Chapter 1

The procession wound its way slowly across the plains toward the city of Idrith. It was a magnificent sight, and—as word of its approach spread through the souks—many Idrithians clambered up the narrow stairs and lined the city walls to see, exclaim, and speculate.

At the head of the procession marched two mamalukes. Gigantic men, both seven feet tall, the slaves wore red and orange feathered headdresses that added an additional three feet to their height. Short black leather skirts banded by gold encircled their narrow waists. Gold flashed from the collars they wore round their necks, jewels glittered on the headdresses. Their chests and legs were bare, their skin oiled so that it glistened in the noonday sun. In their hands, each mamaluke carried a banner with a strange device, the like of which had never before been seen in Idrith. On a background red as blood, there glistened a black snake with eyes of orange flame.

Now snake banners were common enough—every city had at least one minor or major potentate who thought himself wily enough to deserve such a symbol. But this particular insignia had something unusual—and sinister—about it.

The snake’s body was severed in three places and still, from the portrayal of the forked tongue flicking from the silken mouth, it seemed that the snake lived.

Behind the mamalukes marched six muscular slaves clad in black leather skirts bound with gold but without the additional finery of the standardbearers. These slaves bore between them a palanquin whose white curtains remained tightly closed, permitting no one to catch a glimpse of the person who rode inside. A troop of goums mounted on matching black horses closely followed the palanquin. The soldiers’ uniforms were a somber black, with black short coats and matching black, flowing pants that were tucked into kneehigh red leather boots. Each man wore upon his head a conical red hat adorned with a black tassel. Long, curvedbladed swords bounced against their left legs as they rode.

But it was that which came behind these goums in the solemn processional that caught the attention of the crowd on the walls of Idrith. Numerous slaves bore between them three litters, each covered by white fabric. Several goums rode at the side of the litters. The heads of these soldiers were bowed, their black uniforms were torn, they wore no hats.

Following the litters was another squadron of goums, escorting three baggageladen camels decked out in splendid finery—orangeandred feathered headdresses, long tassels of black fringe that bounced about their spindly legs.

From the slow movement and sorrowful mien of those marching across the plains, it was soon obvious to the people of Idrith that this was a funeral cortege they were observing from the walls. Word spread and more people pushed their way through the crowds to see. Nothing attracts attention like a funeral, if only to reassure the onlooker that he himself is still alive.

About a mile from the city gates, the entire procession came to a halt. The standardbearers dipped their banners—a sign that the party approached in peace. The slaves settled the palanquin on the ground. The goums dismounted, the camels sank to their knees, the rattancovered litters were lowered with great ceremony and respect to the ground.

Looking and feeling extremely important, aware of hundreds of envious eyes upon him, the Captain of the Sultan’s Guard led a squadron of his men out to meet and inspect the strangers before permitting them to enter the city. Barking a sharp command for his men to keep in line and maintain discipline, the Captain cast a glance toward the Sultan’s palace that stood on a hill above Idirth. The Sultan could not be seen, but the Captain knew he was watching. Bright patches of color crowding the balconies gave indication that the Sultan’s wives and concubines were flocking to see the procession.

His spine might have been changed to iron, so stiff and straight was the back of the Captain as he walked his horse slowly and with great dignity past the standardbearers, advancing upon the palanquin. A man had emerged from its white curtains and was waiting with every mark of respect to meet the Captain. Beside the man stood the leader of the goums, also on foot and also respectful. A slave held his horse some distance behind him.

Dismounting himself, the Captain handed the reins of his horse to one of his men and walked forward to meet the head of the strange procession.

The man of the palanquin was clothed almost completely in black. Black leather boots, black flowing trousers, a longsleeved, black flowing shirt, a black turban adorning his head. A red sash and a red jewel in the center of the turban did nothing to relieve the funereal aspect of the man’s costume. Rather, perhaps because of the peculiar shade of red that was the color of fresh blood, they enhanced it.

The skin of the man’s face and hands was white as alabaster, probably why he took such precautions to keep himself out of the burning sun; Idrith being located just to the north of the Pagrah desert. By contrast, his brows were jet black, feathering out from a point above a slender, hawkish nose. The lips were thin and bloodless. Trimmed moustaches shadowed the upper lip, extending down the lines of the unsmiling mouth to join a narrow black beard that outlined a firm, jutting jawline.

