deliberately trick poor Kharouf?”

“He kept asking questions.” Dabir did not look up. He was tracing a finger over a manuscript. In a moment, he lifted a metal instrument to his eye and stared along it into the heavens. Near at hand was an inkwell and stylus, and I saw that he had been drawing a series of dots on a clean sheet of parchment. I could not imagine why he should be diagramming a star map.

“I left him there to guard you,” I said.

“I am fine, as you see.”

I sighed and stepped past him to place my hands on the scalloped crenellations, chest-high. The stone was heavy with cold that leached through my fingers.

Not even Mosul’s largest mosque stood as tall as the tower. I gazed down upon the city, savoring the view. The bonfire blazed in the square, staining the diminished crowd in shifting reds and golds. Flickering light shown through many shuttered windows, and some folk had left their courtyard ovens smoking. Beyond the city’s walls lay the long length of the Tigris, a deceptively placid ebon ribbon, and on its far side lay low mounds. These, too, were misleading, for under the blanket of snow were not hills, but the ruins of the ancient city of Nineveh, so vast that even after centuries of looting the stone, great swaths loomed intact.

My gaze was drawn past the ruins to the horizon, where the stars shone through crisp winter air in all their glory. The scattered fragments of the Milky Way glowed especially bright, and I lost myself in wonder for a time until Dabir laid down his tool and scribbled some notes.

I then considered the tower height. Roofless and open to the elements, it was empty of decoration or any furnishings apart from Shabouh’s weathered desk, a stool, and a few hooks or metal loops for lanterns and banners. The space was no more than twelve paces from side to side, and on the north face, just a step or two from the battlement, was the square opening to the stairwell.

“So. What are you doing up here?” I asked him.

“Looking over Shabouh’s calculations.”

This pleased me, somewhat, though I tried not to gloat. “Didn’t you tell me stars and planets could not map a man’s fate?”

“They can’t. But they surely hold many secrets we have not yet unraveled.” He set down the pen and sighed. “Shabouh’s right. The planets haven’t been in this kind of configuration for almost a thousand years.”

“And what happened a thousand years ago?”

To this he could only shake his head. “I can’t recall reading of anything calamitous taking place around here then.” He met my eyes. “But that is the problem with astrological predictions. Somewhere, something horrible is always happening to someone, and something pleasant to someone else. All under the same star sign.”

“Well, was something especially bad happening somewhere else?”

“Not that I know of. I’ll have to do some more research. Now. What did you find out?”

“Najya’s agreed to accompany us.”

“Did you ask her whether she had experienced any visions?”

“Aye.” I then relayed what the woman had seen, and he plucked details up for examination like a jeweler eyeing diamonds. I went on to describe her “true dreams.” He seemed merely curious until I mentioned what Najya remembered about lying on a table. At mention of the Greek woman Dabir’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a little in surprise.

“What has you worried?” I asked.

He gathered up his composure and, after a moment, spoke calmly. “Did you think to ask Najya what the woman looked like?”

In point of fact, I had not. “No,” I admitted. “But what does it matter if one of the Sebitti’s attendants spoke Greek?”

“What if she’s not an attendant, Asim?”

I was not sure what he meant by this, and could only stand in silence.

“Blood powers magic, Asim.” He seemed unduly impatient. “Think. What magic worker do we know who is Greek, and a woman?”

That answer was simple, for we had met only one person with both qualifications. “Lydia?”

Dabir lifted his hands in exaggerated elation. “Yes! Lydia.”

“You think it was Lydia?” I was surprised. Had he not warned me about galloping toward conclusions before saddling facts? “Surely there are other Greek women who practice sorcery.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You are, of course, correct that I should not automatically assume the worst.”

I bowed my head in acknowledgment but, rather than calming, Dabir took to pacing as he thought aloud.

“Lydia is a sorceress of singular power. She called a spirit up from hell and placed it in a living man.”

