Dunes and Destiny

by kivati

Heroic adventure set in Araby. A Prince has lost his father, family, home and country, and must fight to take it back. First two books are complete, while the third is incomplete.

Dunes and Destiny

M.C Dunstan

BOOK ONE

The Sultan and the Sorcerer

~ I.C 1441 ~

One - Nomad Fire

Abdal Rahiim felt the wind caress his skin like the loving touch of his wife, following the contours of his muscled arms as though she stood next to him. Sand grains blew across his white baggy trousers and tunic as he stared out at the Great Desert of Araby.

Giant sand dunes lined the horizon, sand swirling like silk across them. The sky was a pleasant blue, like the colour of Swaroi Crystals. The sun toiled high in the sky, a constant source of joy and fear. How long would the water rations last? The food? Abdal cast the thought from his mind as quickly as it came. It was no longer in his hands.

He reached for his water-bag that hung at his waist, and removed the stopper with an accompanying pop. He placed the metal rim to his lips and drank sparingly. It refreshed and cooled him.

"How far have we come?" Abdal wiped his tanned, chiselled chin, and licked his lips.

"Not far enough, Mahmuud," Abdal said. "We have been out here for fifteen days, that is what I know. If the nomads do not find us, or we them, I am afraid we will have to turn back to Tambukta before the supplies run out."

Mahmuud was a large, portly man, with a stomach like a pregnant woman sticking out of his open shirt. He had a funny round face which looked like a coloured plate, with a thick black beard that covered his throat.

"Amal is sick," Mahmuud said. He gestured towards the line of men marching in tired, ragged fashion across the hot sands. Amal lay on the ground, his back on the sand facing the sky. A tall figure held a blanket over Amal to offer shade, while another crouched at his side and placed a soaked cloth across Amal's forehead.

Abdal paced down the dune, his feet sank into the sand as he moved. It was a nightmare, a constant strain on every muscle in the leg. His thighs burned like fire. Someone might as well have tied weights to his ankles.

The two attending Amal moved aside as Abdal arrived, though the tall man still held out the blanket. Abdal took to his knees, and placed his hand onto the man's chest.

"His heart is weak," Abdal said. He removed the cloth and wrung the water from it until it dripped into Amal's open mouth. "Conserve the water," Abdal said with a touch of impatience. "We can not waste it like this, or we'll all be dead." He wrung it again, twisting it tightly until it looked like a snake. Mahmuud's shadow came across them.

"We rest here, and see if Amal can regain his strength," Abdal said.

"Yes, My Prince," Mahmuud replied. "Shall I light a fire?" Abdal nodded.

"Let's hope someone notices it."

Amro laughed as his son fell to the ground. Little Sali, only eight years old, thumped the sand with a fist. Amro was a tall, sleek man, handsome and dark. Sali had a few of his father's qualities. The same dark, piercing eyes, the same hawk-nose. What Sali lacked in size was made up by personality. Sali wasn't a quitter. He picked up the wooden sword Amro had made him, and began swinging it again.

Amro took a deep gulp of desert air, and tasted the scent of Aida's cooking. The spice made his mouth water as he stared across the low tents that represented his tribe. The tribe was at rest, lazing away in the sun, or beneath their sand-covered tents that poked out from the dunes like natural edifices.

"You can't swing a sword like that, Little Sali," Amro said. He took the mock blade from his son's hands, and held it out in a ready poise. "It is about discipline, and control, not strength and fury." Amro made a few thrusts with the blade, then handed it back to his son. "You'd sooner wound or kill a friend than the enemy, swinging it about like that. Your mind is the most important thing you possess, Little Sali. This body," Amro indicated the flesh on his arm, "is merely a tool the mind uses. Without it, we would be like pebbles, immobile and useless."

Then Amro froze. His muscles tightened. He stood with a jolt, dark eyes on the horizon. Black smoke rose into the sky from the golden sands far to the west. He wasn't the only one to notice the black twirling column streaking the perfect blue sky. Amro grabbed a hold of his son's arm.

"Go to your sister," he said, sternly. Tall armed men rushed to his side.

"Ready the camels, Hasdru," Amro said. "Someone wants to die this day."

Abdal stared at the pillar of ash and smoke, and with a satisfied nod, turned to look at his men. They were tired, skeletons of their former selves, huddled beneath low erected tents like prisoners of war. Abdal reckoned Mahmuud had even lost a little weight, or was that just the desert heat getting to him? Abdal imagined he looked the same. Abdal was usually clean-shaven; black stubble lined his cheeks, chin and neck. His clothes had become drenched with sweat, day-in-day-out and probably stank like a camel's backside.

The camels were the only living things in decent shape, and stood in a makeshift pen, spitting and farting. The gold and food they each carried on their packs rose from their sides and backs like extra humps.

"This is risky business, My Prince," Mahmuud said, wiping his brow as he trudged across the sand towards the fire.

"Death by toil, or from the nomads," Abdal returned. "At least we can say we tried. There must be thousands of nomads out here. Enough to secure Tambukta, perhaps enough to drive Sultan Jaffar back to his own homeland." Mahmuud did not look so sure.

"Thousands you say. Well, they're certainly keeping their heads down. How can one declare their presence more?" Mahmuud gestured the fire. "Do we have to dig up the whole desert to find these nomads? What says they'll listen to us anyhow?"

"We have few allies, Mahmuud," Abdal said.

"Yes, but what use are few allies when you're dead?" Mahmuud said.

They slowly paced from the fire, trudging laboriously under the ever-present sun. Abdal felt his sword sheath bounce off his leg with a constant, annoying rhythm. He'd adjusted the thing constantly during the expedition, but it always found its way back to the leg-slapping position. Abdal wanted to scream, but couldn't be bothered. Instead, he crouched and entered one tent, and crawled towards Amal. His men moved aside as Prince Abdal Rahiim brushed past.

Amal, an old retainer and decent swordsman, was feverish. His skin burned like the sands outside. Sweat poured from his body like he'd just emerged from a stream. Amal shivered like a weak old man dipped in cold water. There was a length of cloth shoved in his mouth.

"So he doesn't bite off his tongue," Mahmuud said as an explanation. Abdal nodded.

"What do you think?"

"He'll die," Mahmuud said, sadly.

"Prince Rahiim!" a shout came from outside the tent.

Was it a sentry? Abdal left the tent with haste, followed by the others. The sentry stood on the dune, waving his arms like an arts performer. "Nomads," the man shouted at the top of his voice. "Nomads!"

Two - Stand Upon a Dune

There were riders beneath a heavy sand-coloured cloud. Dozens of them, more than Abdal could count. They seemed to ride like daemons. His heart began to beat faster in his chest.

"I want us up on this dune," he said, gravely. "If they do not wish to talk, this will be the place we will fight, not around the tents. You there," he gestured at six, nervous looking men, "get the camels moving, and fetch Amal. I want them at our centre." They nodded and moved down the slope.

"Doesn't look like we need the spades," Mahmuud muttered.

"No, thank Hamid," Abdal replied. He flashed a smile. "May God be with us all."

The Tambuktan's formed a circle. Abdal counted seventeen, not including the six sent for the camels and Amal. If there was bloodshed to come he had no doubt they would fare the worse, but he'd kill as many as he could before giving his life.

Mahmuud withdrew his halberd. Its blade shone in the sun as he drew it from its gold decorated sheath. A red tangle of thick hair was tied around the rim of the wood towards the blade of the halberd. He made a few practice thrusts with it, stabbing the blade forward in a quick and solid motion towards an imagined head.

"Last resort," Abdal said as he moved towards his second. "I don't want us to look menacing before a friendly bunch of hostiles." Mahmuud smiled at the ironic statement. They weren't taking any chances, and flourished their weapons.

The riders came close enough to make out individual details of the men and their mounts. They looked deadly. Silent figures on loud camels. Wait, two had horses. Whoever they were, it was obvious they hadn't travelled far. They must be close to a nomad camp, thought Abdal.

He noticed they had weapons out. Long, curved wide blades that looked like they could cut through bone. One, amazingly dressed in black as though he was saying have some of that bastard desert, had a lance with a long blade that curved at a quarter of the way up the metal. He looked at his men. Some were solid fighters, proven in the usual power struggles that wracked Araby.

Abdal moved before the front line of Tambuktan's. His heart raced, but it was more excitement than fear. This could be it. The final stand of Prince Abdal Rahiim, last son of Abdul-Aliyy, Sultan of the Great Kingdom of Tambukta.

"Halt, stout nomads of the Great Desert, I wish only to talk," shouted Abdal.

The riders kept going. A cheer rose from their throats, high pitched and irregular, as though one voice moved the next to answer. Their weapons pointed towards the Tambuktan's. They weren't stopping.

Abdal moved backwards a step, and moved his sword forwards, guard position, one hand poised on his waist, half-body at the enemy. The riders slowed slightly as they hit the start of the slope. Sand shot high like puffs of thick gold smoke, showering the riders in a grainy blanket.

The Tambuktan's moved forward, sweating under the sun's cruel touch. Their skin seemed to burn while fatigue was shaken with adrenaline. Some tried to swallow with dry mouths.

The line of riders hit them like a slow moving wave. Their weapons struck the Tambuktan's with dangerous precision from skilled desert raiders. They'd probably assaulted dune positions a hundred times in their lives.

They whistled past Abdal, the riders voices shrill in the air. Abdul grunted, and slashed upwards. His edge deflected one rider's sword as the nomad moved past, while another man clattered down to his left. Mahmuud's halberd was still in the air, blood trailing from his blade and splashing the big man's forearms. Another rider came near. The figure struck like a scorpion, but Abdal turned the blade aside.

Abdal moved forward, making a lunge for the rider's exposed flank. His blade cut deep into the man's left side. Abdal twisted the blade and withdrew it before the motion of the moving figure dragged him back.

Blood sprayed out, coating the Prince with its warmth. He brought his sword up again as another rider went by, the foe striking out with a lance at Abdal's shoulder. Abdal moved the lance aside with one deft stroke, then struck the camel in the neck.

The camel pitched forward, its rider striking the sand and the legs of a companion's animal. Abdal moved towards the downed figure, but got knocked off his feet by the flanks of a white horse.

He hit the sand and felt its grainy, bitter taste in his dry mouth. It was like mucus, which now ran thick across his lips, and trapped the sand like glue. He got up but the downed rider was already on his knees. The man was weapon-less, dropping the lance in favour of landing. He now lunged for the Prince's throat as Abdal struggled to rise.

The man grabbed the Prince in a tight lock. Abdal dropped backwards into the sand. Close by, the camel thrashed in the sand as it bled. Another rider-less camel trotted about, fearful as its owner lay still on the sand.

Abdal grunted as he struggled for breath. It took him a few moments to realise he still held his sword. He smashed the blade into the rider's side, under the armpit. It killed the man instantly. The rider dropped onto Abdal's chest and bled into the Prince's white top.

Screams flew from all around him. Abdal withdrew the blade, and rolled the man off his chest into the sand. The rider's camel lay as still as Abdal's foe, the golden sand marked crimson under the sun and around the body.

Shadows flashed over him as riders moved past. They were breaking away, moving quickly. Another dust cloud hung in the sky, above more nomads coming from an eastern position. Mahmuud was still standing, coated with blood as he moved towards his Prince.

"We've got more of them on us."

"It seems our friends here don't have the stomach for a fight," Abdal said.

He lied. The bastards could have killed him. The black clad rider was still standing, and sliced through one of Abdal's men like he was paper. Only five stood on the hill. Two camels were being led away by the nomads; gold and supplies taken for their troubles, bouncing and dropping some of the bags contents onto the sand. Three more supply camels still stood around Amal's shivering form.

The black rider did a half spin, and chopped another retainer's head off. Bright blood shot from the open arteries like water from fountains. Mahmuud and Abdal looked at each other, then looked at the rider.

They attacked as a pair, one striking from the front, the other from the side. Mahmuud made a thrust towards the riders throat, which the figure blocked with the blade of his lance. Abdal went for the neck, but found his blade turned aside. A white figure rushed in, Bashshar, a loyal retainer.

Bashshar thrust his blade forward with a shout, but a lance point shot forward through his neck. The man gurgled, spurting blood from the horrific wound, and slid backwards with a slurping sound, and crashed onto the sand. Abdal cursed, and slashed again, striking the lance at the centre of the pole. It snapped in half. The figure twirled his broken end as the blade fell away with the body of the Prince's retainer. Abdal noted the round metal trimming on the remains of the rider's weapon.

The man rushed forward, took Mahmuud off his feet with a wide sweep of the remaining cane and grabbed one of the rider-less camels. The foe swung onto the saddle, and slapped the camel's flank. It pushed off, away down the slope.

The other riders halted before the exhausted Tambuktan's. One tall man held up his hand and stepped forward.

"If you value your lives, drop your weapons and we'll talk."

"How can I take your word you will not attack?" said Abdal, standing to his feet.

He breathed hard as he struggled for breath. The tall, dark-skinned figure was dressed in the finest looking blue silk. The man looked like some prince of the desert. His turban that wrapped around his neck, and sat on his head, was white. A fine, golden scimitar sheath displayed a valued weapon. The figure unbuckled his sheath, held the sword out then dropped it into the sand.

Three - Camp Under the Stars

The desert man was much taller than Abdal had suspected, beating his own lofty frame by a clear half-foot. His shadow stretched out across the gap between the pair like a giant arm. The nomads dropped from their camels and drew their blades. Their clothes fluttered in the gentle wind as they hopped onto the sand. The men moved around the wounded that lay scattered across the sands, and finished off the nomads they found alive.

"You are lucky Mujahid did not kill you," the nomad said, as he drew the material from his neck to reveal his face.

The man was handsome, with a hawk-like nose and trimmed goatee. Gold rings sparkled on his fingers, with precious coloured jewels slotted into the band.

"Let us talk away from the sun," Abdal said.

The Prince led the nomad down into the tents that still remained pitched. They sat beneath the shady interior, nestling into the cooled sand. A short nomad handed the desert leader an animal skin bag.

"My name is Amro," the tall man said. "Leader of the Jurhom. You are a stranger here, these are not your lands, outsider. What brings you to the Great Desert?" Amro passed Abdal the liquid canteen.

"My name is Abdal Rahiim. I have come to the desert to seek out the nomads, people like you." Amro smiled as Abdal sniffed the contents.

"There are not many like me out here. You are far from home, and should go back. Drink, it is safe."

Abdal nodded, and stared at the dark eyes of the man opposite. Then he tipped his head back, and drank the water. He didn't spare it. He took a few gulps and felt relief wash over him like a cool, refreshing wave.

"I will go back, but there are things I need to do first. Have you heard of the Kingdom of Marhabbah?" The desert man nodded. "Four years ago, a man came to power there unlike any these lands have seen before."

There was a disturbance outside the tent. A nomad helped Mahmuud with Amal, bearing the sick man on his makeshift stretcher made of rope and wood. They pushed under the tent, and dropped Amal carefully onto the sand.

"What goes on outside the Great Desert is of no concern to the Jurhom. And you will only go back once I say you can."

Abdal raised one black eyebrow.

"We are prisoners?" Amro nodded.

"I noticed the camels atop the dune are laden with gold. You do not look like merchants, and only fools would take gold here. Who are you? A thief running from execution? A spurned lover?"

Abdal slammed the water bag onto the sand.

"I am here to hire men like you, Amro, to fight for the great Kingdom of Tambukta, perhaps the whole of Araby. The gold is to acquire such services."

"But I am not a man to be bought. I will take your gold as compensation for your lives. Tonight we will return to my camp. The women there can tend your wounded man, and prepare you a meal."

The dead were buried no more than a foot beneath the surface of the sand. The nomads extinguished the fire, which still burned and churned out smoke into the heavens. Abdal and Mahmuud struck the tents, and burdened the camels with the canvas. They moved out shortly afterwards. Amro ordered Abdal and Mahmuud's hands tied around the wrists. They were then dumped onto separate camels taken from the raiding nomads. The sun was setting. A cold, foreboding sense of dread accompanying the coming darkness.

The moon cast an eerie, pale light over the dunes of the Great Desert, turning the golden sands silver. It looked beautiful, a sight Abdal wished he could share with his wife. She would have loved the way the sands turned white in the night. His heart ached to see her again as he tried to picture her face in his mind. He closed his eyes and brought up her slender body, her long black hair, her dark eyes and bountiful lips. Then there was her scent, that magical and erotic fragrance of Jasmine he couldn't reproduce here.

"Wake up, Abdal." Mahmuud said at his side.

Abdal flashed open his eyes, the image of Amber retreating back into the realms of his psyche.

"I'm not sleeping," he said, though the strength had left his voice.

"I've decided I hate the desert," Mahmuud said. "It never changes. That dune there might as well be the one a hundred miles back."

"It's a desert," Abdal replied, and closed his eyes again. "What did you expect?"

"A mirage or two, a desert oasis with nude dancing girls… something to break up the scene."

The nomads crested a particularly steep dune, and Abdal tumbled from his saddle. He pitched into the sand mouth open, and landed hard. He felt the air knocked out of his lungs, and the taste of sand once again in his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, and wiped his mouth on his shoulder.