The man in black bowed. Placing a whiteskinned, slender hand over his heart, he performed the salaam with grace. The Captain returned the bow, far more clumsily—he was a big, awkward man. Raising his head, he met the gaze of the man in black and flinched involuntarily, as if the penetrating glance of the two dark, cold eyes had been living steel.

Instantly on his guard, the Captain cleared his throat and launched into the formalities. “I see by the lowering of your standards that you come in peace, Effendi. Welcome to the city of Idrith. The Sultan begs to know your names and your business that we may do you honor and lose no time in accommodating you.”

The expression on the face of the man in black remained grave as he replied with equal solemnity and politeness. “My name is Auda ibn Jad. Formerly a trader in slaves, I am now traveling eastward to my homeland of Simdari. I wish only to stop over in your city for a day and a night to replenish my supplies and give my men some rest. Our journey has been a long and a sad one, and we have still many hundreds of miles to go before its end. I am certain that you must have surmised, Captain,” the man in black said with a sigh, “that we are a funeral cortege.”

Uncertain how to respond, the Captain cleared his throat noncommittally and glanced with lowering brows at the number of armed men he was being asked to let into his city. Auda ibn Jad appeared to understand, for he added, with a sad smile, “My goums would be most willing to surrender their swords to you, Captain, and I will answer for their good conduct.” Taking hold of the Captain’s arm with his slender hand, Auda led the soldier to one side and spoke in a low voice. “You will, however, be patient with my men, sidi. They have the gold of Kich in their purses, gold that melancholy circumstances prevented them from spending. They are excellent fighters and disciplined men. But they have suffered a great shock and seek to drown their sorrows in wine or find solace in the other pleasures for which this city is wellknown. I myself have some business to do”—ibn Jad’s eyes flicked a glance at several ironbound wooden chests strapped to the camels—”with the jewel merchants of Idrith.”

Feeling the cold sensation spread from the man’s eyes to the fingers that rested on his arm, the Captain of the Sultan’s Guard drew back from that icy touch. Every instinct that had made him a good soldier for forty years warned him to forbid this man with eyes like knives to enter his city. Yet he could see the heavy purses hanging from each goum’s sash. The merchants of Idrith standing upon the city walls could not detect the money pouches from that distance, but they could see the heavy chests on the camels’ backs, the gold that glittered around the necks of this man’s slaves.

On his way out of the city gates, the Captain had seen the followers of Kharmani, God of Wealth, reaching for their tallysticks, and he knew very well that the proprietors of the eating houses, the tea shops, and the arwats were rubbing their hands in anticipation. A howl of outrage would split the Sultan’s eardrums if this woolly sheep all ready for the shearing were driven from the city gates—all because the Captain did not like the look in the sheep’s eyes.

The Captain still had one more bone to toss in the game, however. “All those desirous of entering the city of Idrith must surrender to me not only their weapons but all their magic items and djinn as well, Effendi. These will be given as sacrifice to Quar,” said the Captain, hoping that this edict—one that had come from the God and one that therefore not even the Sultan could lift—would discourage these visitors. His hope was a vain one, however.

Auda ibn Jad nodded gravely. “Yes, Captain, such a commandment was imposed on us in Kich. It was there that we left all our magical paraphernalia and our djinn. We were honored to do this in the name of so great a God as Quar and—as you see—he has in turn favored us with his blessing in our journeying.”

“You will not be offended if I search you, Effendi?” asked the Captain.

“We have nothing to hide, sidi,” said ibn Jad humbly, with another graceful bow.

Of course they don’t, the Captain thought dowerly. They knew about this and were prepared. Nevertheless, he had to go through the motions. Turning, he ordered his men to commence the search, as Auda ibn Jad ordered the leader of the goums to unload the camels.

“What is in there?” The Captain pointed to the litters.

“The bodies, sidi,” replied ibn Jad in low, reverent tones. “I did mention that this was a funeral cortege, didn’t I?”

The Captain started. Yes, the man had said that they were a funeral procession, but the Captain had assumed it was an honorary one, perhaps escorting the icon of some deceased Imam back to his birthplace. It never occurred to the soldier that this Auda ibn Jad was carting corpses around with him. The Captain glanced at the litters and frowned outwardly, though inwardly sighing with relief.

