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their shoulders to the heavy cedar doors and the gate swung wide.

Zenobia urged her horse forward and it trotted out onto the sloping ramp. The sky had lightened, revealing the plain and the looming shapes of the tomb towers that marked its border. Light grew and Zenobia waited under the torches and lanterns, alone before the gate of the city.

The sun peeped over the eastern rim of the world, and the road between the funereal monoliths was at last illuminated. A single figure waited-a dark shape on a black horse. There were no Persians in sight; even their scouts had withdrawn. The light of the sun touched the top of one of the towers, and it glowed like a pearl in the dawn.

The dark shape rode forward slowly, and a dreadful chill touched the Queen. The sun continued to rise, touching each of the tomb towers in turn, creeping down their sides with a wash of golden light.

“It is the one I felt at Emesa,” Ahmet said from the shadow of the gate. “The terrible power that struck down the Red Prince.”

He stood forward, his shoulders square, and put his headdress and robe aside. A tremendous calm had settled over him, and his heart was suddenly light. He knew why he had come to this place. “This is for me, my lady, not for you.”

Zenobia turned her horse, staring at the priest with stunned eyes.

Ahmet made a half smile. “The Boar desires only victory, not the honor of the world.”

“No…” she whispered, but stood frozen as he walked past her, his staff held under one arm.

Ahmet turned at the bottom of the ramp, his bare feet digging into the sand. “Close the gate and set a watch upon every wall. This is a little deceit; it may grow larger.”

Ibn’Adi and Mohammed took Zenobia’s reins from her nerveless hands and led her back into the city. Vorodes stared out at the barren field, where Ahmet walked alone, and put his shoulder, with the others, to the great gate to swing it closed.

Sand crunched under his feet as Ahmet crossed the bridge at the foot of the wall. The dark shape remained, sitting on the horse under the shadow of the tombs. As he walked, the Egyptian was calming his mind, settling into the fourth entrance of Hermes. Though the plain appeared flat and smooth to the eye, hollows and rocks made it uneven. Footing would be poor, and he could not afford to lose sense of his physical body. Perception unfolded, the sky falling away in a riot of blazing lights and swimming with patterns of force. He focused on holding his physical sight and senses together.

The figure moved, the black horse walking forward a few paces. Then it stopped and the robed figure dismounted, his cowl falling away from a pale head. Ahmet stiffened, seeing the vulpine line of the skull. The shock of perception was like a blow to the face. The enemy sent his horse away. Then it turned, arms held away from its body, and Ahmet saw its eyes blaze with subtle fire.

A dead thing in the shape of a living man, he thought in amazement. What hell did it crawl forth from to learn the usages and speech of men?

Ahmet’s shields flickered, growing stronger and more complex with each moment. The Egyptian spoke words to himself, things half remembered from the chanting of the masters of his order, keys to unlock the powers and patterns of the ancient gods. The air around him trembled and mortar in the towers that bounded the field of battle on two sides began to fray.

Seventy feet separated them. The dark shape bowed its head and Ahmet felt the earth echo with some dark thought. He balanced on the balls of his feet, his mind quiet. The thing looked up.

/ am Dahak, echoed in his thoughts, a caress of ice. Bow to me and you will live.

No, Ahmet responded, Between the race of men and you there is no compromise.

Then you will serve me in death.

The plain of sand erupted in fire, the dark man’s hands raised in invocation. Ahmet danced aside, his shields ringing like an enormous bell as bolts of incandescent flame raged against them. He began to sweat, but his own hands danced and a Shockwave lashed through the ground, hurling the dark man aside like a doll. The earth shook and bricks and mortar toppled from the nearest tower. Dahak struggled up and Ahmet raced across the sand, his voice howling like the wind. Lightning lashed out from him, savaging the thing, tearing great blackened gashes in the desert floor.

The thing stood and its fist clenched. Ahmet’s shields fractured and crumpled under the blow, hurling him back thirty feet to smash flat onto the sand. He shook his head clear and rolled up as a line of white-hot fire scorched the ground where he had lain. The Egyptian rotated his right hand across the front of his body, and the air between him and the thing wavered glassily. Dahak’s second bolt spattered across the invisible barrier, etching it like acid. The sand under the wall of air boiled, fusing to mottled glass.

Ahmet snarled and swallowed the power in the stones of the nearest tower. Stones cracked like a bowstring and the entire edifice, thirty feet of sandstone blocks bigger than a man and thousands of pounds of brick and mortar, toppled slowly over. Dahak scrambled aside then made a prodigious leap into the air as the tower smashed down where he had been. The booming sound of the collapsing tower washed over Ahmet like a wave, and the sand jumped at the impact. Dust billowed up, obscuring the field. The Egyptian dashed to his right as fast as he could run.

The ground convulsed behind him, bulging upward like a mushroom with frightening speed. Then it burst, spraying sand in all directions, and something enormous and writhing with green-black tentacles was exposed for a split second before it all collapsed into the ground with a boom!

Sand fountained and the ground groaned as a deep pit was carved out. Lightning stabbed from Ahmet’s hands into the pall of dust that had billowed up from the tower, searching for the dark man.

A hammerblow threw the Egyptian to the ground and his shields flared like the sun, a hundred layers disintegrating in an instant. Through a blur of sweat and falling sand, Ahmet saw the dark man standing on the pinnacle of a tower on his left. On his knees, the priest screamed in rage and punched in the air at the distant figure. The tower exploded, erupting with shattered rock and brick from every window and doorway. It crumbled majestically, each floor shattering in succession and the whole thing toppling to one side. The dark figure staggered on the summit as it slid sickeningly toward the ground. Then Dahak sprang up and flew through the air to the next tower, his robes streaming out behind him like the wings of some enormous raven.

Ahmet wept in rage. The creature can fly!

The Egyptian staggered to his feet and drew his hands, palms facing, together before his chest, his face a mask of concentration. Around him the sand and rocks within a dozen paces flashed a bright blue-white and collapsed to ash and smoke. Snarling, his hands flexed outward, palms facing the figure of the enemy hurtling toward him through the air. He shouted, his voice enormous, filling the whole valley. In the city, windows of rare glass shattered, spraying the streets with a cloud of tiny knives. People screamed, their faces drenched with blood. The walls of the city shook and men stumbled back from the ramparts, stricken deaf by the sound.

Dahak slewed wildly to one side, trying to avoid the blow, but it was not enough. Something enormous slammed into him and his own shields blazed up, radiating tongues of flame in all directions. He cartwheeled through the air and smashed into the side of another tower. The edifice trembled and cracked, parts of the upper stories sliding down in slow motion, dust bursting out of the far side. The dark man pulled himself limply out of the crushed bricks, his right hand making a sign in the air before him.