"You could at least untie our bonds, nomad," Mahumuud complained as Amro reigned in beside the downed Prince. "What good would escape do us out here?" Amro considered the words for a moment, and slid from his saddle. He neared Abdal, and withdrew a knife from his boot. The blade was plainly decorated, as was the handle.

Amro cut into the rope that tied Abdal's hands together. The Prince felt relief from the pain as he moved his arms from behind his back. The tall nomad paced over to Mahmuud, placed one hand on the saddle to hold the camel steady, and cut through the bonds with one fluid motion.

"I have to warn you," Amro said, sheathing his blade. "Attempt to escape and we won't bother hunting you down. Not for a few days anyhow, and when we find you, you'll be bodies, and nothing more. Then maybe, I can get a new sword." Amro smiled broadly as he tapped the Prince's blade strapped to his own camel.

The nomad camp was larger than Abdal expected. It stretched out across flat sand punctuated by small crops of vegetation. The plants were large spiked things that looked as hostile as the environment they inhabited.

The nomads lived in wide, circular constructs made from wood and straw, and other gathered materials. They weren't impressive lodgings by any means, but did the job. As soon as they neared, close enough to see individual people going about their daily business, the camp seemed to burst into life. Women and children rushed from their jobs or play, eager to hear the news and to see if their loved ones had returned.

Amro sprang from his mount as a small boy and young woman came to meet him. He scooped the young lad up with a playful laugh, and stroked the woman's cheek. She was a pretty girl, with long, shining raven-coloured hair and dark skin burnt almost black under the sun. She stared at him for a moment. Their eyes locked and he felt his heart skip a beat. For a moment he pictured Amber standing there, as though he had arrived home. The young woman averted her gaze, and walked away. He watched her lithe blue-clothed figure move back towards a hut.

Amro dropped the boy to the ground and walked back towards the mounted nomads and prisoners.

"Hasdru, take the sick man to the old women and tell them to cure him." He turned to face Abdal. "For the time being, I will place you under the care of Hasdru here. He will bring you food and water until I am ready to talk to you more." Hasdru was a bear of a man, muscled and broad, like some pit-fighter Abdal had seen in the lands ruled by Sultan Jaffar. Hasdru had a black moustache which curled like a large grin towards his nose.

They were led away, through the camp under the scrutiny of the nomads. Old women cooking food looked up from their boiling buckets, and roasting meat, and fired darts with their gaze. Small boys and girls ran at their sides. One boy, with short trousers and a brown ragged shirt, stooped low and grabbed a load of sand in his palm. He poured water over it, and turned it into a squishy ball he launched at Abdal. It struck the Prince's leg.

"Scram," Mahmuud shouted.

The children laughed, picked up more sand, and threw a volley of balls at him. Mahmuud covered his face with his hands as the balls exploded on his chest and forearms. Hasdru chuckled wickedly at his side.

Four - Glorious Pavilion Meal

They were shaded from the sun, sat beneath a wicker ceiling, trapped within wooden walls. Hasdru had provided them with a bucket of water, and a plate of pita bread and dates the night before, which remained unfinished on their plates. The Prince placed a date in his mouth, and crushed it between his teeth. Mahmuud still slept, and snored loudly. Abdal watched the man's cheeks and lips quiver as Mahmuud took breath, and pushed it back out of his lungs.

The sun poked slanted beams of light through the gaps of the shelter. One settled onto Mahmuud's closed eyes, and the large man stirred. He moved an arm towards his face, and yawned like one of Abdal's father's tigers; lazy and slow.

The door slid open, and one strong beam the length and width of the door appeared, casting Abdal in a bright light. Amro squeezed through, Hasdru at his side. The nomad leader still carried his ornately decorated sword tied around his waist with a purple cloth. He looked pleasant and was obviously in the mood for talk.

"Let's talk plainly. You have the air of royalty about you. What is your position within the Tambuktan's?" Amro folded his arms and waited for an answer as Abdal remained on the floor.

"I am merely a translator by trade, and was given the task of securing allies from the Great Desert by the magnificent Sultan Abdul-Aliyy. It is an honour to do this."

Amro studied him for a moment.

"If what you say is not a lie, I shall let you walk free from my camp this very instant. But it is a lie. Believe me when I say I know this, for I am such a great liar myself," he paused a moment, and smiled. "Except of course, on this occasion. I have come to tell you that your soldier will live. He is still being cared for, but will be returned to full health after some rest. You will be my guest. I am sorry for such behaviour, but you must realise that the nomad way of life is very different to yours." He bent down and picked up a date from the floor.

"I see you did not finish your meal? That is good, for I have a little something prepared for you, where we can sit and talk like civilised men."

Hasdru stepped back, until he ducked under the entrance and disappeared.

"We will leave your companion here, but please, come," said Amro.

He gestured towards the door with his arms, as he flicked the date away onto the sand. Abdal stood, and walked out into the sunlight.

It was a nice feeling, the sun warm upon his skin. He closed his eyes a moment, and took a deep breath of fresh air. The camp looked a little different in the daylight. Actual colour could be picked out now; reds, purples and blues.

There were children playing on the sand under the sun, launching lengths of wood about like miniature javelins. Amro led him through the camp, towards a large pavilion set up at the western end.

There was a long table set up beneath the black cover, a purple cloth draped over the surface. Fine looking silverware held various fruits and other food. There were glass cups, each decorated finely. The nomad had gone to large measures to impress.

A group of nomads, dressed in whites and greys, stood around the pavilion like silent statues, their broad scimitars on display. They didn't look at Amro or Abdal as they walked under the shade of the black tent, but at some unknown point in the distance, like hypnotised men under a spell. There was two chairs adorned with red cushions, set opposite each other on the ends of the table. Amro gestured for Abdal to sit on one, while he rounded the corner of the table, and sat on the other.

Abdal passed his eyes over the collection of plates and bowls that scattered the table. There were many fruits, beans and grains, nuts, olives, a selection of cheese's and yogurt, and lamb meat. It struck him as odd that the man would set up so much food for just the pair, when life seemed such a struggle in the desert.

"Please, eat what you can. I will not be offended if you leave much of it. The rest of my tribe can eat what we do not," said Amro, as he snapped his fingers.

A woman gracefully walked into view and to Amro's side, holding a brown animal skin bag, fat with liquid. It was the same girl he had seen last night.

"This is my daughter, Atiya."

Atiya fixed Abdal with a fierce stare, which she hid from her father by masking it with her hand, brushing the black hair by her ear.

"She is very beautiful," Abdal said.

He bowed his head as a greeting. She returned the curtsey, and walked around the table towards him.

She smelt wonderful, like some flower from an unknown part of the world. Abdal breathed her scent in and watched her pour him a glass of wine from the bag. The liquid was red, and swirled inside the glass like a maelstrom. Once she had poured it half-full, she lifted the bag and filled her father's glass.

"You interest me, Abdal," Amro began. "It is not everyday I meet someone like you. They are either men who wish me dead, or wish to prise all the gold and values I have under the sun." Atiya stepped back, and stood behind her father like an obedient servant. "You are full-hardy and brave, and also quite stupid. You bring gold and light fires to attract every nomad hidden in the Great Desert." Amro began tucking into some dried fruits, chomping them with his white, solid teeth.

"What do you wish to discuss?" said Abdal. He was tired of games.

"You said you were looking for nomads to fight for a cause? Tell me, have any agreed to your terms?" Abdal shook his head.

"Before the skirmish, we had yet to encounter any. You are the first who have spoken and listened to us, thus the first to hear of such news," said Abdal.

He picked up the glass and swirled the liquid, slowly turning his wrist to create deft spins of the wine. It tasted fresh and tingly as he swished it between his cheeks, and squeezed it between half-closed teeth.

"I'd like to know more about Tambukta. I have heard the river there is quite astounding." Abdal held his tongue, and answered politely.

"It is a great country, with many rock fortresses, and wildlife. The Temple, the holy grounds of the Sultan Abdul-Aliyy, are situated upon a tall rise, surrounded by cyclopean white walls. There are many towers with golden, pointed roofs, shooting out from the walls. There is a valley facing one of the towers, which looks deep into the gap, at the very tall, twisted trees that grow upon its length.

"When the sun sets, it bathes the walls red and orange, while the clouds in the sky turn purple. There are many gardens filled with trees of every kind, with tamed animals, bubbling streams and spurting fountains. The Great Sultan has many wild cats, mostly tigers, but lions, leopards and panthers as well, that prowl and patrol outside his palace, even his own bedroom."

"There is a great golden bridge that spans a deep chasm north. It is so ornately detailed, there is a guard just to protect the precious jewels and materials plastered onto the bridge metal."

"It sounds very fantastic, don't you think, Atiya?" Amro asked. She nodded, and smiled politely. "I can see why you are so eager to defend it. You create a fantastic image, and judging from the way you tell it, you have passion for this place. I can now see clearly why you would risk much for this place."

"I would give my life for Tambukta," Abdal replied.

"Go back to your land of mountains and rivers, gardens and pets, Abdal, or that is what will happen. This is no place for royalty, and you will find no help here. There are two camels prepared, food and provisions, even your weapons are strapped to these beasts." Abdal stood, looked at Amro and bowed.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

Hasdru led him away as Amro shouted a call to all the nomads to join him for feast.

They walked through the uncaring crowds. Hasdru turned a corner to the left, rounding a small home, leading Abdal right to the camels. Mahmuud and Amal stood there, trying not to look so tired. They both straightened up when the Prince rounded the corner.

"Morning, My Prince," Mahmuud said.

"Morning, My Prince," repeated Amal.

Amal looked healthy again. Whatever the old women had given him surely worked. Abdal was pleased to see the swordsman up and about. This was it. Two men from thirty. The rest were buried beneath sand, nothing more than rotting corpses, food for the buzzards.

Hasdru picked up the camel reigns, and firmly placed them into Abdal's hand.

"Don't come back," he said.

He gave them a large, toothy smile, revealing stained teeth, then walked away.

"Let's get going," said Abdal, as he looked at the sky, shading his eyes from the sun.

Five - Moving Striking Sand and the Hand that Saves the Day

Abdal turned and noticed the figure following them in the distance. Far enough away, but always in sight when he looked back. The figure was dressed in black, a contrast to the bleak golden sands and blue skies above. Abdal brought the image of the black clothed nomad he had fought on the dune back into his mind. The figure had bested Mahmuud and himself, not an easy task by any means.

"I hope that isn't who I think it is," Mahmuud grumbled as he sat on the camel. He wiped his forehead of sweat with a forearm.

"I'm sorry I am not much use to you, My Prince," Amal said. It was the hundredth time the man had apologised for his ill condition. Abdal wanted to launch him from the camel if he said it again.

Shadows passed above them, and Abdal's heart beat fast. The Vijai were flying low. They were huge birds, with long black wings connected to a sinewy body specked lightly with black and white spots. Their feet, connected to dull, grey legs the size of a man, hung limp, claws folded back but still on display. What made them even more frightening were their long, ridged, thin pink necks, and the slanted, pointy heads connected to them. He had seen the skeleton of one at the Palace, and remembered the razor-like teeth within the beak, and that they matched a lion in size of body.

Mahmuud rolled from the saddle and fell to the sand. He held onto his halberd, and pointed it at the skies. The two Vijai dived low, a horrible ringing screech in the air, flying from open beaks. Abdal felt them pass, and struggled out of the sand. Mahmuud was on his feet, halberd out, shouting at the beasts.

"Away," Mahmuud yelled. "Back, spawns of Vizrai!"

One screeched past, its wingspan casting a violent, fast moving shadow across the scene. The camels were in panic. Amal stood to his feet and grabbed one's reins as it tried to run away, but slipped and slid down the slope of the dune.

One Vijai tried to grab Mahmuud's halberd, snapping its tooth-lined beak at the blade, slinging its head back and forth like a snake towards its target. It landed on the sand, and stood to its full height, squawking as it thrashed its wings like a flexing wrestler.

Abdal drew his sword, and moved to Mahmuud's side. His blade shone in the sunlight, and reflected Amal's struggles with the camels behind. The Vijai smelt awful, like death itself. Its beady eyes were deep black, and Abdal felt like he was in the presence of something intelligent. He looked up; the other was in the air, circling above them like a buzzard, its strange call was loud upon the heavens.

The Vijai on the ground stormed forward, sweeping one wing towards the Prince, while its beak snapped at Mahmuud. Abdal slashed at its wing, but caught air as the beast pulled it back just at the right moment. Abdal regained his balance, and moved backwards. Mahmuud waved his halberd like a torch, from side-to-side, shouting and cussing. His insults would have offended everyone at the Palace, but Abdal enjoyed his foul-mouthed companion's lexicon.

"Pox-marked arse of a baboon," Mahmuud said, and in his own words, a rather tame one. The beast's legs hunched, and it sprang into the air, black feathers trailing in its wake.

Prince Abdal and Mahmuud turned and saw Amal pointing to the sky. The other Vijai carried a camel in its clawed feet. The camel quivered in its grip, and bled from the pierced wounds inflicted in its body. It stopped moving as the two Vijai flew off into the horizon.

"Well, that's just fantastic," muttered Mahmuud.

The night came upon them, and the desert heat left, replaced by a cool breeze which felt gentle on the skin. Mahmuud and Amal were fast asleep, curled up beneath blankets under a stretched canvas tent. Abdal could not sleep. Even before the light faded, he could still see the black-dressed figure in the distance, riding a camel.

His scimitar lay sheathed between his crossed legs. The Prince planted his chin on the hilt of the sword and rested his head, finding the right comfortable balance. Other than the figure, he could not stop thinking about the nomad's daughter. Atiya, that was her name - 'gift'. She had moved with such grace; the way she walked, the way she poured the wine. Was it lack of female company that made his groin swell at the mere thought of her, simple human lust? She had looked at him fiercely, with such passion that Abdal closed his eyes at the thought. He needed to get back to his wife, out of the desert. This place was driving him mad. All it had brought was death.

He lay back onto the sand, closed his eyes and began to drift away - there was a sound, something being drawn from a sheath. Abdal opened his eyes, and saw something long and thin shiver in the sand, thrashing about like a shark in water.

"What in Hamid's name," he shouted, and sat bolt-right up, fumbling for his sword which lay before him in the sand.

"You can relax, Abdal, it won't hurt you." It was a female's voice. Soft and seductive, powerful and honest. The figure crouched over something near where Abdal had lain, and withdrew a gore-covered knife from the snake's body. She picked up the snake in one hand, and tossed it at Abdal's feet.

"I do not know how you have survived so long in the desert. The Sleep-snakes come out at night, and that one almost had you."

Abdal bent down, and prodded the thick rope like body with his boot.

"Luck, I guess," Abdal replied. "But to whom do I offer my thanks?"

The black-clad woman stepped close, and drew back her scarf. It was Atiya, daughter of Amro, daughter of the Jurhom.

Six - Black Tornadoes

"I'm coming with you," Atiya said. Abdal stared at her dark eyes, and could see the determination there.

"Go home to your father," Abdal said. "This is far too dangerous a place for a woman." Atiya threw her head back and laughed, her hands planted on her waist.

"Coming from a man who had a camel stolen by 'dumb birds', and almost got killed by a snake in his sleep, I think you should correct that comment."

"They weren't dumb birds, they tricked us," Abdal replied. Atiya looked at him for a moment, her smile still broad.

"You are not used to being spoken to like this, by a woman, are you?" Abdal shook his head.

"Where I come from the women are obedient, and have far more manners than you." Atiya stroked her black hair.

"They sound boring," she said. Her camel shivered in the night, and trotted to her side by its own volition. A huge, curved bow and quiver of barb-tipped arrows hung from the saddle. Abdal studied the bow. It looked like a fine weapon, with a delicate, slender body decorated with jewels the size of his fingertips.

"You are skilled with that?" said Abdal, gesturing towards the bow.

"No, I have it there to scare away fools like you." She walked to the camel, and dipped her hand into a bag that hung from its flank. She rummaged for a moment, then withdrew some dried fruits. "I have more food, if you take me with you. Enough for all of us." Abdal shook his head.

"Won't your father come looking for you?"

"Yes," she said. "Isn't that what you want?" Abdal rubbed his eyes and dropped to the sand, and looked around for more snakes. He poked the sand with the end of the sheath like a paranoid drunkard.

"By his own accord, yes. Not like this, he probably thinks I've kidnapped you. Are those snakes hard to see?" Atiya pointed at zigzag marks in the sand.

"They can't move like they do on solid ground. In the desert, across the sands, they wiggle, throwing their tails forward, then the head," she started to do odd little motions with her hands to mimic the snake.

"You do a fine demonstration," Abdal said.

"The best in the desert, my father tells me. Get some sleep, Abdal. I'll keep watch, and protect you from any more snakes."

"What's she doing here?" Mahmuud whispered, turning his glance back over his shoulder towards Atiya as they moved across the never-ending desert. She noticed him look and smiled. Mahmuud quickly turned back round, and whispered into Abdal's ear.

"She's a damned sorceress," he said. He could feel her eyes on his back. "One beautiful girl for sure, but a snake none-the-less."