“Bodies! I am sorry, Effendi, but I cannot allow those inside the city walls. The risk of disease—”

“—is nonexistent, I assure you. Come, Captain, look for yourself.”

The Captain had no choice but to follow the man in black to where the litters rested on the sandy soil of the plains. Not a squeamish man—the Captain had seen his share of corpses in his lifetime—he nevertheless approached the litters with extreme reluctance. A body hacked and mangled on the field of battle was one thing. A body that has been traveling in the heat of early summer was quite another. Coming near the first litter, the Captain hardened himself for what was to come. It was odd, though, that there were no flies buzzing about. Sniffing, the Captain detected no whiff of corruption, and he glanced at the man in black in puzzlement.

Reading the Captain’s thoughts, Auda ibn lad smiled deprecatingly, as if denying credit for everything. He neared the litter, and his smile vanished, replaced by the most sorrowful solemnity. With a gesture, he invited the Captain to look.

Even as close as this, there was no hint of the nauseating odor of decay, nor could the Captain detect any perfume that might have covered it. His repugnance lost in curiosity, the Captain bent down and peered inside the first litter.

His eyes opened wide.

Lying in the most peaceful attitude of repose, his hands folded over the jeweled hilt of a splendid sword, was a young man of perhaps twentyfive years of age. He was handsome, with black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard. A helm carved to resemble the severed snake device lay at his feet, along with a broken sword that belonged—presumably—to the enemy who had vanquished him. Dressed in shining black armor, whose breastplate was decorated with the same design that appeared on the banners of Auda ibn Jad, the young man seemed by outward appearance to have just fallen asleep. So smooth and unblemished was the flesh, so shining black and lustrous was the hair, the Captain could not forbear stretching forth his hand and touching the white forehead.

The flesh was cold. The pulse in the neck was stilled, the chest did not move with the breath of life.

Stepping back, the Captain stared at the man in black in astonishment.

“How long has this man been dead?”

“About a month,” ibn Jad replied in grave tones.

“That—that’s impossible!”

“Not for the priests of our God, sidi. They have learned the secret of replacing the fluids of the body with fluids that can delay or completely arrest the natural process of decay. It is quite a fascinating procedure. The brains are taken out by drawing them through the nose—”

“Enough!” The Captain, paling, raised his hand. “Who is this God of yours?”

“Forgive me,” said Auda ibn Jad gently, “but I have taken a sacred vow never to speak His name in the presence of unbelievers.”

“He is not an enemy of Quar’s?”

“Surely the mighty and powerful Quar can have no enemies?” Ibn Jad raised a black eyebrow.

This statement left the Captain somewhat at a loss. If he pursued the matter of this man’s God, it would appear that the mighty and powerful Quar did indeed have something to fear. Yet the soldier felt uncomfortable in not pursuing it.

“Since your priests have conquered the effects of death, Ef- fendi,” said the Captain, hoping to gather more information, “why have they never sought to defeat Death himself?”

“They are working on it, sidi,” said ibn Jad coolly.

Nonplussed, the Captain gave up and glanced back down at the corpse of the man lying in state in the litter. “Who is he and why do you carry him with you?”

“He is Calif of my people,” answered ibn Jad, “and I have the sad task of bearing his body home to his grieving father. The young man was killed in the desert, fighting the nomads of Pagrah alongside the Amir of Kich—a truly great man. Do you know him, Captain?”

“Yes,” said the Captain shortly. “Tell me, Effendi, why is a Prince of Simdari fighting in foreign lands so far from his home?”

“You do not trust me, do you, Captain?” said Auda ibn Jad suddenly, frowning, a look in the cold eyes that made the soldier—a veteran of many battles—shudder. The Captain was about to respond when ibn Jad shook his head, putting his hands to his temples as if they ached. “Please forgive me,” he murmured. “I know you have your duty to uphold. I am shorttempered. This journey of mine has not been pleasant, yet I do not look forward to its ending.” Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I dread bringing this news to my king. The young man”—with a nod toward the corpse—”is his only son, the child of his old age at that. And now”—ibn Jad bowed gracefully—”to answer your most reasonable question, Captain. The Calif was visiting the court of the Emperor in Khandar. Hearing of the fame of the Amir, the Calif rode to Kich to study the art of warfare at the feet of a master. It was by the vilest treachery that the savage nomads killed him.”