Her plan had been to do this to Jaffar, and not only had she almost succeeded, she had nearly entombed Dabir and me alive in the bargain. I needed no reminding. Dabir, though, went on.

“Even so great a necromancer as Diomedes could not conjure a complete soul. The bodies he animated were but husks, moving through a shadow of their former lives.” He shook his head. “If the Sebitti were interested in working with any Greek sorceress, it would almost surely be her.”

I realized then what he was driving at. “You think the Sebitti are in league with the Greeks?!”

“Behind them or merely involved, this cannot be good for the caliphate.”

I grew conscious of the sound of footsteps. Dabir and I turned and saw the spill of lamplight on the steps, drawing closer as the scrape of boot sole on stone grew louder. I wondered if it might be Kharouf, or even Shabouh.

Instead, I saw that it was Tarif. His scar, lit from beneath, seemed especially grim that night. Perhaps because he was expecting the night air to be chill, he had thrown on a baggy robe, one that looked a size or two large for him.

“Shabouh,” I joked, “you’re looking thinner than I remember.”

Tarif did not bother with an answering jest. His eyes scanned the tower with the practice of a trained soldier. I wondered if he had ever been up here before, and supposed that, like me, he’d had no call do so.

“Greetings,” he said, and turned to contemplate the drop, stepping to the west face, across from us.

His manner seemed odd to me, and I was about to comment upon it when Dabir gripped my upper arm. I turned my head to face him, saw him mouth something to me.

“What?” I asked.

Tarif turned to face us and his eyes glittered strangely as he drew his sword.

“Sebitti!” Dabir cried. “That’s not Tarif!”

A year before this, perhaps even six months before, I might have paused to question Dabir’s reasoning, sense of humor, or sanity. Yet because I had grown used to his declarations, no matter how strange, I did not hesitate, and that is what saved me. That, and the fact that curved blades draw quickly, for Tarif was already swinging as I cleared the scabbard.

“Gazi’s a master warrior!” Dabir shouted quickly.

I had not time for finesse. I caught Tarif’s sword edge on mine, rather than my flat, and he bore down, grinning madly. He pushed in hard, seeking to shove me over an extended foot, but I dodged him, ducking a strike that sheared off the top of my turban. Tarif, or Gazi, giggled as the cloth fabric came down around my shoulders. Praise Allah, the wind whipped it back so that I was not blinded.

Dabir tried sweeping the fellow’s legs with the ivory spear, but Gazi blocked the blow with his boot after only a negligent glance.

I took what I thought was an opening and drove in with a high cut. Gazi parried lightning-fast and swung for my chest. I just managed to block, but my grip and angle were poor. I turned as Gazi struck again and again, and we rotated about the limited space.

Dabir swung at Gazi’s head.

The man ducked it, and I stumbled wildly backward as Dabir’s spear blade passed a whisker before my nose. “Get down the stairs!” I shouted.

I fetched up against the wall. If Gazi had attacked me at that moment I would not be alive to write this, but he’d heard my warning and whirled to face Dabir. Probably he feared my friend would actually heed my advice to flee, which of course he had not done.

Dabir’s stance was too narrow—he’d had no formal training with the spear—but he knew how to grip it, and he kept Gazi back with two swift jabs. The third, though, was just the same as the first two, and Gazi had learned the pattern. He stepped aside and grabbed the spear just past the blade, lunging forward for an overhead strike.

I might have killed Gazi then but Dabir would still have been slain by the Sebitti’s downward blow. I managed to throw myself forward, sliding my blade under Gazi’s. I blocked the strike at the hilt before it had full momentum, though I’d done it by defying any sort of proper sword technique.

Gazi’s eyes brushed mine at the same moment his sword came clear. He sliced carelessly at my torso and I stepped back, remembering too late that I was near Shabouh’s desk. I clattered into it. I felt sure then to feel the death stroke, but Gazi had retained hold of the spear with his off hand and used it to force Dabir to the stairwell while keeping his eyes locked on me.