"She refused to turn back, what can we do?" Abdal replied.

"You are a Prince, order her back," Mahmuud said quickly. He almost lost his footing and stumbled. Mahmuud desperately searched for something to grab onto, and found Abdal's shoulder. "See, she must have heard me and used her magic to cause that blunder."

"Ha, then it is weak magic, as she failed," said Abdal. He laughed, and after a moment, so did Mahmuud.

There was a great cloud of dust a few miles ahead. It tore through dunes and sand like a sword through flesh, whirling and twirling like a dervish from the clouds in the sky, to the very ground.

"What is that?" Amal said, sat upon the camel. He looked concerned, and in awe at nature's power.

"It is like nothing I have seen before," Atiya replied. "This is not a common occurrence." She rode her camel directly beside Mahmuud. The big man shuffled uneasily at her side, then shrugged.

"Maybe it's a trick?" Mahmuud said. Atiya laughed scornfully.

"Don't be foolish, that is quite real. Desert mirages don't spring up on groups, merely individuals," she said. "Whatever that is, its there."

Abdal looked at the tornado, and could sense Jaffar behind it. He gripped his sword hilt tightly, squeezing it until his frustration vanished.

"Let us continue."

They saw more tornadoes the further they headed west. By the ninth day of travel they had counted thirteen, tearing up the sands like angry spirits. Even the skies above them were torn, black chasms in the blue. Atiya looked very worried, though she tried to hide it behind her callous manners.

"Are you alright?" Abdal asked. Mahmuud and Amal had fallen twenty feet behind.

"Of course," she said.

"These cyclones do not worry you?"

"Do I look like a scared babe? I will be glad to get out of the desert, maybe they are a sign that I am making the right decision." Abdal took hold of her reigns.

"You realise you are riding towards a world fallen into war?" She nodded.

"Then it will be no different from living in the desert."

Seven - Tambukta

The desert sands turned into long, rocky valleys littered with wildlife; from the brightly coloured birds to sleek mountain cats that melted into the surface of the rock. Atiya took them all in with great interest. Her eyes opened wide as a green parrot swooped past into a tall, dark tree above.

"That's called a parrot," Mahmuud said.

They rode and walked along the dust billowing path, between the great rock walls of the Basar Mountains. A foreboding silence accompanied the journey. Perhaps the black tornadoes had left a dark depression on their minds, Abdal thought. Abdal was happy he was back within Tambukta's borders, but if Jaffar had anything to do with the tornadoes, just how powerful was the Sultan?

They travelled for most of the day, stopping at a bubbling stream that ran down a mountain slope to rest. The sky was a clear blue, with only the slightest cloud to the east. In the distance, a cat roared, its call thundering from the sheer walls of the valleys that surrounded the travellers.

Abdal cupped his hands, and dipped them into the warm water. He washed his face, rubbing the water deep into his pores. Birds called in the green leaved trees above, a dozen different chirps and whistles.

Life, glorious life. He'd taken it for granted before his desert journey, and how pleased he was he could see it again. The desert was like a dying beast; dry and dusty, like old bones. Tambukta, with its jungles, valleys, rivers, mountains and wildlife, was flowing, noisy and very much alive.

Dense jungle lay ahead, its depths hidden by distance and rock, but Abdal knew it was close. He could smell it on the air, ripe like fresh cut fruit.

"I had expected your country to be dry," Atiya said. "But there are many trees, and rivers." Abdal nodded.

"We are lucky. Some say this was all carved from the dry rock by a great sorcerer, Vazam, who did not want his people to die. He created the rivers with a wave of his hand, and the jungles from small seeds."

"He sounds like a god," Atiya replied. Abdal nodded.

"Maybe he was."

"Damned sand gets everywhere," Mahmuud said, tipping out golden grains from his boot into the water.

They moved on after the short rest, with food in their stomachs, and feeling cleaner from the wash in the stream. The natural road began to rise gently between the slopes of the mountains, giving way to tall pine trees. The stream faded away east, through a body of rock as they ascended.

From the broad rocky road above, they could see green trees below, stretching to the horizon. On the sides of the mountains to the north lay a series of terraced farms, a pale mist hovering above them.

"Renekit," Mahmuud said, stretching his large arms. "It feels like years since I've seen her twin-peaks." Atiya could see the Mountain in the horizon, cloud and mist clung to its white-topped peaks. It looked like a squat giant in slumber, its peaks a horned helmet.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Everything in Tambukta is," Mahmuud replied quickly.

They descended the mountain path, deep into the jungle below. A recent rain had left it damp, and the moisture clung to the air like steam in a hot sauna.

"If we are quiet, the more we will see," Abdal said. Atiya nodded, and slid from her camel. She offered the reins to Mahmuud.

"Do I look like your servant?" Mahmuud said.

"You may ride her if you wish," Atiya replied. She was far more interested in the jungle than having an argument. Mahmuud shook his head.

"Keep the animal, I wish to walk," Mahmuud said.

The canopy was thick above their heads. Light managed to pierce the leafy surface, spilling down into the jungle like water squeezing free from a dam.

"My Prince," Amal said, pointing towards the right. Atiya narrowed her eyes and stared at Abdal. Her father was right in assuming him royalty, but then her father was never wrong.

"Stay close," Abdal said, "the Ferod are watching us." Atiya looked at the trees. There was a shimmer in the foliage, an object like transparent glass moved out of view. It was tall, but she couldn't pick out much else.

"Ferod?" She said.

"They are ancient spirits of the jungle. Mysterious magical beings," Abdal said, taking her hand, stopping Atiya from reaching for her bow.

"Magical creatures?"

"Deaf wench," Mahmuud said.

"I heard that," she said, and turned to face Mahmuud. She stared at him intently. Abdal took her gently by the arm.

"Do not scare the Ferod. They are peaceful, timid creatures." Atiya nodded. Abdal let her go and began walking on, pushing through tall, shield-like plant leaves.

Atiya looked for the Ferod, but the creature had gone, back into the depths of the jungle.

Eight - The Bridge and the Ferod

The bridge was in terrible condition, even a blind man could tell if he stepped onto the first platform. It dangled above the old cliché, thought Abdal. A sly grin appeared on his face as he thought of all the old tales he'd heard of Jazeera infested waters.

"I'll go first, My Prince," said Amal. Abdal shook his head.

"I'll do it," he said, and placed his hands onto the aging wooden stakes that held onto the bridge.

He could see the river beneath the high platform, moving peacefully, and the long, thin objects of the Jazeera moving below, causing feint ripples to slice through the water. They seemed to be aware of them above, an uncanny ability which almost made Abdal shiver.

"Is this your usual route?" Atiya asked. Abdal shook his head.

"Don't you think someone would repair this bridge if it was?" Mahmuud said, crossing his arms. "My harem's bearded girl, you think we would walk all this way to risk possible death on this?"

Abdal moved across and all eyes snapped to him. Amal seemed absolutely horrified, and took off his blue turban, and placed one end of it into his mouth.

"Take that turban out of your mouth, you look like an idiot," Mahmuud said. He watched the Prince move across the rope bridge.

Abdal could feel it sway beneath his boot. The wooden planking creaked with the strain of his weight. Each step he took was slow and measured. He moved his boot across, felt the wood take his weight - it split. Abdal's leg slipped through the gap, and a piece shot into his shin. The rest of the broken pieces fell into the river below. The Jazeera snapped their giant jaws at the floating wood, splashing the water violently, big tails whipping from side to side.

Atiya instantly moved onto the bridge, quickly towards the wounded Prince. Abdal pulled himself up, and breathed deeply as he looked at his wound. Mahmuud took a step but stopped as he tested the weight.

"Don't come onto the bridge," Abdal called back. He could hear someone close. He turned ninety-degrees, and saw the black-clad figure of Atiya. "Damn it, I told you to go back, not come running like a panicked wife."

The rope snapped. The bridge fell beneath their feet and Abdal and Atiya grabbed hold of the bridge. Their end swung towards the other side, and smashed into the rock with a shudder. Atiya moaned as she hit the wall and lost her grip for a moment and fell a foot. She reached out and grabbed the planking. A droplet of blood splashed her cheek as she looked up. Prince Abdal's leg wound still bled. She pulled herself up, not wanting to look down. Her hand found the rope, and she held on.

"You still there?" Abdal said as he regained his breath and opened his eyes.

"My Prince," Mahmuud shouted from the other side. There was nothing Mahmuud could do. Amal held onto the two camels, and closed his eyes.

Abdal pulled himself up the rope, inch by hard-strained inch. With every foot gained, Abdal feared the rope would snap, and he would tumble down into the Jazeeras jaws. The leg wound began to throb with a painful rhythm. He looked below. Atiya was struggling up as well, but moving at a faster pace. The Jazeera snapped their jaws.

Abdal stopped and offered her his hand.

"Here, take my hand," he said. She refused, and carried on. Shoulder to shoulder, Abdal and Atiya climbed at the same pace. Abdal's heart beat faster as the bridge snapped. He felt the sensation of falling back into nothing. Desperate fingers reached out for something to hold onto that wasn't falling, all he found was the bridge, sliding down with him.

He landed on something soft, right beside Atiya. A shimmering, almost transparent form had stretched out like a platform beneath them. It felt cold, and soft.

"Ferod," Mahmuud whispered. Amal peeked out from his closed eyes to see the magical creature. It started moving up the cliff face, taking the Prince and the desert girl back up.

Abdal stood to his feet and felt himself sink an inch into the Ferod's being. He could see his feet inside the creature. Abdal held onto Atiya's hand as they rose. The creature edged them back to safety, dropping them onto the soft grass of the bluff and fled into the undergrowth as fast as an arrow.

"Are you all right?" Abdal asked Atiya. She nodded.

"I'm fine. Let's just avoid rope bridges dangled over precarious drops in the future."

Nine - Separated

"Now what do we do?" Amal said, rubbing his thinning, greying hair. Mahmuud moved to the end of the bridge, and looked down at the dangling remains. "Have you ever heard of a Ferod doing that, saving human life?" Amal said, as he watched the trees.

"No," Mahmuud said, tugging at the rope. There wasn't much left on his side, certainly not enough for creating a rope swing.

"My Prince, what shall we do?" Mahmuud shouted. Abdal cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Find a way back round, there must be another bridge somewhere, or some other route to cross." He clenched his jaw, and hobbled towards the edge of the drop. Red blood stained his leg and white trousers.

"We'll keep going north, until we get to Akhir an-Nahr," Abdal said.

"Why don't you just stay here, until we find a way to get to you?" Mahmuud shouted back. "Rest your leg." Mahmuud had a point. His leg felt numb, and he couldn't put much weight on it.

"We'll stay here, Mahmuud," said Abdal. Mahmuud nodded.

"We will be as quick as we can, My Prince." The Prince watched his men go, pulling the camels back down the slope, then hobbled back to the grass. He lay beneath the shade of a great tree, planting his back up against its trunk for support. He brought his leg close to his body, and tore the ripped cloth away to reveal the wound.

Atiya looked at the wound, wiping away sticky blood to see it better. She removed the stopper on her water-skin bag, and poured the liquid over the drying blood.

"We have to remove this," Atiya said, gesturing the length of wood buried in Abdal's shin.

"I won't argue with that," Abdal answered through gritted teeth. The pain was excruciating.

"You should have let your man go first," Atiya said.

"I could have, think it's not such a bad idea now." Atiya touched the wood, and Abdal placed his hand on her shoulder.

"You know what you're doing?"

"No." Atiya pulled the wood out fast and got splashed by a fresh spray of blood. Abdal grunted, and then relaxed, dropping his tense shoulders. She quickly bound the wound with the cloth Abdal had torn. "It's bad," she said.
"I feel better already." There was a faint rustle in the leaves. The Ferod was wrapped around a tall pine tree, its watery body rippling in the breeze.

Atiya had time to study it. It was like no creature she had seen before, with no features that could tell it apart from a body of water, other than the fact it could change shape, and float. It had no eyes, so she didn't know where to look, no mouth for which to communicate. It dropped from the tree, landed on the ground and slowly moved towards them.

"Trust us to get lumped with the beasts of burden," Mahmuud muttered, more to himself than Amal.

The slope back down was worse than going up. It was almost vertical, and every few feet Mahmuud had to hold on to branches and tree trunks for fear of falling. The camels were reluctant to move. Amal pulled at both their reigns, and smacked one on its rump to get it moving. It went headlong into a tree, and lost its footing. It tumbled down the slope, the packs on its sides breaking open and loosing their goods into the air. Mahmuud watched its journey; it hit one tree, then another, and finally stopped, caught in thick vegetation.

"Hamid forgive me," Amal said. He touched his forehead three times, and kissed his right hand.

"That was the sorceress' camel, wasn't it?" Mahmuud said. Amal shook his head, and pointed to the bow strapped to the camel behind him. "You're a lucky man, Amal. Wouldn't want to explain that one to her."

"Is it still alive?" Amal asked, concern clear in his voice. Mahmuud studied it for a moment, and began moving towards the animal.

"It's not moving," said Mahmuud.

"By Hamid, I have killed a sacred animal." Amal let go of the other camel's reigns, and dropped to his knees in prayer. He recited a litany of words for forgiveness.

"It's definitely dead," Mahmuud called back up, as he checked its body. It had snapped its neck on the journey, and had the misfortune of being speared by a branch on the way down. There were still bags connected to its body. Most of them were empty, but Mahmuud recovered two blankets, some rather crushed but still edible fruit, and various nuts and grains. As he bent back up, his halberd, strapped to his back, caught on the canopy above.

"Even the damned trees are against us," Mahmuud said, as Amal cautiously traversed the slope.

They reached the bottom after a twenty minute hike, and skirted around the rise they had descended. The river flowed past them, its murky surface a solid screen hiding the monsters in its depths. They remained close enough to the river to see it, but not close enough to wander into any basking Jazeera on the banks. A large bird cackled in the distance, as if it were mocking them, and knew something they didn't.

"I hate the jungle," Amal said. "I got lost in it once when I was a child. For two weeks I survived on leaves and fruits from the trees."

"How did you get lost?" Amal seemed eager to tell the tale.

"I fell into the cold waters of Akhir an-Nahr. The current dragged me under the water many times, so I became disorientated, but managed to grab hold of a tree branch for a float. When I finally pulled myself free, Bless Hamid's Mercy, I was five miles away from home."

"Why did you not follow the river back up?"

"A child's curiosity," Amal said.

"A wonderful tale of stupidity, of which you excel," replied Mahmuud, wiping sweat from his brow.

Ten - The Ponderous Mimic and Amal's Trouble with Camels

The Ferod approached them with caution, drifting above the ground like a cloud. When Atiya stood it vanished back into the trees like a scared animal. It poked what she considered to be a head out from around the trunk of a tree, like some peeping child, and began the journey again.

"Just stay still," Abdal whispered.

The Ferod came close and stopped. The jungle behind it could still be seen through its body, distorted to a blur. It seemed to reflect the sun, and shimmered briefly, like someone had thrown a pebble into water.

"What does it want?" Atiya asked. She could feel her heart beating faster, but she wasn't afraid. The Ferod backed away as Prince Abdal Rahiim held onto the tree and tried to stand.

"I don't know," Abdal said, trying to appear as friendly as he could despite the grunts of pain.

"It's ok, we will not harm you," Atiya said. She stepped forward, and the Ferod seemed to flinch. Atiya could see small bubbles inside its being; each one glowed a beautiful silver and moved like small life-forms. She reached out slowly with her hand, and touched the Ferod. It didn't flinch. The creature felt warmer than it had done when she landed on it, but still soft as silk.

"It must like you," Abdal said, amazed the being had not simply vanished after being spotted. "I have not heard of any instance in history where the Ferod did not run from man."

"There's a first for everything, so my father says," Atiya replied. She smiled broadly at the Ferod, and began stroking it like a pet, running her fingertips gently over what she considered to be its head. "Besides, I'm not a man."

Abdal lowered himself back onto the ground. His wound was beginning to sting, and his head was swimming. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. For a moment he thought he was seeing things, as the Ferod began to take a new shape. It created a head, without eyes and a mouth, but still a head. Slender arms grew from its side, and beneath, legs. He rubbed his eyes.

"It's trying to look like us," Atiya said. She laughed playfully, and started to wave one arm. The Ferod copied her and began waving its new arm in the same measured way Atiya was; tips of the fingers by the cheek then drawn to horizontal position. Atiya lifted a leg, and the Ferod did the same.

"Stroke your hair and rub your belly," Abdal said. "That'll be a true test." Atiya ignored him and laughed as the Ferod started jumping. It pointed to Abdal's leg wound, then morphed back into its 'blob' form. It stretched itself out wide, like a carpet, and scooped the Prince and Atiya up, and gently rose into the air.

"Woah now, Ferod, put us down," Abdal said. It started moving slowly, rising high above the trees. The forested mountain slopes, green valleys, and flowing, blue rivers became visible. "I said down, not up," Abdal said, shaking his head. "It can mimic us, but not understand us. I'd rather it was the other way around."

It began to move. Atiya gripped Abdal's arm as she was thrown back.