Ibn Jad’s story seemed plausible. The Captain had heard rumors of the Amir’s attack on the nomads of the Pagrah desert. It was wellknown that the Emperor of Tarakan—a man who thirsted after knowledge as another thirsts for strong drink—encouraged visitors from strange lands who worshiped strange Gods. Yes, it was all nice and neat, so very nice and neat. . .

“What do you carry in those other two litters, Effendi?”

“Ah, here you will see a sight that will move you profoundly, sidi. Come.”

Walking over to the two litters that rested behind the first, the Captain saw—out of the corner of his eye—that his troops had almost completed their search of the caravan’s goods. He would have to make a decision soon. Admit them into the city or keep them out. Every instinct, every twitching nerve fiber in his body warned him—keep them out. Yet he needed a reason.

Glancing inside the litter, expecting to see another soldier— perhaps a bodyguard who had sacrificed his life for his master— the Captain caught his breath. “Women!” he stated, looking from one litter to the other.

“Women!” murmured Auda ibn Jad in reproof. “Say rather ‘Goddesses’ and you will come nearer the truth, for such beauty as theirs is rarely seen on this wretched plane of mortal existence. Look upon them, Captain. You may do so now, though to have set eyes upon their beauty before the death of my Calif would have cost you your life.”

A white gauze veil had been drawn over the face of each woman. With great respect and reverence, ibn Jad removed the veil from the first. The woman had classic features, but there was something about the pale, still face that spoke of fierce pride and stern resolution. Her long black hair glistened blue in the sun. Bending near her, the Captain caught the faintest smell of jasmine.

Auda ibn Jad turned to the other woman, and the Captain noticed that his touch grew more gentle. Slowly he drew back the veil from the motionless body. Gazing at the woman lying before him, the Captain felt his heart stirred with pity and with admiration. Ibn Jad had spoken truly. Never had the soldier seen a woman more beautiful. The skin was like cream, the features perfect. Hair the color and brilliance of dancing flame tumbled down over the slender shoulders.

“The wives of my Calif,” Auda said, and for the first time the Captain heard grief in the voice. “When his body was brought into the palace at Kich where they were staying, awaiting my lord’s return, they hurled themselves upon him, weeping and tearing their clothes. Before any could stop them, the one with the red hair grabbed the Prince’s sword. Crying that she could not live without him, she drove the blade into her own fair body and dropped dead at his feet. The other—jealous that the redhaired wife should reach him first in the Realm of Our God—drew a dagger she had hidden beneath her gown and stabbed herself. Both are the daughters of Sultans in my land. I bear them back to be buried with honor in the tomb of their husband.”

His head whirling from his glimpse of the beauty of the women, combined with a story of such tragedy and romance, the Captain wondered what to do. A Prince of Simdari, a friend of both the Emperor and the Amir, the body of this young man should by rights be escorted into the city. The Sultan would never forgive his Captain if, on his yearly visit to the court of Khandar, he was asked by the Emperor if he had received the funeral cortege of the Calif with honor and the Sultan was forced to reply that he knew nothing of any such cortege. In addition, was the Captain to deny his Sultan—who was always on the verge of perishing from boredom—the opportunity of meeting exotic guests, of hearing this sad tale of war and love and selfsacrifice?

The only metal the Captain had to set against all this glittering gold was plain, solid iron—an instinctive feeling of dislike and distrust for this Auda ibn Jad. Still pondering the matter, the Captain turned to find his lieutenant hovering at his elbow, the leader of the goums standing at his side.

“We have completed the search of the caravan, sir,” the lieutenant reported, “with the exception of those.” He pointed at the litters.

The leader of the goums gave a shocked yelp that was answered swiftly and sternly in their own language by Auda ibn Jad. Even so, the leader of the goums continued to talk volubly until Auda silenced him with a sharp, angry command. Redfaced and ashamed, the goum slunk away like a whipped dog. Auda, pale with fury, yet with his temper under control, turned to the Captain.

“Forgive the outburst, sidi. My man forgot himself. It will not happen again. You mentioned searching the corpses. By all means, please proceed.”

“What was all that about, Effendi?” the Captain asked suspiciously.