Dabir struggled to control the back end of the spear haft, and suddenly found himself teetering on the edge of the stairs. Gazi grinned for only a moment, for he had been too clever. Dabir did not relinquish the spear as he tripped down the stairs, but held tight, which pulled Gazi’s end along as well.

Finally the Sebitti was off balance; as he turned to wrest the weapon from Dabir, I swept in, hard.

Yet Gazi would not be so easily taken. He somehow anticipated my strike, and as his sword arm was not in position to parry, he released the spear and threw himself backward. My stroke missed, and I marveled as he tumbled in the air, touched down briefly on one palm, and somehow pushed from there up to the battlement, where he alighted on the balls of his feet.

I could never have managed that backflip, much less a safe landing on a merlon barely a hand’s span wide. I think I probably goggled at him a bit, and as I did, his face writhed like a snake. In but two heartbeats he was another man entirely, an ebon giant who completely filled the clothing that had draped his guise as Tarif.

I knew then I had stared too long. I barely deflected a wicked cut at my jaw. He laughed as he leapt over my return slice at his legs, landing on a second merlon. I thrust again, but he jumped lightly to the battlement on my left.

As I swung to face him he sprang at me.

“Down!” Dabir shouted, and I dropped to one knee, spinning to face the rear as Gazi’s redirected sword stroke brushed my beard. This time the scholar wielded no spear, but the lantern, which smashed and broke across Gazi in the midst of his leap. Flames raced over his clothing. The Sebitti stumbled slightly as he landed, but recovered fast, pivoting to face us. The fire ate at his robes, yet he stood ready with his weapon, looking more irritated than alarmed. I shot to my feet. He paused a moment with narrowed eyes, his mouth turning up in a disgusted smile. His form shifted, though his expression did not change. Now he was an older man, white as a Frank, tall as the black but leaner. He shook his head, once, his face now partially obscured behind the rising blaze, then turned his back to us and sprang for the balustrade opposite me. I ran after, but before I could reach him he had vaulted off into space.

Dabir and I reached the edge in time to see the fire failing as the wind from his descent whipped it away. And then he smashed through the snow-sheathed stable roof. There was a mighty crash of timber and sun-dried clay, and a spray of frost.

I stared down in silence for a short moment, slightly stunned, then turned my head to Dabir. “Was that something to wring hands about?”

He blinked at me, then burst into laughter. He stilled it after just a few moments, then fixed me with a warm but worried smile as he backed toward the stairs. “Come, Asim, I don’t think Gazi’s dead.” He turned, spear in hand, and started down.

I came after. “Not dead?” I called to him. “He dropped eighty feet!”

“He jumped to put out the fire,” Dabir said as he took the stairs two at a time, “and shifted to a form that he valued less.” He turned the corner, winded already from the combat. “Probably he changed again the moment after impact, to an uninjured body.”

“By God! How do you kill such a man?”

“Well, fire might have worked,” Dabir offered.

“How did you know he was not Tarif?”

“His manner. His clothes. His sword.”

“I wonder what Tarif will say when he learns of this,” I said, picturing my friend’s consternation.

We had reached the ground level, and the last window.

Dabir’s expression was grave as he looked back at me. “Tarif is dead.”

“How can you know?”

“Gazi must eat his victim’s heart to assume the shape.”

This cut me without warning. Tarif was my closest friend in Mosul, apart from Dabir, and one with whom I shared more common interests. Perhaps I should have guessed this already, but I’d hardly had time for deep reflection in the last few minutes. “Are you sure?” I asked, hoping Dabir had it wrong.

He made no reply, but pressed his lips into a doleful grimace.

As usual, Dabir was right. We raised an alarm and put the whole palace on alert. After an hour Tarif was found, dead and mutilated, stuffed behind some scrap wood outside the stable. As for a body mangled ’neath the torn stable roof, either that of Tarif’s twin or an old Frank or a giant black warrior, there was no sign.