"I do not like heights," she whispered.

"Ahh, the desert girl is scared of something," Abdal said. "I was beginning to think that wasn't possible." She stared at Abdal fiercely and let go of his arm.

"Mahmuud won't like this," Abdal said, as he resigned himself to whatever the Ferod had planned.

The day's light was slowly swallowed by the depths of the jungle. The river thinned, and its shining, flowing surface was covered in shade by the giant hanging trees standing at its flanks. Mahmuud edged through the undergrowth, chopping through it with one of Amal's swords. Thrack, thrack - another large surfaced leaf fell to Mahmuud's violent swings, pieces of it flying in the air.

In between his own movements, Mahmuud could hear Amal and the camel following his path, crunching plant life beneath their boots and hooves. Mahmuud was slowing, and breathed in hard. The constant up and down motion and the weight of the blade made his forearm muscles ache like a bad tooth. He stopped, stabbed the tip of the sword into the soft earth, and began to massage his arms with his big hands, working out the stiff knots. If only he were home, he could get one of his harem girls to do it, and maybe another to do something else. He grinned at the thought, a grin that vanished as soon as Amal stopped next to him.

"I shall take over," Amal insisted, holding out the reins of the camel. Mahmuud shook his head and pulled the blade out from the ground.
"I'll let you know when I am tired," Mahmuud said. He crushed a plant under his black boot, and carried on pushing through the undergrowth until he vanished out of Amal's sight.

The camel bolted like something had jumped up and bitten it in the rear. It moved so fast Amal couldn't stop it. Amal followed quickly, bounding through the emerald undergrowth like a plains gazelle.

Then the beast stumbled. Amal couldn't believe his luck. Sunlight shot down in thick beams into the body of water, the camel thrashing about at the centre. Its head was above the surface, eyes wide with terror. Amal swallowed his saliva as he tried to pierce the murky water with his eyes, imagining the beasts within. He heard another splash nearby. The wet, muddy bank opposite bore Jazeera prints where one had recently lain, and slipped into the water.

"Hamid, what have I done to deserve your wrath? I will not lose two camels in a day." Amal dived into the water, and opened his eyes beneath the surface. It was almost like walking through a sandstorm. The same sensation that one couldn't open his mouth, the same sensation of something smothering you like a blanket. Brown water rushed into his vision. He could see the river-bed below, covered in a misty fog. He could see the camel's body, and its legs working madly to keep the animal above the water.

Amal re-surfaced, taking in a deep gulp of air. He could see the Jazeera now, cutting through the top of the water like death itself. How many were below, moving near him, he couldn't tell.

Amal reached the camel, and pulled its soaking reins, trying to calm the animal by patting its broad neck. It could sense the Jazeera, and so could Amal. He drew his sword, and sent a prayer to Hamid for his salvation.

Eleven - Magic Mushroom Forest and the Bobbing Turban

Abdal felt the wind against his face. It blew his clothes about, making them flap like bird wings. Atiya's long, black hair flowed out behind her like a cloak, shining with health in the day's light. She seemed to be completely fascinated by the ride, her beautiful dark eyes wide with interest. Abdal wasn't completely immune to the effects himself, his leg wound forgotten.

The sun was high above them, piercing the white, wispy clouds with its great light. He could see golden-roofed towers rising from the peaks in the distance, glistening like metallic water in the midday sun.

Atiya pointed out a large red bird gliding through the air. It quizzically studied them with intelligent orange eyes, and opened its great curled beak to squawk.

Then the Ferod dived, forming a broad back to hold the pair as it descended towards the canopy. Atiya closed her eyes and gasped. Abdal slipped his hand over hers to comfort Atiya, but she shook it off.

They burst through the trees, scattering green leaves about them like the wind. Multi-coloured birds fled the Ferod's advance, and launched themselves from branches as the flying creature began zigzagging through the trunks beneath the canopy. Abdal ducked a branch, and felt another tug at his turban. He whipped it off and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

A stream ran beneath them, its cold, frothy water caressing black rocks that lay in the river like squat toads. The jungle became darker the further the Ferod followed the stream. The Ferod did not divert from the water's path. Sound was swallowed whole by some black void as even the trees themselves became more twisted and bizarre.

The stream stopped, flowing like a timid waterfall into a small pool below. Purple mushrooms the size of trees grew around it. They had many different shaped caps protecting the orange, glowing spores beneath them. Abdal had never seen mushrooms so big, and judging from Atiya's gaping jaw, neither had she.

The Ferod stopped by one as if to offer them a look. Its cap was tall and pointy, coloured various shades of blue and purple. Abdal leant forward to touch it, but the flying creature began to move again. Perhaps it was just checking its location? Abdal thought.

Small, strange creatures hovered in the dark. They glowed whites and reds and seemed to feed off the mushroom spores. What magic world had Abdal entered? There was no such recording mentioned in any of the Tambuktan scrolls back in the Palace. Was this a completely undiscovered part of the great Tambuktan Jungle?

Abdal and Atiya looked on with awe as the Ferod continued its journey.

"Where, by my harem's bearded girl, did you get to, Amal?" Mahmuud grumbled. He was certain he was standing at the last location he'd seen the retainer. He stooped low, and studied the beaten ground with his eyes - there it was, camel prints.

They veered away from the path Mahmuud had spent hard minutes cutting. His arms and shoulders were raw, and each new swing felt like he had lead weights tied to his wrists. The prints led towards the river. Why on earth had Amal gone that way? Mahmuud took a deep breath, and followed the prints. Shadows flashed over him as he stomped through the jungle, cussing.

He stopped as he noticed something large move to his left. It was a Jazeera, basking away from the banks and river, lazing in the sun. Mahmuud froze, and took a firm hold of the blade in his hands. He had nowhere to sheath the sword, so he left his halberd strapped to his back and kept Amal's blade.

He could feel his heart beat loudly in his chest, and could hear his breathing like a loud parade of camels. The Jazeera paid him no interest, and turned away, whipping its great, armoured-ridged tail like a fan. Mahmuud wiped moisture from his forehead with his free hand, and continued moving.

The tracks ended at the river. The water was marked with red blood, even up by the banks on both sides of the river. Bits of the camel's bags floated on the murky surface; soaked multicoloured blankets, a half chewed saddle. Mahmuud's heart sank as he spotted a white object wrapped in foliage by the bank. It was Amal's turban, bobbing up and down as the river raged past.

Twelve - The Reclusive Hermit

There was an odd smell in the air, like frankincense, soothing and tasteful. Abdal took another breath in as he studied his wound. It had stopped bleeding, but the cloth wrapped around his leg had become dark red.

"Here," Atiya said, holding out the water. "Drink this, you look unwell."

"I'm not used to flying rides with lengths of wood drilled into my shin," Abdal replied. He nodded his thanks, and gulped down the cold liquid.

"As I recall, I removed it," Atiya said, snatching the water back.

There was a giant mushroom ahead, stretched out beneath thick charcoal-like trees. The mushroom had windows cut into its side, and a large black door at its centre. There was a path of stone leading to the doorway made from round cut blocks of polished marble.

There were strange poles sticking out from the ground flanking the path, with iron hands at the tip clasping coloured, glowing lamps. As the Ferod flew a few inches above the path, the lamps cast red, purple and blue light over Abdal and Atiya.

"Ferod's live in mushrooms?" Atiya exclaimed. Abdal shook his head.

"No-one knows where the Ferod live, other than the jungle," said Abdal.

The Ferod dropped them next to the door, and disappeared through one of the open windows. There were strange colours inside the mushroom abode, like the lamps along the path. Atiya walked over to the window, and peeked through.

There was a table in view covered with strange apparatus; bottles and beakers full of bubbling coloured liquids. There was tubing connected to half of them, pumping liquid from one bottle to another. A series of bookshelves lined the wall, the spines of a thousand books coloured purple from an unseen lamp.

"Can I help you?" Atiya jerked back as a bearded man popped his head from behind the side of the window. He had large white eyes, and a thick black beard that melted into his long greying hair. His voice was high-pitched, like it hadn't broken during his youth.

"The Ferod brought us here," Abdal said, taking hold of Atiya's shoulders and moving her aside from the window.

"Do I look like an innkeeper? Do I have 'bed-and-breakfast' signposted on the trees of the jungle? To think I made this being and now its giving me orders." The old man tut-tutted, then sucked on his fat lips for a moment, before blowing them out in the fashion of a fish. "Alright, alright," he said, agitated, "they're here now anyway." The door opened with a silent, slow motion. Abdal and Atiya turned to see the opening door, and looked at each other quizzically.

"After you," Atiya said.

"No, ladies first," Abdal replied. Atiya stepped through the doorway, Abdal close behind, hobbling along on his damaged leg. The sweet smell he had breathed on the journey was stronger inside.

There were thin, white silken drapes separating one half of the room, black silhouettes of objects behind it. The room they stood in was cluttered, and reminded Abdal of Vizier Marid's rooms at the Palace; filled with scrolls and books, and strange devices.

The hermit was stooped, but wore very fine clothes. He wore a loose red shirt, black trousers, and a flowing cloak decorated with Arabian religious symbols. His face was a picture of intrigue, with a thin, pointed chin, and sharp jaw lines that even his thick beard couldn't hide. His nose was large and hooked, while his eyes were solid white and without an iris. He carried a tall, white staff in one golden-ringed hand. The bands gleamed with precious red rubies, and brilliant blue sapphires.

"My name is Abdal Rahiim, Prince of Tambukta. This is Atiya, a nomad girl from the desert. Why have you brought us here?" said Abdal.

"Young man, it had nothing to do with me. Ask Jawhar," the old man said, gesturing towards the Ferod in the corner. It peeked out from behind a wooden chair like a shy cat. "Oh yes, you can't understand him, can you? Please, sit down," the old man said. "You must have had a long journey. What brings a Prince and a desert girl together?"

"A matter of urgency, and…fate," Abdal replied. Two stools slid out from a scroll covered table next to the old man. He gestured Abdal and Atiya to sit. Abdal considered the stool a moment, studying its plain surface as though it were some trick, but did not sit. The old man nodded.

"Ahh, yes, I see. The leg, the leg." The old man wracked Abdal in his wounded shin with the butt of his staff. Abdal gritted his teeth, and sat down on the stool. "That's better." Atiya sat down on her own accord.

"You have yet to tell us your name, old man," Abdal said.

"I go by many names… you may call me Kadar," said Kadar. "Now, let me take a look at that leg." Abdal pulled back the bandage. Kadar tut-tutted, sucked his lips and blew them out again.

Kadar waved his aged hand in front of Abdal's eyes. The Prince slumped, and closed his eyes but did not fall off the stool. Atiya stood from her seat and went for her dagger in her boot.

"It's ok, I need to do this so I can heal his wound. He is quite safe, I assure you." Atiya looked at Abdal, and crouched by his side. She stroked his long, black hair away from his face. Kadar closed his eyes and began to mumble ancient words of power.

Thirteen - Hamid the Merciful and the Dancing Flames

Amal lay on the soft long grass and breathed deeply. The camel, now without a saddle and most of their belongings, chomped at the vegetation, pulling out clumps of grass with its teeth and fat lips. Amal patted his legs, moving his arms up to his torso and smiled. Hamid had been merciful. As usual, somehow Amal had been lucky. How many times in his life had he been on the verge of death, only to be saved? Too many.

The sky began to darken, and the twin moons could be seen in the sky like overlapping orbs. Amal sat up and beamed a smile. He slowly stood up, his wet clothes stuck to his body, and walked over to the dripping wet camel. Its fur was matted, but at least it was still alive. Amal patted the camel's thick neck, and the animal spat out a wet grass ball as it lifted its head.

"There's a good animal. Just don't run off like that again, certainly not around rivers." Amal studied the bank behind him. It was empty, the Jazeera had vanished. The river ran calmly past, transporting blood and remnants of the camel's packs downstream and onto the muddy river banks.

He took the camel's still wet reigns, and pulled. The animal refused and stared dumbly at him. Another hard, sharp tug caused it to move with a moan of protest. It moved slowly, and no matter how hard Amal pulled it along, it refused to quicken its step. Amal reached the river and looked at its dark waters. Mahmuud was crouched by the bank, holding Amal's turban in his hands like a treasured jewel.

"I shall miss you," Mahmuud said. "A brave warrior, and the finest swordsman I've ever seen. Godspeed, Amal."

"The finest swordsman, why, thank you for that remark." Mahmuud jumped, and looked to the opposite bank. Amal stood there, his clothes soaked, his thin, greying hair stuck to his forehead. Mahmuud stood up, straightened his loose shirt, and launched the turban at Amal.

"I thought you were dead, and all you were doing was hiding in the bushes. Was this all a game?"

"No, the camel took off in this direction, and fell into the water. Hamid forbid I lose another one, so I dived in to fetch the animal. There were many Jazeera, coming from all sides, but-"

"I have no interest in your damned story. You're always telling stories! At least you're on the right side of the river." Mahmuud peered at the dirty water, then pushed one boot gingerly into its depths. It was warmer than he expected, its touch seeping through the material of his trousers, filling his boot. Nothing stirred by the dense jade plant life along the banks.

"Keep an eye out," Mahmuud said, as he tracked to his waist into the water. When he could no longer touch the bottom, he took to swimming. He kept the blade high above the water, and used his other arm and legs to glide through the murky river. He spluttered and coughed as the warm water splashed up his nose and into his mouth.

Sunlight filtered down like heavenly light amongst the dark jungle trees that surrounded him. It flashed in his eyes and blinded him, forcing them shut. Amal knelt as Mahmuud stretched his free hand out to the bank, and grabbed Mahmuud's hand. He pulled the portly warrior out of the water and stepped back as Mahmuud whipped off his soaked turban.

"Damn me, but this quest has been torturous! When I get back, I'll not leave the comfort of my women for a long time," said Mahmuud.

Atiya was slumped asleep, her head in her arms, across the small table next to Abdal's bed. Prince Rahiim felt groggy, and stared at the relaxing red light that hung above Atiya's still form. The pain in his shin had vanished. Abdal removed the thin, white cover that smothered him, and looked at his leg. There was no mark, no wound or even a scar to suggest a large length of wood had pierced it.

There was a faint red shimmer as the Ferod glided into the room through the purple drapes hung from the ceiling. The drapes fluttered like ethereal spirits, then settled.

"Good morning, or afternoon, or good-whatever-the-time it is," said Abdal. He watched the Ferod settle onto the floor, above a silver rug, at the foot of his bed. The Ferod had a name - Jawhar… that was it. Jawhar was just as mystical as the stories he'd heard as a boy. Abdal's father told many stories of the mystical creatures, though he was sure he had more experience with them now than his father ever would, his own tale to tell his children. His two twin sons were only four months old, and wouldn't remember Abdal's leave, but that still didn't make it any easier for him to think of them growing without his presence. Amber would have plenty of help at the Palace, but he was still their father.

Abdal manoeuvred off the bed, stepped over the shrinking Ferod, then pushed his way into the main room. The old man was sat by a cackling fire, smoking an ornately decorated drooping pipe. A small, grey cloud hung above his head, and crawled towards the ceiling from the pipe.

"I see you are up and about, young man. Tell me, how does the leg feel?" Kadar said, as he stared at the fire.

"It is well, you have my thanks, though I would have preferred you asked my permission. I am no supporter of magic," Abdal said, as he sat down on the spare stool next to Kadar. The fire was warm, and spat embers onto the polished floor.

"What is it about the mystical arts that displeases you so?" asked Kadar.

"It is used for no good purpose by those that wield it." Kadar coughed smoke out of his mouth.

"Healing a wound is not a good purpose?" Kadar said, then took another puff from his pipe.

"There is always a price," said Abdal. "Forgive me, Kadar, I do not assume you will attach one. There is a man, a Sultan, who calls himself Jaffar. His sorcery has wrecked destruction throughout the kingdoms, and much death. My father was once jovial and kind, but now he is devoid and lonely. My people live in fear as rumour spreads. Jaffar's is the only magic I have known." Kadar nodded and gestured towards the spitting fire with his pipe hand. The fire began to dance to a peculiar rhythm, each flame took different shapes - one looked like a man jumping, another a camel walking the desert.

"Magic is much more than that, my young friend. It is life." The fire popped, and swirled towards them. Abdal leapt away, and watched the fire dance around the old man who remained on his seat. "It can be whatever you want it to be. Something to be afraid of, to fear all your life, or something to respect, and cherish. There was a time when I used my magic for the good of people in this world, but that day has passed. I now use it sparingly, and privately. You have nothing to fear from my powers." The orange flames receded back into the iron fireplace with a whoosh. Abdal picked up his stool, and sat once again.

"That red ruby on your finger, it is the signet of Tambuktan royalty, is it not?"

"What do you know of this?" Abdal asked defensively.

"I was not always a recluse. I once stood in the presence of Sultans."

"You knew my father?" Abdal asked.

"No. He is young. The ones I know are long dead." Kadar tapped the gold pipe, and poured the ash into the fire.

"My thanks for your hospitality, Kadar. My father awaits my return, and I can dally here no longer. Perhaps you could call your Ferod, and get it to take us back to where he found us?" Kadar nodded. He clicked his fingers and Abdal vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Until we meet again, Prince Rahiim," Kadar said, then sat back down on his chair.