“Please, Captain. It was nothing.”

“I insist on knowing—”

“If you must.” Auda ibn Jad appeared faintly embarrassed. “The priests of our God have placed a curse upon these bodies. Any who disturb their rest will die a most horrible death, their souls sent to serve the Calif and his wives in heaven.” Ibn Jad lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “Accept my apologies, Captain. Kiber, the leader of my goums—while he is a good soldier—is a superstitious peasant. I beg you to pay no heed to him. Search the bodies.”

“I will,” said the Captain harshly.

Turning to his lieutenant to issue the order, the Captain saw by the carefully impassive, frozen expression on the soldier’s face that he had heard ibn Jad’s words quite clearly. The Captain opened his mouth. The lieutenant gave him a pleading look.

Angrily, the Captain marched over to the body of the Calif. “May Quar protect me from the unknown evil,” he said loudly, reaching forth his hand to search the mattress upon which the corpse rested. Any number of objects could be concealed in it, or beneath the silken sheet that covered the lower half of the body, or even inside the armor itself. . .

An eerie murmur, like the low whistle of a rising windstorm, caused the Captain’s hair to bristle. Involuntarily, his hand jerked back. Looking up swiftly, he saw the sound had come from ibn Jad’s goums. The men were backing away, their horses—affected by the fear of their masters—rolled their eyes and danced nervously. The slaves huddled together in a group and began to wail piteously. Auda ibn Jad, with a scowl, rounded upon them and shouted at them in his own language. From the motion of his hand, the Captain gathered he was promising them all a sound thrashing. The wailing ceased, but the slaves, the goums, the horses, and even, it seemed, the camels—beasts not noted for their intelligence—watched the Captain with an eager, anticipatory thrill of horror that was most unnerving.

Ibn Jad’s face was tense and strained. Though he was endeavoring hard to conceal his emotions, apparently he, too, was a superstitious peasant at heart. Abruptly, the Captain withdrew his hand.

“I will not disturb the honored dead. And you, Auda ibn Jad, and your men have leave to enter Idrith. But these”—he gestured at the rattan litters—”must remain outside the city walls. If they are indeed cursed, it would not do to bring them into the sacred precincts of Quar.” At least, the Captain thought grimly, he had solved that dilemma! Perhaps Auda ibn Jad and his men will take offense at this and leave.

But the man in black was smiling and bowing graciously, his fingers going to heart, lips, and forehead in the graceful salaam.

“I will order my men to guard the dead,” the Captain offered, though—glancing at his troops—he knew such an order would be unnecessary. Word of the curse would spread like the plague through the city. The most devout follower of Benario, God of Thieves, would not steal so much as a jeweled earring from the corpses.

“My grateful thanks, Captain,” said Auda, bowing again, hand pressed over his heart.

The Captain bowed awkwardly in return. “And perhaps you would do me the very great honor of accompanying me to the Sultan’s palace this evening. Affairs of state prevent His Magnificence from seeing the world, and he would be much entertained by the stories you have related to me.”

Auda ibn Jad protested that he was not worthy of such attention. The Captain patiently assured him that he was. Auda insisted that he wasn’t and continued to demur as long as was proper, then gave in with refined grace. Sighing, the Captain turned away. Having no legitimate reason to keep this man and his goums out of Idrith, he had done what he could. At least the corpses with their unholy curse would not pollute the city. He would himself take personal charge of Auda ibn Jad and order his men to keep a watchful eye upon the goums. After all, they numbered no more than thirty. The Sultan’s wives alone outnumbered them two to one. Amid the thousands of people jammed into Idrith, they would be as a single drop of rain falling into a deep well.

Telling himself that he had the situation under control, the Captain started to remount his horse. But his uneasiness persisted. His foot in the stirrup, he paused, hands on the saddle, and looked for one last time at the man in black.

Beneath hooded lids, the eyes of Auda ibn Jad were glancing sideways into the eyes of Kiber, leader of the goums. Much was being said in that exchange of glances, though probably nothing that was not of the most innocent nature. The Captain shivered in the noonday sun.

“I am,” he said grimly, “a superstitious peasant.”

Pulling himself up into the saddle, he wheeled his horse and galloped off to order the city gates be opened to Auda ibn Jad.