Fourteen - A Reunion and the Gjinn

"Wake up." Abdal opened his eyes. Mahmuud's face entered his vision. The Prince shook his head, and slowly sat up. Atiya stirred at his side, holding her head with one hand as she rose from the grass bed.

"I don't know what happened to you two, but you've been asleep for more than fifteen bloody minutes," said Mahmuud. "I even took to slapping you both, but that didn't work either."

"I tried to stop him, My Prince," Amal said.

"It's quite alright, Amal," said Abdal. They were on the bluff, no longer inside the mushroom abode. Abdal felt dizzy and disorientated, like he'd spent the day asleep.

"My Prince, your leg has healed. Hamid himself must have worked that miracle!"

"Yes, praise Hamid," Abdal replied. Mahmuud helped Abdal to his feet.
"It was like a dream, Mahmuud, dreams we used to talk about as children. A sorcerer, Kadar, healed me after the Ferod took us to his home."

"The Ferod is over there, hiding," Mahmuud said, nodding towards Jawhar's position amongst the trees. "Its making me edgy," Mahmuud added, "slinking from tree to tree like a ghost."

"It's harmless, Mahmuud. Come out, Jawhar, these are our friends and will not harm you," Atiya called.

"You're not my friend, Sorceress. For all I know, this is all your doing, feeding My Prince with dark dreams of magic." Mahmuud grabbed the girl by the hand and twisted her round to face him. "Why did you come with us, hmm, away from the desert? Maybe Abdal is not concerned with such matters, but it's no trifle to me."

"Enough, Mahmuud, let her go," Abdal said, laying one hand firmly on Mahmuud's wrist. Mahmuud released her.

"Come out, Jawhar," Atiya called softly, as she gently rubbed her wrist. Like a timid animal, Jawhar emerged from the trees, its water-like mass pulsating. Amal stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, as Jawhar settled like a dog at Atiya's feet. She stroked it like a loved pet.

"See, sorcery," Mahmuud said, and crossed his arms. A bird cried in the night, its call eerie and chilling. Abdal addressed the Ferod, kneeling down and patting its silver surface.

"We need your help, Jawhar. The jungle is vast, and there is many miles to cover to get home. Do you know Amjad Palace?" It shivered, and flew off, back into the jungle. "I guess not," Abdal whispered. Mahmuud pointed at the remaining camel.

"We lost one going back down. We almost lost all the provisions left on the other one too when it decided to attempt suicide."

"An amazing tale, My Prince, a giant bi-"

"I don't want to know, Amal," Mahmuud said. Atiya ran to the camel, and stroked its flank. The night stars sparkled like diamonds set onto a black canvas that stretched out with an artist's majesty across the heavens. The twin moons glowed a sickly green, and bathed the jungle in jade.

Hasdru breathed deeply. He was exhausted, and so were his men. The jungle was completely different to the desert. One seemed to get lost amongst the trees, despite clear defining monuments to memorise. The stars, the nomads best sense of direction, were covered most of the time by the never-ending canopy. The noise was disorientating. His men, brave and stout, were afraid. This was not their territory. This was not the desert.

"Let us rest," Hasdru declared. He slumped down by the stream at his flank and watched its mirror-like surface shimmer in the moonlight. Hasdru looked at his reflection, then caught the soft white glow of the Gjinn as it skimmed the surface of the water.

The Gjinn landed lightly on his shoulder. It was a small, white creature the size of Hasdru's hand, that looked much like a man with a tail extending from its torso instead of legs, and small, sharp wings attached to its shoulders. It pointed in a north-west direction.

"Your heart is that way," the Gjinn said, its voice a squeak.

"Thank you, Gunbai. That'll be all tonight." Gunbai smiled, and flew into the gold pendant that hung around Hasdru's neck. It merged with the metal, which glowed white, then vanished. Hasdru felt the pendant heat up with Gunbai's return.

Atiya was out there, somewhere in the jungle. Why had she run away? They were destined to be married, her father had made the arrangement himself. She was his property. He knew the men laughed at him behind his back. Hasdru, the nomad who couldn't keep hold of his woman.

He loved her passionately, to distraction. Hasdru the love-sick fool. The Gjinn, a gift from his father, could track his heart's desire, and Atiya was all he wanted. There was no way she could get out of his grasp, not with Gunbai at his side. She could cross the ocean and the Gjinn would sense her, find the path she travelled.

"Can you hear that," one of the nomads muttered.

"Go to sleep, Ghalib, it's just a wild cat," Hasdru said, as he paced towards the gathered Jurhom. The five nomads peered at the dark plants as though their life depended on it, scanning the foliage like hungry Vijai. Not one released the handle of their weapons. Hasdru chuckled, he was not so paranoid. He'd been to jungles before, to the east.

"Rest easy. I will wake the next man for watch." The nomads nodded, and settled reluctantly onto the grass, pushing back the foliage to find a comfortable spot. Hasdru put his back against a tree, and looked at the stream. He would make her love him if it was the last thing he'd do.

Fifteen - Akhir an-Nahr Bridge

The morning light was a welcome addition to the journey. It was hard to trek through the dangerous jungle in the dark. Akhir an-Nahr ran fast at their right flank, fifty feet below. The water cascaded between giant rocks that sat in the river like basking hippos, the surface white with froth.

Giant trees spawned a thick canopy of oval, shield-like leaves above their heads, like a natural pavilion providing shade along the road. A large tiger stalked on their left, pushing its lithe, muscled form up the rocky jungle slope and through the tangled plants. Abdal caught its feline orange eyes in a deadly stare, then turned away.

Up ahead, a great white structure spanned Akhir an-Nahr's width. Thick round towers with golden pointed tops flashed in the sun across the length of the bridge. Atiya stared at it dumbfounded.

"The Bridge of Akhir an-Nahr," Abdal said. "It is an ancient structure, spanning back to the days of the Pharaohs." Atiya nodded.

"Are all Tambukta's buildings like this?"

"Not all of them are this grand, the architecture differs through periods of our history," Abdal replied.

They were getting closer, only a few more days travel and they would be at the City of Amjad. Abdal could not wait to see the white walls, and breathed a sigh of relief at the giant structure ahead.

"The guardhouse might even have horse, so we can all ride home," Abdal said, to spur them on.

As they neared the bridge, Abdal noticed something amiss. There were no guards standing at the bridge entrance. Never in his life had he passed over Akhir an-Nahr Bridge without seeing the white clothed guards in the gatehouses.

They slowed their pace as the path narrowed, falling into single file. The bridge structure and towers were massive, even more spectacular up close. The cyclopean blocks were wide, and decorated with many sculptured warriors imbedded with jewels. The towers shot a hundred feet into the air, and were similarly decorated with chariots and busts of the Pharaohs and their gods.

One stocky building sat at the middle of the bridge entrance. A black fence flanked it, its barb-tipped poles stood twice as tall as a man, and spanned the width of the bridge. Abdal peered into the gatehouse window. It was deserted. The great black door was damaged, and bent inwards as though lightning had struck it. He touched its hot surface, running his hand across the ash-like mark.

"I don't like the look of this, My Prince," Mahmuud said.

"What is wrong?" Atiya asked.

"I don't know," Abdal replied. They entered the gatehouse past the damaged doors. It was a bare building, with no furniture other than smashed pot plants, decorated in similar fashion to the bridge. The white plastered walls were chipped in places with long slash-like lines. The door on the other side lay on the floor, its black metal curled like a snail's shell. The river roared beneath them. Abdal was going to show Atiya the waterfall from one of the towers. It was a favourite of his ever since his father had first brought him here. Now there seemed more pressing matters to attend.

"What could do that to obsidian metal?" Mahmuud muttered. He crouched down and placed a hand on the gate.

"Sorcery," Amal whispered. The camel stooped towards the gate as if to graze, sniffed the metal and pulled away. Amal tugged hard on the reins to stop it backing into the wall.

"I'm afraid so. These gates have stood for more than a thousand years… it'll take more than a battering ram to put a dent in them," said Abdal.

They continued at a slow pace, each pair of eyes on the towers. For a moment, Abdal thought he caught movement by a window, but when he stopped there was nothing there. A raised white statue half the size of the towers stood at the centre of the bridge, surrounded by circular steps.

"Rahmunteph, sixth Pharaoh of the Kemet Empire," said Abdal. Rahmunteph wore a tall hat, which curled like a worm towards the tip and folded over his forehead. He carried one sword in one hand, and a tall, twisted cobra-headed staff in the other.

Abdal skirted the statue, and heard chatter. Voices laughed up ahead, raucous and deep. There were men dressed in red, with black turbans topped with beautiful wide white feathers. Wide scimitars hung from crimson waistbands, while two carried huge pole-arms. They hadn't seen him. These were Sultan Jaffar's troops, what were they doing deep in Tambuktan territory?

"What on earth are you doing hiding behind the foot?" Mahmuud called. Abdal watched Jaffar's soldiers turn towards the statue. A fat one with a yellow sash withdrew his blade and pointed the weapon at Abdal.

"There," he shouted. Abdal turned to Mahmuud and cast him a disappointed glare. He rushed down the steps, his boots echoing between the tall bridge walls.

"Sorry," Mahmuud muttered as he saw the Sultan's men crest the top platform and pass the statue.

Atiya grabbed her bow and quiver, slinging the latter onto her back. With her bow lowered towards the floor, she removed one barbed-tip arrow, and planted it on the bow window rest. Atiya raised the bow and pulled back the string, her arms straining. She took aim and fired.

The arrow took the fat leader in the eye, dropping him to the steps, his sword clattering at his side. The red clothed troops did not stop, and carried on down the stairs, rounding the body of their leader.

Abdal, Mahmuud and Amal stood in a line, weapons drawn and glinting in the sunshine. Another arrow flashed by Abdal's shoulder and struck a foe in the neck as he reached the bottom step. He spluttered and coughed blood, before collapsing to his knees holding his mortal wound.

"For Tambukta!" Abdal shouted, and rushed forward. Amal twirled his twin blades on his right, while Mahmuud laughed wickedly on Abdal's left and joined their prince.

They met the enemy at the bottom of the stairs. Abdal thrust his blade through the guard of one soldier, and pulled it out as the man screamed and bled. He blocked a thrust from a tall foe to his right, a foe that fell a moment later as Amal danced with his blades through the right flank.

Amal spun, ducked and thrust in fluid motions. A trail of blood followed his blades, as he cut through flesh with deadly precision. Amal was the best swordsman Abdal had ever seen, a fact that aided Amal's selection from the poor family he came from.

Mahmuud twirled his mighty halberd in a spinning arch above his head. His foe made a thrust with his pole-arm, which Mahmuud turned aside. There was a flash and his decapitated foe fell backwards, spurting blood.

An arrow thumped into Abdal's next opponent before the foe had met him. The man clutched the feathered end with one hand as he stumbled backwards. Abdal stepped forward and slashed through the man's stomach, spilling his insides onto the white stone.

Blood washed over his arm as Mahmuud opened flesh on his left, cutting through another red-clothed soldier like butter. The foe began to pull back, up the stairs as they took the measure of Abdal and his friends. A couple broke off and ran away, throwing their swords onto the floor. Atiya noticed them run, and sent an arrow screaming towards one. The arrow shivered as it struck the fleeing man's neck, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Abdal, Amal and Mahmuud followed them up the stairs, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies on the floor behind them. Atiya drew a curving dagger from her boot, and moved towards a wounded man crawling on the floor. The man held onto a stump where his hand used to be and moaned. She pushed his head onto the ground, and sliced his throat with one fluid motion.

"I want one alive," Abdal said.

"Yes, My Prince," said Mahmuud and Amal as one.

Abdal blocked an attack that whizzed past his right shoulder, and grabbed the man's wrist. He pulled the foe towards him and kneed the warrior in the groin. The man groaned and dropped to the floor. Abdal struck the enemy in the chest, and withdrew his sword in a flash.

The red-clothed soldiers ran away, back towards a man by the tower. He was tall, dressed in a sweeping black cape and red hood. He carried a carrion-headed staff in one hand, while his free one glowed orange. A small red creature with a spiked tail, clawed hands and feet, and a spiked head with yellow, glowing eyes stood at his feet.

"Sorcerer," Mahmuud whispered, then spat phlegm onto the ground.

Sixteen - Sorcerers and Magic Shields

The sorcerer grinned, his thin pale lips spreading wide. The face that remained revealed looked pale, almost white as chalk. The little creature at the sorcerer's feet chuckled - a high-pitched insane laugh which caused Abdal to shiver. It began to hop, picking up speed until it was a blur, giggling manically as it bounced.

Hundreds of red-clothed soldiers began falling out onto the width of the bridge, their boots stomping loudly, like the streets of Amjad during a parade. There was no hope, they were going to die.

"Who are you?" the sorcerer said, his voice strong and clear.

"I am Prince Abdal Rahiim, son of Abdul-Aliyy, Sultan of the Great Kingdom of Tambukta." The sorcerer began to chuckle, slowly and wickedly.

"There is no Kingdom of Tambukta, only Marhabbah. You trespass on our land, 'Prince', and will pay the price of death for it."

"Death-death," the red daemon said, and laughed.

"It is you who trespass, not I. If I am to die here, then so be it." Abdal wiped the blood from his blade on the turban of a dead warrior at his feet, then felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Shouldn't we be going the opposite direction? I, for one, aren't ready to die right this instant," Atiya whispered.

"Flee, wench," Mahmuud snarled a reply.

"Enough, you will join your father in the afterlife." The sorcerer raised his staff. A ball of orange energy began to form above it, sparkling like lightning as it grew in size.

"May Hamid protect us," Amal said. He sheathed one of his bloodied blades, then touched his forehead three times and kissed his hand.

The ball grew larger, so big that it could encompass the party in one. The sorcerer sent the magic ball hurtling towards them. Orange flame cast itself over the walls and ground as it sped at Abdal. The ball spun on an invisible axis, trailing orange light behind it. Abdal flinched and closed his eyes as the ball exploded in front of him. He peered out and saw Jawhar extended across the party, like a shield, its watery surface shimmering orange as the embers from the attack dissipated.

"Ferod!" Amal said. The sorcerer looked angry, and waved his men forward, the little daemon jumping like an excited child at his feet.

"To the tower," Abdal shouted. "Back, back!" They turned and fled towards one of the towers, pounding the white stone bridge with their feet. Amal grabbed the camel, which didn't protest and started to run. Atiya turned around, a fresh arrow drawn back. The feathered tip brushed her delicate ear as she released it into the chasing mob.

"No time for that," Abdal shouted as he paced past. Mahmuud was falling far behind. He breathed hard, fat cheeks pumping like a bullfrog. Atiya drew another arrow and sent the barbed weapon spiralling into the enemy.

Abdal grabbed Atiya by the elbow and pulled her along. The Ferod whipped into the mass of Jaffar's troops like a boulder, knocking men aside like skittles. Swords slashed through the Ferod's body like water. Jawhar pulled up into the sky, then made another dive into the mob. An ear-piercing crack filled the air as the sorcerer released another spell towards the troublesome being. A jagged white line lanced past the Ferod and struck a tower wall behind it, marking the surface black like ash.

"You realise we have no-where to go in there," Mahmuud shouted as he watched Amal and the camel push through the arched doorway of a tower.

"The staircase ought to give us an advantage," Abdal said as he thrust Atiya inside.

Mahmuud dived in, and Abdal shut the iron door with an echoing thud, locking it with the bolt behind him. Abdal grabbed Mahmuud's large forearm, and hoisted his friend to his feet.

"Thanks, My Prince," Mahmuud said. He straightened his jacket and turban as best as he could.

"Now what?" Atiya asked, as she adjusted her leather bracer.

"Upstairs, of course," said Abdal. They nodded, and began to ascend the short-stepped staircase. First went Amal and the camel, then Atiya and Abdal with Mahmuud at the rear.

It felt cold inside the tower. Abdal was exhausted, his energy spent on the fight outside. His muscles ached, particularly his right arm - his sword arm. The only thing that kept him going was adrenaline, and the thought of survival, no matter how foolish that notion was against such odds. A few moments later, a metallic bang rang up the spiral staircase. The door wouldn't hold for long.

As they rushed up the stairs, small windows revealed the blue sky and mountains outside. The waterfall tumbling in the distance roared like an angry god. They reached the top of the tower, coated with sweat. It was a wide room, the domed roof casting a faint, golden tinge over the panting party. Abdal pitched forward and placed his hands on his knees, breathing hard. They could hear the mad rush of soldiers pounding up the stairs, hundreds of pairs of feet striking stone.

"We'll fight in pairs, and give the others time to rest," Mahmuud suggested, peering down the hole in the floor that connected the top to the stairs. Abdal looked out one wide window. The white clouds in the sky drifted like other-worldly swimmers cutting through an infinite ocean. For a moment, Abdal wished he was one of them, drifting peacefully above the world's problems. The Ferod slipped underneath the cleft, and formed a long, wide platform. That was it!

"Right, we have another plan," Abdal said as he turned away from the window. "Mahmuud, help Atiya and Amal get the camel onto the Ferod. We're going out the window."

"The window, are you mad? Is that thing entirely safe?" Mahmuud asked, squeezing his head out of the window. He prodded the Ferod with the shaft of his pole-arm and shrugged.

"Is staying here any safer?" Atiya said.

"Your pet better not drop me," Mahmuud said, as he grabbed the camel and forced it towards the window. He slipped the black sheath of his halberd over the bloodied blade, slung it over his back and grabbed the camel's fur-covered rear. Atiya climbed onto the ledge, taking hold of the purple reins, and stepped onto the Ferod. It sank with the weight.

Amal joined Mahmuud, and grabbed half of the camel. It moaned with panic as it was slowly lifted off the floor. Mahmuud strained, his biceps bulged, dark veins popping up from his skin. Abdal joined in, and grabbed hold of the camel's rear legs as it began to thrash wildly. Its front legs almost struck Atiya, but Jawhar grabbed it with long pulsating arms.

"Should have left the bloody thing," Mahmuud said, as he withdrew his weapon once again. He spun towards the staircase. The voices were close. Amal closed his eyes and leapt onto the Ferod, Abdal close behind.

Mahmuud stepped onto the ledge as the red-clothed soldiers poured into the room. Mahmuud closed his eyes and dived, landing on Amal's back. The Ferod pulled away from the tower. Abdal watched the bridge disappear beneath his feet, and the red wave of Jaffar's troops that rushed across its surface. His heart sank as they sped away.

Seventeen - Amjad

"Is he ok?" Atiya asked Mahmuud. Abdal sat alone on the rocky path, legs bunched up to his chest like a bullied child sulking in a corner. Abdal stared at a blue stone in his palm, and had been for ten minutes.

The light dimmed as swarms of iron-coloured clouds blotted the blue sky and the sun. Rain began to fall lightly from the heavens, splattering the earth with specks of cold water. Mahmuud found some cover under a palm tree, Atiya and Amal in pursuit. The camel paced about in the rain, not bothered at all.

"Of course he's fine," said Mahmuud. "Come in, My Prince," Mahmuud called, "there is room for us all. No need to get wet." The rain tapped at the large leaves above their heads like a thousand fingers.

The Ferod drifted a foot from the ground, and formed a domed shelter above Abdal's head. The rain merged with the being, causing Jawhar's body to ripple like a lake. Abdal stared at it for a moment, and placed the stone back in his pocket. The sorcerer had said his father was dead. Was it true, had Amjad fallen? He was desperate to find out, to keep moving, but his heart told him that the sorcerer was correct. Amjad in Sultan Jaffar's hands was something he did not wish to see, or even thought possible. It was a city of hope and liberty, not one to exist under the rule of a tyrant.

His father had ruled with a passionate, merciful hand and was adored by the people. True, there were times when he had to make tough decisions, but a timid ruler of a country would only invite war.

Abdal stood, Jawhar in tow, and listened to the rain pound the ground and the Ferod's body. They were on the road to Amjad, one flanked by giant, tree-covered steep mountain walls. A wind whistled loudly between them; cold and foreboding, just how Abdal felt.

Atiya left the shelter of the tree, and rushed across the path towards Abdal, one hand covering her eyes from the downpour. Jawhar opened an arch in his body to allow her through. Abdal looked up and smiled sadly.

"What is that blue stone?" She asked. Abdal withdrew it from his pocket, took Atiya's hand and placed the stone in her palm.

"It was a gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday. It is the Stone of Passing; to commemorate the day I became a man. My father gave me the stone he received when he had turned sixteen." Atiya examined it, stroking the many facets of the solid, light gem.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It's priceless," Abdal replied. "It is supposed to bring good luck, and fortune… perhaps, if my father had not given me his, he would still be alive?"

"You don't know what's happened, Abdal. Until you find out the truth, thinking about this will only hurt you."

"Perhaps you are right, Atiya," Abdal placed both his hands on her shoulders and sighed. "Thank you, I owe you much, my life even. Why do you still remain with us? I have brought you to civilisation, Jaffar is not your enemy like he is mine. You do not need to fight him."

"I will leave when the time is right," Atiya said. "Right now, I will help you all I can."

Amjad stretched out between broad mountains. Its tall walls merged with the rock. The Palace stood on Ubaid peak, overlooking the rest of the city like some rich king sat on a throne. The sloping road that led towards it was flanked by beautiful gardens and waterfalls. The walls were made from giant blocks of white stone, cut and set to perfection. A huge golden bell hung between two towers at the centre of Amjad. Abdal and his friends nestled themselves up on one of the peaks, high above the winding valley below that led towards the broad green gates. A wind blew hard on the bluff, and whipped their clothes about like drapes on a washing line. Amal held onto his turban. The ground was damp from the recent rain, but the sky was clearing, the dark clouds heading east.

"One, two, three, four, fiv-,"

"There are fifty towers," Abdal said, as he noticed Atiya begin a count.

"Why so many?"

"One Sultan got carried away, I think," Abdal said. "Quite a bit before my time, however."

"That is something I never wished to see," Mahmuud muttered. He stretched his finger towards the gates, at the fluttering black flags. Sultan Jaffar held Amjad.

"Then it's true, all hope is lost," Amal said, and lowered his gaze.

"There is a way we can get inside, it helps to be a Prince. I must find out what has happened to my family. If there is a chance they live, we must do what we can to release them."

"And murder that bastard," Mahmuud added. Abdal turned away from the city, and all eyes, even the camel's, turned to him.

"There is a mountain path that runs to the east. It is an arduous route, and I know not whether it is still passable. It leads to a small door hidden in the mountains. The passage runs into the palace, the perfect place to start our search."

"What are those statues?" Atiya pointed at a series of tall black carvings lining the path towards the gates.

"I do not know, they are new," said Abdal. He studied the closest sculpture. It looked like a standing panther; paws hung loosely over its chest, wide mouth open to reveal sharp metal teeth. "Let's go," Abdal said. The statue stared back, and caused the hairs on his forearms to prickle.

Eighteen - Switchbacks and Mounds

The road meandered like a river, twisting and turning through the mountains. It began to rain again, and poured from the dark sky with fury. Thunder rumbled and lightning stormed down in forked lines. A bright light shone through the black clouds like a passage to Heaven. Abdal pictured Ridwan, the Gate Keeper of the Clouds, beckoning him towards the light.

Abdal slipped on the slick ground, and thumped his knee hard on the rock. Rivulets ran down the steep path, dribbling like rain on a window. He could feel the water on his face, and spat it out from his mouth. Mahmuud grabbed Abdal's arm with wet hands, and helped him to his feet. The Prince nodded his thanks, and brushed his trousers and sleeves with slow and fluid flicks. A giant Vijai took off from a nearby bluff, its screech bouncing off the walls as it flew towards the clouds.

The switchbacks became harder to manoeuvre as the rain turned the ground to muck. They rounded a series of peaks that looked like an inverted cow's udder, slipping and sliding on the unsure ground. The path ran close to the edge of a massive drop. Abdal peered down its depths, and shuddered as he thought about falling, breaking his body against the rock.

The wind and rain continued as they found themselves on a wide ridge. The view was amazing; giant mountains, some topped with snow, stretched as far as the eye could see. A large lake, Ghassan, sat to the right in a secluded spot, grey mist hovering above it. A small temple rose from a grassy bank amidst the smog, its gold roof glistening with the rain. It was romantic, and a place Abdal had taken Amber shortly after they married. They had made love in the water as the sun shone in the perfect blue sky.

"How much further, My Prince?" Mahmuud asked. His jacket flapped on his stomach.

"Not far," Abdal said. "It is further along this ridge." The Ferod whizzed past, and flew into the sky.

"Why can't that… thing take us?" Mahmuud muttered. "Good enough out a window, but we've got to trek across mountains on foot!"

"I think it'll carry us when it wants to, not the other way around," Atiya said, digging her fingertips into the rocky wall for grip. Abdal led the way, edging through the wind and rain with slow and measured steps. He tested the ground, placed his boot on a slimy moss covered rock - he slipped and fell to the ground, bashing his head on the wet solid surface. Abdal's world spun. He felt consciousness slipping away.

"My Prince!" Mahmuud shouted. Mahmuud crouched and lifted Abdal's head off the ground. There was a bloody gash above his eye. "Abdal," Mahmuud said, "can you hear me?"

"Yes," Abdal said. "Haven't been hit like that since Verona."

"That was a bloody day, My Prince," Mahmuud said, helping Abdal up.

"Can you not stay on your feet?" Atiya said. Mahmuud flashed her a wicked stare as Abdal pulled himself away from his grip. Atiya opened a bag on the camel, and pulled out a thin length of beige cloth. She held Abdal's chin, and dabbed at the open wound with the cloth.

"Careful," Abdal muttered.

"I thought you were a big brave warrior?" Atiya said, and stuck out her tongue as she applied firm pressure on the wound.

They arrived before a mound of rock jutting out from the ridge. A series of trees with thin snake-like limbs wrapped themselves around the rock. Giant oval brown leaves loosed crystal droplets of water onto the ground.

"This is it," Abdal said.

"I can't see a door, My Prince," Mahmuud said. He began to search the surface, peeling back the leaves and patting the rock. "No, looks like a large rock to me," he said, and pulled back, wiping the dirt from his hands on his trousers.

"The people that made it were great rock-workers. The door is here, trust me." Jawhar circled above, casting a twirling shadow onto the ground.

Abdal stepped forward, and cast his thoughts back to the past. The mechanism was somewhere - he stooped low, and noticed part of the tree stump that looked out of place. Behind it was a hand print marked in the stone.

"My father told me that only one of royal blood can open the door," Abdal said, and placed his hand into the print. It was a perfect fit. The stone depressed half a foot with a rocky sliding sound. The ground began to shake and rumble like a quake, disturbing loose stone and dirt from the mound which fluttered to the ground.

Abdal stepped back as the mound spilt in the centre, both halves folding back with the trees to reveal a dark staircase. Everyone stared inside, then looked at one another with triumph. The staircase was not wide, and was made from a red-coloured stone, decorated with ancient patterns associated with the Pharaohs.

"We'll need a torch," Abdal said.

Mahmuud tore a limb from a tree, half the length of his arm.

"Hand me some of that cloth," he ordered Atiya. She nodded, and pulled out more of the beige material. Mahmuud wrapped a small amount around the end of the stick, then removed an animal-skin bag tied to his waist.

"Wine," he said, then poured it onto the material. "Damned waste."

"I thought you told me you didn't have any," Amal said, recounting the first day's march in the desert. Mahmuud winked at him.

"I lied."

Nineteen - 'What's that clicking noise?'

It was cold. It felt like a breeze ran through the passage, even the torch in Mahmuud's hand flickered as he held it poised in front. An orange circle of light cast itself onto the walls and floor. The passage was perfect, every line of its construction without flaw, but scarily quiet; even their footsteps seemed to be swallowed by a void. The walls were decorated with many odd symbols. Most looked like silly lines, but others were recognisable; round helmeted faces with stocky beards, closed gauntleted fists, hammers, anvils and other everyday items.

"Who built this passage?" Atiya asked. She ran her hand lightly over a large symbol of a hammer striking an anvil. The indents were cut to perfection, each line was straight as an arrow.

"They are called the Dwuegor. They live in the mountains to the east. These ones were most likely slaves, captured and forced to make this for the Pharaohs."

"The Dwuegor?"

"They're a short, solid race, with thick limbs and a rumbling stomach that would put Mahmuud's to shame. They have flowing white beards you could wrap a babe in," said Abdal.

They came to a flight of broad steps that were made from polished white marble. Sparkling jewels were set into a feral God's eyes and clothes at the centre of one, while blue lines ran its flanks. The blue were sapphires, each segment cut and placed into the rock with great care.

"This is magnificent work," Mahmuud said, as he waved the torch over the floor. "Grander, dare I say, than Amjad Palace," Mahmuud added.

"Amjad Palace was built by men," Abdal said.

They continued, footsteps echoing, descending deeper into the mountain. A strange smell began to assault their nostrils, fetid and rank. The walls became marked at the bottom; chips and deep lines not made by the Dwuegor.

"That smell is familiar," Mahmuud said. He sniffed in loudly. "My harem's bearded girl, its like a slum toilet!"

"You hang around a lot of those?" Atiya said.

"You like being able to use that bow?" Mahmuud said.

"Touchy, aren't you," Atiya replied. Amal remained silent at the back, scanning the walls with fear.

"You two aren't related, are you?" Abdal said. "You argue like brother and sister." A broad smile spread across his face.

"Is that a hint of jealousy in your voice, Abdal. Wish you could argue with me?" Atiya said. They moved past stone debris. It lay across the floor like broken bones on a battlefield.

"Now this is shoddy work," Mahmuud said.

"Its been damaged, struck with solid objects," Abdal said. He bent low, and picked up a piece of rubble. Black chitin was buried in the stone like peeling flakes of skin. Abdal dropped it to the floor.

"There's chitin in that rock," he said sadly.

"Scorpion…" Amal whispered. He took off his turban, tapped his forehead three times and kissed his hand. "May Hamid have mercy on us all if it's down here." Mahmuud placed a giant hand on Amal's shoulder.

"Relax, this is probably ancient, the beast long dead." The camel spat a goblet's worth of phlegm onto the wall by Mahmuud's face. The two stared at each other for a brief second, before the camel turned away.

"We'll use the camel as a shield if the scorpion is here," Mahmuud said. "I think the bugger's mocking me." The Ferod quivered as though it laughed.

The smell became stronger as the tunnel widened. The pictures on the wall depicted scenes of great importance. Ceremonies, burials and marriages, hieroglyphics whose colours were as fresh and bright now as the day they were applied. The torch flickered and simmered.

"Pass me some cloth, Amal," Mahmuud said. The torch extinguished and pitched the tunnel into darkness. Abdal heard Amal's rummaging through the pack. There was a clicking sound, thumping lightly on the floor ahead.

"What's that noise?" Mahmuud said.

"Me," Amal answered, hand in the pack.

"No, not that, the clicking sound, and don't tell me it's the camel," Mahmuud said. He placed the torch between his knees. A screech filled the chamber that made his spine shiver. Mahmuud worked madly with his flint and steel - flick - flick. A white spark caught the material, and a flame enveloped the torch.

The scorpion walked with its red bulb-spiked tail coiled, the tip touching the ceiling. Its two pinchers snapped like frantic jaws in front. Its black body armour looked impenetrable, and shone a shade of orange in the torchlight. Small hairs grew on the shell, like a layer of fur. Its sleek red eyes peered out from beneath a ridged, armoured head.

Abdal drew his sword. Mahmuud thrust the torch into Atiya's hands, and brought his halberd out, sliding the black cover off. He tossed the cover to the floor, and stepped forward.

"Stay back, My Prince," Mahmuud said. "Let me test it." Amal withdrew his twin silver swords and joined him. Atiya caught two gold flowers winding their way up the centre of each weapon. They looked beautiful, more like ornaments than brutal weapons.

"May Hamid have mercy on us all," Amal said.

Twenty - The Mighty Mahmuud

The scorpion scuttled forward on its thin, multiple legs. It produced an ear-tingling, high-pitched sound from its small mouth, then pushed its legs into the walls, lifting itself from the floor. The tail un-coiled, and lashed out quickly beneath it.

The bulb-tipped tail flashed at Mahmuud's face. Mahmuud dodged, throwing his body into the wall as the curved spike moved past. Amal shouted, and slashed at the tail with his swords. The black armour thudded with his blows, but withstood it. In return, the tail struck his legs, and swept Amal off his feet. Amal landed on his back, his swords clanging on the polished floor as he let out a sigh of pain.

Mahmuud moved forward again, halberd thrusting rapidly. The beast bobbed as it hung above the floor, its tail poised to strike from beneath. Its claws snapped slowly and loudly.

Abdal moved to Mahmuud's left, his steel sword glinting in the firelight. An arrow whizzed past, but bounced off the left claw. The arrow spun and fluttered to the ground like a dying bird.

"You'll waste those on this," Abdal said. "Don't shoot it."

The scorpion dropped to the floor with a crash, then moved backwards. The tail was high above it now, thumping the ceiling as it moved. The claws stretched out, open like yawning mouths, ready to crush Abdal and Mahmuud in an instant.

The tail shot down at Abdal's chest. Abdal was knocked back as he blocked with his sword. The spike was an inch from his body, dangerously close. He grunted, grimaced as he tried to force it away, but the tail kept him pinned.

Mahmuud shouted and charged the tail. The cutting edge of his halberd smashed into the tail's side, and drew black blood as it crashed through the armour. The beast screeched, and withdrew its tail, flicking it madly from side to side as it bled. Black scorpion blood splashed onto Abdal's cheek, and dripped like rain onto his top. Another arrow flashed past. The tip struck the retreating tail wound, slicing a layer of chitin off, sending the black armour flying through the air.

Amal, on his feet, rushed forward, and met the claws with his blades. One snapping jaw met his right-hand blade, and knocked it out of his grasp. The scorpion's right claw crashed into his side, and knocked the air out of his lungs. Amal fell onto his back with a groan.

Mahmuud stepped past Amal's battered form, and twirled his halberd above his head, stamping his forward foot as he sent the weapon hurtling down at the claw. It smashed into the thick armour, but didn't rend it. The other claw went for him, but Mahmuud stopped it with the metal-ring at the shaft of his great weapon.

Abdal pulled Amal's moaning form back, then dashed in, striking the right claw as it snapped at Mahmuud. The tail poised to strike, but Atiya struck its wound with another well-placed arrow. The scorpion shivered and kept its tail back, out of harms way. She was a fine shot, Abdal thought, far better than he.

Then the Ferod floated merrily past, like an odd orange ball in the torchlight. The scorpion considered the new threat, and struck out with the tail. Jawhar wrapped its form around it, encompassing the bulb spiked-tipped end with its bloated form. It flew upwards, and pinned the tail to the ceiling. The scorpion squirmed like mad, trying to break free from Jawhar's grip. The Ferod wouldn't let go.

With renewed hope, Abdal and Mahmuud struck out. Abdal ducked an attack, felt the muscles in his legs bunch up and strain, then shot forward, under the claw, towards the arm. He struck it with all his might, and chopped through with a roar. The claw fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Blood shot out like fountain-water, coating the wall and the Prince as the scorpion thrashed its stump. It tore itself free from Jawhar's grip, ripping the tail off in its desire to escape. Mahmuud knocked the one flailing claw aside, and leapt onto the beast's torso. He spun his halberd so the blade faced the black armour, the red tangle of hair fluttering down, gripped the pole with both hands and struck with all his might. The halberd blade pierced the armoured head, and killed the scorpion instantly. It thrashed on the floor as Mahmuud twisted the blade with a grunt.

"Praise Hamid," Amal muttered. They all breathed a sigh of relief as they stared at the massive form of the black scorpion, bleeding its life-blood onto the polished stone floor.

Twenty-One - The Tiger Gardens

The tunnel wall had collapsed, revealing dark, angled rock leading to the surface.

"That explains the scorpion," Mahmuud muttered, stroking the wide hole's jagged edge. "Sand sharks did this, I've seen it before. They tore right through the wall," Mahmuud continued, rubbing his chin as he studied the marks.

"They went through solid rock?" Atiya said.

"Deaf wench, did you not hear me? I said it was so, just so," Mahmuud said. Atiya removed her knife from her boot in a blink of an eye, and swiftly pinned Mahmuud against the wall. Her knife pricked his throat, and drew blood.

"I'm getting tired of your moaning and insults," Atiya said. She cast him a wicked smile, then snarled.

"Enough!" Abdal said. He grabbed Atiya's wrist, and pulled her arm back.

"Mad woman," Mahmuud said, as he placed his hand over his fresh wound. He wiped blood onto his fingertip, and placed the finger into his mouth.

"You said you would be of help to me, not wound my men," Abdal said, peeling back Atiya's fingers to remove the blade. Mahmuud raised his arm to slap her.

"Stop it, both of you. There are more pressing things to consider than your petty arguments." Mahmuud and Atiya looked ashamed, and nodded solemnly.

"Forgive me, My Prince. I am not used to such fierce, free-thinking women!"

"I'm not used to such pig-headed, obnoxious men!" They both scowled at each other, then bowed their heads like obedient children as Abdal put his index finger to his lips.

The passage thinned, forcing them to go single file. They brushed past cold ancient walls decorated with more hieroglyphics, and great pictures. One length depicted a great battle, the field littered with giant spears that poked out from the mass of troops like spines on a spike-hog.

"What's that smell?" Mahmuud muttered.

"The camel," Amal said, holding his nose. The camel grunted with what Abdal took as an apology. Their footsteps echoed, while the orange light in Abdal's hands flickered as he pushed up a flight of steep steps.

They came to a golden ladder that sparkled in the dimming light. The ladder rose within the confines of a thin tunnel. It felt like being trapped in a well, Abdal thought, as he held the torch up, watching the ladder disappear into darkness above.

The Ferod dropped to the floor, and splashed like water on the solid surface as though someone had tossed a bucket of water at Abdal's feet. Droplets of blue ooze struck his legs and the wall. It began to reform as a small puddle on the floor, each particle drawing slowly back into itself, flying from the wall to the floor, and from Abdal's trousers. It reformed as a small discuss, and hovered by his waist, rotating like a topspin.

"I'll go first," Abdal said. He passed the dimming torch to the Ferod, who formed a hole in its centre as a perch for the burning length of wood. It sank into the thin form like broken wood in quicksand.

"We'll have to leave the camel here," Abdal said. "Tie it to the rungs as you leave, Amal. We will come back this way if necessary." Atiya took her quiver and bow from the camel, slinging them both over her shoulder.

Abdal placed his hands onto the cold rung, and moved up the ladder. His boots thudded on the metal with every step. Atiya went next, her bow slapping her thigh. She peered down as Mahmuud placed a heavy boot on the first rung.

"Don't get ideas," she said, sternly, as Mahmuud stared at her bottom with a wide grin.

Abdal's muscles began to ache as he ascended the expensive gold ladder. The Ferod floated up at his side, hovering over his shoulder. A silver screen flashed like blades in sunlight above his head. There was a hand-print at the centre similar in design and craft to the one on the stone mound. Abdal placed his hand into the perfect fit print, the silver cold as ice on his palm, then felt it depress. The screen slid with a metallic groan as gears began to work. Black sky lay above, with winking stars gleaming like diamonds.

The scent of fresh-cut grass and a multitude of blooming flowers filled his nostrils. The dank, still air from the passage felt like being trapped in a tomb. This was a much welcome change. Abdal took a deep breath as he climbed out into the small hedged garden. The hedges encompassed the green grass in a square, and were cut neatly, standing a head taller than Abdal. The faint sound of water striking water could be heard in the distance.

Atiya popped her head out of the hole, her raven hair loose and waving. Abdal held out his hand, which Atiya accepted. He felt the warmth of her hand in his, and pulled her out of the hole. Atiya stumbled, and Abdal caught her in his grasp, her body pressed firmly against his chest. He could feel her heart flutter. She pulled away, and smiled shyly.

"Ahh, take a breath of that," Mahmuud exclaimed as he emerged from the hole. Sweat christened his brow and shone in the moonlight.

"Be quiet," Abdal said.

There was a tall wall above the hedgerows in the distance, topped with wide balconies. Orange light shone from torches burning on the walls, and from the rooms.

The Ferod emerged, the torch no longer in its grasp. It whizzed about like a bird enjoying new found freedom. Amal came last, the sheaths of his two great swords clanged on the last metal rung and rang dangerously on the still night air.

"Where are we?" Atiya asked?

"Amjad Palace Gardens," Abdal said. "Judging from the sound of water, we are on the west side." He pointed towards the wall in the distance. "There is a way inside, though it will probably be guarded."

Abdal led the way. The hedges formed a brief maze, but soon opened up to luscious flowered gardens with beautiful blooming trees spawning white leaves in the darkness. The grass had been recently cut; long wide lanes ran the lengths, the chopped up grass flicking up as they moved across the soft carpet.

Abdal froze by a long line of dark green hedges, and held up his hand. The party stopped, and crouched. Everyone heard the footsteps - a soft padding noise flapping on the gravel path by the hedge, and everyone heard the growl. In the pale moonlight, a tall white and black stripped tiger paced into view, stepping onto the garden grass. It was lean, but well muscled. Its blue eyes shone like small moons in its skull. It opened its mouth, revealing long and sharp teeth.

"Mamba," Abdal whispered. The large cat padded towards them. Atiya went for her bow, but Abdal restrained her with a light touch.

"Mamba," Abdal called. The cat growled. Abdal stood and walked towards the beast, one hand out to stroke it. Mamba nuzzled Abdal's outstretched hand, and purred with joy as the Prince crouched besides it.

"It's good to see you, boy," Abdal said, patting the animal's muscled flanks. "Very good indeed."

Twenty-Two - Jaffar, oh Jaffar!

Sandy grains blew towards him, but Jaffar raised his hand and stopped them. The grains hovered in the air like frozen raindrops. He flicked them away with his long fingers. His entourage cowered behind him, bunched together like frightened children. A smirk flashed across his pale features. They were all weak. Jaffar's blue cloak whipped up around him like giant wings, hugging his tight, blue silken clothes.

The sky was a sheet of grey iron, flashing with lighting. The clouds began to swirl with Jaffar's hand movements. A funnel-shape appeared across the blackening sheet, then it extended to the ground as a whirling column of energy.

"Tear up the desert," Jaffar cried out in a deep voice. The tornado flashed white, and roared like thunder. It sped away, smashing through a dense body of sand.

"This is madness." Jaffar heard someone mutter. His smirk grew larger as he eyed his followers. All of them were cattle, fit for whatever whim and purpose he so happened to choose. He briefly considered hurling the tornado after them, and watch with glee as they got sucked into the vortex. There it was again - Jaffar could feel himself slipping further away, into a deep hole he couldn't climb out again. He wasn't always like this, there had been a time when he was kind, and generous. Those days were long gone.

Jaffar rubbed his hands together. The strain of controlling the weather was exhausting him. He was thinner than usual, paler and fatigued. Long nights of desert travel had left a heavy toil on his body and mind. But it was all necessary.

"Find them for me," he whispered, as he watched the tornado go.

There it was again - that light. Like some haunting, floating spectre. It seemed to stretch out for him, expanding in the darkness, creeping closer. The light travelled slowly, as though it were mocking him, showing some doom he had no chance to escape. Then it disappeared and everything went black.

The black canvas tent door fluttered then whipped open. Jaffar woke, perspiration thick over his body. The candle on his desk flickered to life as he pushed himself up from the bed. The candle cast a warm light over the Sultan. He shook like he'd been submerged in cold water. It was the same dream again for the forth night in a row. What on earth did it mean? Was he close to achieving his goal in the desert, or was there some dark metaphor behind that ghostly light?

"Sorry to disturb you, my Lord." Jaffar glanced at the man who ducked into his tent in an arrogant fashion. Wadi was tall, with spindly arms and legs. His bronzed face was thin, and sported a thick black goatee and downwards curling moustache. He wore purple trousers with a white top, both laced with golden embroidery. His blue eyes spoke of an educated upbringing.

"I told you not to disturb my sleep," Jaffar said, angrily. Wadi bowed his head.

"I would have let you sleep, my Lord, but there is something you must see." There was urgency in his voice, and fear. Jaffar stood, and paced over to the cloak that lay draped over a high-backed chair. He quickly slipped into the cool material, checked his own growing beard in a small round mirror that lay on the table, then promptly left the tent.

The night was cool and quiet. The sky revealed two great moons and thousands of stars. Circular tents blew subtly in the wind across the silver ocean of sand, their colours dulled to blacks and greys under the twin moons light. There was a gathering of robed mounted figures upon a dune, peering towards the camp.

"They are desert nomads," Wadi said. "They wish to talk to you."

"It had better be good, or I'll flay the skin from their bones and make you wear them for a month." Wadi did not doubt his words.

The nomads tensed as Jaffar paced up the slope. He began to breath heavily with the effort, his lungs ached like he'd spent a lifetime pipe-smoking. One tall nomad dressed in black stepped forward, a pole-arm strapped to his back with a wide cutting edge and sharp spear point. His face was hidden by a black hood and scarf.

"My name is Mujahid," Mujahid said. "We have plenty to talk about if you are the man searching for the Ushabti." Jaffar raised one thin eyebrow, his attention piqued.

"Come to my tent, we will talk there," Jaffar said, as he rubbed his hands together with glee. The dream had been a portent indeed.

Twenty-Three - Amber

The guard struggled in his grip, clawing at Abdal's arms and face as the Prince tightened it. He dug his knee harder into the man's back, forcing the guard to the floor. The guard sagged, and stopped his troubles, unconscious and oblivious to the world. Mahmuud had his man by the throat against the white column, and dealt a brutal head-butt which shattered the guard's nose and sent his head crashing back into the stone.

"Put them under there," Abdal said, and gestured towards the bushes with a nod.

"They won't be waking up for a while," Mahmuud said, as he dragged his man across the stone patio.

"My Prince, shall we change into their clothes?" Amal said. Abdal looked at the party. The floating blob and a white tiger would give them away.

"It's pointless," Abdal said, much to Amal's disappointment.

They stood under a pavilion, its plant-wrapped columns flanking a red-stoned patio. Two great green-blue doors with golden handles barred the entry to the Palace.

Jawhar danced about the large tiger. Mamba raised its paw to swat it away like a fly, missed, then began to growl at the strange beast. They all moved to the door, watching the lawn-gardens that surrounded the pavilion and entrance. Shadows of men armed with long spears were cast onto the lawns like a foreboding warning, a constant reminder of their peril.

Abdal placed his hand onto the cold golden handle, twisted it and opened the door slowly. The hallway was spacious, its white walls and polished marble floor washed by a multitude of coloured lamps - purples and blues, whites and oranges. It reminded Abdal of the old man's home in the mushroom forest.

They moved over the coloured marble inlayed floor. He was finally home. There was no family to greet him this time, however. No large father in fancy clothes, sparkling with jewels and a friendly smile.

"Sneaking into my own home," Abdal muttered, and shook his head. "It doesn't feel right."

"Nothing has been right for a long time," Mahmuud said. "I haven't slept with a woman for weeks."

"That might be a blessing," Atiya whispered. They walked on, past cold, silent hallways. They moved through broad halls and over coloured carpets, stopping at a closed black arched doorway. There was a gold printed dragon curling its way from one door to the other, expanding from the shaped, shining golden handles like fast-growing trees.

Abdal opened the door, and led the way through. A series of pilasters rose around a marble plinth which stood on a block of squared red sandstone. A sealed tomb covered with brown and blue calligraphy sat above the plinth. A windowed cupola lay above, revealing the night sky through the glass. They moved close to the tomb. Atiya placed her hand on one of the tomb's chamfered corners.

"What is this place?" Atiya said.

"We are passing through the mosque. That is the tomb of the sixteenth sultan, Khuzaymah."

Amal closed the doors behind him as quietly as possible, then trailed the Ferod as Abdal opened the opposite doors. There was a hallway with a white and blue striped floor. Wide gaps in the tall walls revealed ramparts and domed towers. A cold breeze blew in and caused Abdal to shiver. Small statues and pottery stood on plinths by the walls.

They passed into a grand room with a giant staircase to the north, and a granite floor with a fountain pouring water into a pool. There were red-clothed guards with black turbans at the bottom of the steps. They carried chest-sized silver shields, their hands on the pommel of wide, curved sheathed swords.

"We need to get upstairs," Abdal said. "My chambers are there."

Atiya placed an arrow in her bow, and crept forward using the fountain as cover. She moved around the stone base to the right of the stairs. She almost slipped on the wet edge as the water splashed out of the pool. Atiya raised her bow and aimed for the man's head. The arrow flew straight and true at the target, knocking the guard off his feet. He dropped his shield which clamoured on the ground like a drum. Atiya retrieved another arrow, placed it in the arrow-rest, and pulled back on the string as the other guard turned in surprise. He collapsed to his knees a moment later, grasping the solid shaft of a barbed-tipped arrow sticking out of his chest.

"Good work," Abdal said as he rushed past her, Mamba and the Ferod at his side. Their steps echoed loudly across the room. Mahmuud grunted at her, and followed Abdal up the stairs. A crystal passageway lay before them, with a glinting ceiling. It felt like walking through a star, Atiya thought. The mirror floor captured them in its grip as they moved. Arched doorways led to individual rooms, most of which were separated by silver sparkling drapes.

They took the left path of a forked passageway, which led down a short flight of dark blue steps. Two large white closed doors met the end of the steps, flanked by two armoured warrior statues. The warriors were made from iron, and wore stern expressions, like devoted professional guards. Their armour was from the period of the pharaohs, with tall oval scutums, and sickle-like swords.

Abdal took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pushed the doors open. There was a small hallway into his chambers, with busts of Sultans perched on the walls. They stared at them like ghosts of the past.

"Close the doors," Abdal said. Amal obliged and pushed them closed.

Abdal walked slowly into his room. The giant bed, with a magnificent oak body, was made, its white silken covers neatly addressed. Amber sat on a high-backed chair in front of a table near the bed, and brushed her long raven hair with her slender fingers. She was dressed in a cropped top that revealed her left shoulder. Amber turned as she heard the footsteps. Their eyes met, and she smiled. Abdal's heart thudded in his chest.

Twenty-Four - Men of Iron, Men of Blood

"Abdal, you're alive!" The chair squeaked on the polished floor as Amber pushed away from the table. They both paced towards each other and embraced. Abdal placed his hands on her waist and lifted her into the air. He planted his lips on hers and kissed her passionately. The scent of jasmine filled his nostrils.

Mahmuud and Amal turned back to the door, worried that guards would emerge into the chamber. The Ferod whizzed to and fro above Mamba's head while the big cat lay on the floor. Atiya smiled at the kissing pair, and turned away.

"Oh, Abdal, it has been terrible, terrible!" Amber said, and fanned her face with a hand to prevent her tears.

"What has happened to my family? My sons?"

"Your sons still live, but have been taken from me. The rest of your family were executed shortly after you left. Vizier Marid, that scheming snake, made a public show of it. " Amber wept into her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

"Marid has a lot to answer for. I trusted him, my father trusted him." Abdal wanted to scream. His worse fear had proven correct. His family had died while he could not protect them, his children whisked away without a flicker of dissent. Amber looked up at him with her beautiful green eyes, and Abdal wiped the line of tears from her smooth wet cheeks.

"I will get our sons back, and my Kingdom back. That, I swear on my life."

"I do not know where Marid has taken them, but I can take you to Marid. He lives in your father's chambers now. He will most likely be there. Marid has been looking for Mamba too," Amber said, as she noticed the big cat roll over onto its back and let out a yawn. "He obviously knows the gardens well enough to disappear."

"He's a wily devil," Abdal said, with a smile.

"What is the plan, My Prince?" Mahmuud asked, as he paced towards the couple.

"I will pay a visit to Vizier Marid, and let the bastard know what I think of betrayal," Abdal said, sternly. Abdal turned to his wife, planted his lips on hers, then went to move away. Amber grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait, my love," she said, "he is a powerful wizard. He could kill you!" Abdal turned to her, a hard look in his eyes.

"I assure you, I will stick the length of my blade in his chest if it's the last thing I do." Amal opened the doors once again, as Abdal stalked past. They reached the top of the steps before they heard Amber call.

"You were a fool to come back," Amber said. She stood between the archway, her right hand clenched and raised above her head. "You should have died in the desert." She launched something onto the ground. There was an ear-shattering pop, then the floor smoked like fire. Abdal narrowed his eyes as he tried to find Amber through the grey mist.

"What?" Mahmuud muttered. The smoke encompassed the iron warriors, then dissipated as the strands of wavy grey were sucked into the statues. Amber had vanished. Abdal pushed past the gathered party, squeezing between them to get back down the steps and into the room.

There was a loud metal creak as he neared the statues. The warrior to his left angled its head, then stepped off its plinth with a metallic thud as its foot smashed the floor. Abdal's heart froze at the sight. He barely managed to get his sword up in time to block the attack, then ducked back into the room as it swung again. Its movements were slow, and heavy. Abdal ducked a strike for his head, then weaved as the magical creature tried again. The warrior's shield struck Abdal in the chest as he tried to get past the iron beast to join his comrades.

"My Prince," Mahmuud shouted, as Abdal collapsed to the floor. Mahmuud went to intervene, but the other iron statue came to life, sending its sickle-sword up towards Mahmuud's chest. Mahmuud dived aside, and struck the wall with a thud. He fumbled for his weapon as he lay on the floor, and watched the iron beast move towards him, the sickle weapon poised to strike above its head. Jawhar shot forward, and trapped the beast's legs, wrapping its small form around the warrior's shins. The Ferod slowed the beast's movement but the iron man did not stop. The Ferod collapsed like water at its feet as the warrior broke free.

"Jawhar!" Atiya cried. She loosed an arrow, but the weapon bounced off its black surface with a clash and landed by Mahmuud's feet. The beast sent its sickle down in an arch towards Mahmuud's head.

Amal leapt in the way, and thrust his twin swords upwards, catching the iron beast's attack between the crossed blades. Amal strained like mad as the iron warrior pushed down. The beast forced him to his knees. Amal gritted his teeth, and groaned with exhaustion. Sweat began to christen his brow. Mamba roared loudly, his voice echoing down the corridor and into Abdal's chambers. The big cat launched itself at the iron man, but didn't knock the beast aside. Mamba was struck hard with the shield, and collapsed in a pile on the floor.

Abdal, on his feet, moved ever backwards as the iron warrior marched at him. Abdal slashed out with his sword, struck the shield, and felt a vibration run down the blade and the length of his arm. It was useless, these iron monsters couldn't bleed and die like men.

It swung at him again, almost taking the Prince's head clean off. The sickle sliced his cheek, and sent him sprawling backwards. His sword dropped to the floor with a clash. Abdal desperately grabbed hold of a thick purple curtain near the window as he stumbled back, the raw wound stinging and bleeding. Then he was out into the cold, falling back with the curtain into darkness. The iron beast tumbled after him, silent as a corpse, swinging its sickle at Abdal as it passed. The curtain pulled taut, and Abdal swung into the wall with a thud. He watched the metal beast continue to tumble, and shatter as it struck the domed roof of a tower below.

Abdal took a brief look at the city below, with its dazzling lights, and massive towers and bells. It looked like nothing was awry, the same old Amjad. Then he began to climb back up the curtain, knowing nothing would be the same again.

Twenty-Five - Out of the Pan and into the Fire

Abdal felt the curtain tear, and sag, and thought he'd plummet to his doom. He closed his eyes and continued up the purple sheet. Abdal strained hard, and prayed the material would hold. He reached the window ledge, and placed a hand onto the stone. The curtain ripped, and he felt himself fall. Abdal found himself suspended above the city, one hand on the ledge. He watched the curtain fall, fluttering down like a discarded cloak towards the city below. Abdal's fingertips burned like fire as they dug into the stone. The clangs and cries of battle echoed in the chamber.

He swung his body forward, and gripped the ledge with his other hand. A green bird with a red beak and purple chest stared at him with orange eyes from the edge of the long ledge, and squawked shrilly as the Prince hoisted himself up and through the arched window. It flapped its small wings and flew off.

Abdal clambered in through the window, and grasped the decorated wall. He took a deep breath and swallowed his mounting saliva, before taking in the scene.

Mamba lay on the floor next to a puddle of water which, Abdal guessed, was Jawhar. Mahmuud and Amal were being pushed back up the stairs, towards the crystal corridor. Every strike from the twin swords and halberd rang hallow against the warrior's body. Atiya was furthest away, bow in hand, loosing arrows at the metal abomination.

Abdal bent low and gripped the animal skin handle of his fallen sword. He felt blood trickle down his cheek like tears, and wiped it with the back of his hand. Abdal rushed across the carpeted floor, then slipped as soon as he passed the archway. The Ferod was still reforming, slowly, and Abdal collided with the iron monster.

"It's no use," Mahmuud shouted. "Our blades are like mallets against gongs on this." He chopped down, delivering a blow that would have cleaved through a man's collarbone. The hall rang with a dull clang.

"What's happened to Jawhar?" Abdal said, as he gingerly moved around the reforming Ferod.

"It just collapsed," Mahmuud replied. It was the second time this night, but Abdal did not have time to contemplate it.

"I have a plan," Abdal said, as he dodged a strike for his head. A torch on the wall cast a flickering orange light across its deadly form. It was unnerving, and expressed nothing with its face. It showed no anger, no malice despite its actions. It simply existed at this moment to kill. Why had Amber done this? His own wife, the woman he loved, the mother of his sons. The monstrosity swung at him, its sickle slicing into the wall, chipping ancient stone.

"We must trap it in here, and close the doors," Abdal shouted.

"Yes, My Prince," Mahmuud and Amal said.

"But they open inwards," Atiya said, gesturing the doors with the tip of her bow.

"I know, but I hope they don't know how to use it, or even disarm themselves to open it," Abdal replied, as he parried a blow and spun around the warrior.

"You hope," Atiya said, shaking her head.

"What else do you suggest?" Mahmuud muttered. "Prince Abdal knows what he's doing."

Amal and Mahmuud took a hold of a door each, and watched Abdal spin around the iron beast. The Prince pelted across the room and reached the doors in heartbeats. Mahmuud and Amal closed them quickly, with a slam that rang along the corridor.

Everyone watched the doors which began to thud as the iron warrior struck them to break free. Mamba stirred on the ground, and rose like a drunk, unsteady on his feet. The Ferod reformed, its form a sickly yellow colour. It floated plate-shaped at head height, spinning slowly.

"Let's move," Abdal said. The door rang and shuddered with another blow. Part of the doors bent outwards, then another.

"The bugger's breaking through," said Mahmuud. They pulled back, out into the star-corridor. The beauty was forgotten now, replaced only with the need to escape the iron beast. They reached the staircase, footsteps hammering the floor like giant blocks of hail.

The fountain was surrounded by red-clothed soldiers, shields and swords revealed. Spears rose from the body of men like a small forest. Marid stood with one arm around Amber at the centre, upon the fountain stone. He was dressed in white, with a tall snake-headed hat that rose a foot above him. In one hand he carried a great golden staff, with a gold bulb at the end shaped like a sun.

"Welcome home, Prince Abdal," Marid said. A broad smile spread across his tanned features. "It will, however, be an unpleasant stay this time, I assure you."

"Bastard," Abdal shouted and made to charge the mass of troops at the bottom of the stairs. Mahmuud restrained him with one meaty hand.

"Bastard indeed. Is that anyway to treat an old advisor?" Amber said.

"You witch," Abdal spat. "I was foolish to believe you ever loved me. Was it all a game? Was nothing real?" Amber tilted her head back and laughed.

"You are a boy. A foolish, naïve child," Amber said. "It meant nothing to me, our time together. When you were away I crept to Marid's chambers and made love like a whore."

"She really is quite devilish," Marid piped in.

"Why, Marid, why? You were considered family by my father, loved by us all."

"Believe me, Abdal, when I say I took no pleasure in it. Jaffar offered something your father could not, Tambuktu could not. A unified Araby. A world where the wars between the Kingdoms were ended. It will benefit Araby," said Marid.

"Jaffar will ruin us all," said Abdal.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Only time will tell," said Marid.

"I will kill you," Abdal said, sincerely. "Both of you." Marid and Amber laughed in unison.

"I assure you, Prince Abdal, it shall be you doing the dying, not us. Kill them," said Marid. The red-clothed guards let out a booming cry, and charged.

Twenty-Six - Silken Waterfalls and the Cautious Cat

The tide of bodies surged forward like a crimson wave topped with black froth. They crashed against the steps and ascended them with a blood-curdling shout. Abdal could see snarling faces, large round silver shields and wide scimitars.

Mahmuud's large form went for the long, dark oak bench set against the wall behind the party. He gripped the oak, and wrenched it free from its mount, tearing wood with brute strength. Mahmuud charged and met the wave with a roar, Abdal and his friends parting as Mahmuud smashed the length of the ruined bench into the wave like a breaker. The front rank collapsed, and those behind stumbled. There was a panicked crush and cries of agony filled the hall.

"Run," Mahmuud bellowed, as he swung his halberd from his back and removed the sheath. He spun on his toes, swinging the weapon above his head. He stamped his lead foot at the moment he directed the blade towards the mob.

"This way," Abdal said. They skirted the balcony rails to their left, into an adjoining passage with many busts of long dead sultans lining the walls. Mahmuud's battle shouts and grunts still flew as he held the top of the stairs.

"What about Mahmuud?" Atiya asked. She turned to the stairs, an arrow in her hand. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of cloth. Atiya wrapped it around the end of the barbed-tip. "Hand me that torch, Amal," she said. Amal sheathed one sword, removed the torch from the wall, and passed it her. She lit the cloth at the end of the arrow, handed the torch back to Amal, then fired. The burning arrow spiralled into the red mob, a trail of smoke and fire behind it. It caught one man clambering over the bench, directly under the armpit. The body slumped but remained upright in the throng, moved by its comrades. Amal stepped forward and hurled the torch into the mob with a grunt. Fire began to consume clothes and men as the flames spread across the stairs.

Mahmuud took his chance, and broke away towards his companions. Atiya shot another man in the face, and quickly dropped a second and third as the ragged line of troops broke over the bench and through the fire. Some, regardless of being consumed with orange flame, continued to charge, their agonised battle-shouts filled with curses.

"Is it me, or is this becoming a common occurrence?" Mahmuud muttered as he reached Abdal.

They moved quickly, the Ferod at the back, its twirling yellow form struggling to keep up. What was wrong with it? Abdal wondered. Was it sick?

They rounded the white-walled corner, and ran plum-dumb into two very surprised guards. Mamba launched himself through the air with a mighty roar, and knocked a quivering, whimpering guard to the floor. The other hesitated long enough for Abdal to gut with a thrust. He withdrew the blade, and looked down the corridor. Atiya and Amal pushed the grand blue doors open and they all quickly entered the room.

Mahmuud slammed the doors behind them. They were in a wide room, with a great gold cupola above. There was a massive blue carpet that stretched out across the marble floor. It almost looked like water, Atiya thought, as she stepped onto the soft fluffy surface. A great black-wood table stood at the centre of the carpet, surrounded by embroidered high-backed chairs with white cushions. There were wide windows separated by pilasters to the east of the room, the night sky hidden by white silken drapes that flittered playfully in the breeze.

"We must bar the doors," Abdal said. He grabbed one end of the long table and gestured the others to do the same. The Ferod whizzed to the table, and grew long spindly arms to aid them. They pulled the heavy object over to the door, struggling and breathing hard, and jammed it under the gold handles.

Mahmuud rushed to the north wall, where a collection of weapons hung, and removed a long pole-arm. It was an ancient weapon, long but deadly. Old swords, shields and spears from the time of the pharaohs littered the north wall like a museum exhibit. Its curved blade could still cut. Mahmuud leapt onto the table, his knees dipping as he landed, and with his enormous strength, sent the weapon through the top and into the polished floor beneath. He rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly at his work as he hopped back off and onto the floor with a thud.

"Well done," Atiya said, sarcastically. "What was that for?"

"To pin the table to the floor. It will not be so easy to move it out of the way." Abdal paced back and forth. The set of doors to the west was an option, but he couldn't take his eyes from the drapes.

"Right," he said. Abdal grabbed the curtain and tore it from its rails. It smothered him like a mother's embrace. "Collect all the curtains. We'll tie them together, and tie it to a pilaster. We can climb down and enter the gardens from here," said Abdal, peering out to the grassy lawns below.

"That's a great idea, but what about the tiger?" Atiya asked. She gestured to Mamba, who was busy growling at Jawhar.

"Jawhar can take him down," said Abdal.

"Are you mad, Jawhar's collapsed twice tonight. Would you have that happen high above the ground, and Mamba plummet to his doom?" Mamba growled loudly.

"We have little choice," said Abdal. Jawhar expanded its disc like surface, and went out of the window. Abdal stalked to another curtain, and tore it down with a grunt. Amal, Atiya and Mahmuud joined in, removing the white drapes. The doors began to rock and thump.

"Quickly," Abdal said, as he fastened a knot in two heavy sheets. He dragged them towards the pilaster and wrapped the material around the column. He pulled it tight, and tied it to the stone. Mahmuud quickly fastened another two sheets together, and as one, the party dropped them out the window. The curtains streamed down like a silken waterfall, and stopped a few short feet from the ground.

"I'll go first, My Prince," said Amal. Abdal nodded. Amal took a hold of the white sheet, pulled it to test the knots, then slowly clambered out of the window. The material around the column moved with the weight, but held.

"Atiya, you're next. Mamba," Abdal whistled. Mamba plodded over and nuzzled Abdal's thigh, and purred. Abdal pointed to the ledge where Jawhar waited, patiently extended like the surface of a table. Mamba made a deep growl, turned his head to watch Atiya disappear as she descended the curtain, then sat down. The doors shook again.

"This is not a democracy, Mamba," said Abdal. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the Ferod. Mamba paced over to the edge. He cautiously placed a paw onto the surface, and emitted a sharp moan as the paw sank into Jawhar's form. "Don't make me push you on," Abdal said. Mamba took another few steps, then growled as the Ferod floated down.

The doors pushed inwards and opened slightly, revealing the crimson horde. The table began to shudder, the iron spear through its body bending.

"You're next."

"But, My Prince, I cannot." Mahmuud paced over to the table and pushed his great weight against its end. "You must go down. How could I face my ancestors when they ask me why I failed to protect you?" Abdal shook his head. He gripped the material, and began to climb down the coiled silk. There was a giant cheer above. The foe broke through the doors, and pushed into the room.

"Come then one, or all, I'll build a mountain of corpses," Abdal heard Mahmuud shout. "Hamid be with you, old friend," Abdal whispered. "You stubborn fool."

Twenty-Seven - The Quil'ahman and The Jewel

Mahmuud watched them pour over and slip under the oak table like water through a dam. The doors to the west flew backwards, and more men rushed through, their footsteps echoing off the walls and domed ceiling like a mighty army on the march. Mahmuud smiled, twirled his mighty weapon above his head, then ran for the drapes. With one hand, he gripped the loose curtain, launched the halberd like a spear to the grass below, and made his way down. Abdal had yet to reach the bottom, and heard the mighty weapon smack into the grass and watched it shiver in the earth like a banner. He felt the curtain sag like a bag filled with water.

"I hate bloody heights," Mahmuud shouted, as he edged his way down. Then the curtain tore, and Abdal and Mahmuud fell. Abdal hit the ground hard, and rolled almost instantly. Mahmuud cursed loudly as he fell through the air. The Ferod scooped him up, and Mahmuud sank deep into its yellowing form.

It lowered him to the ground. Mahmuud rolled off and landed on his feet. He brushed his uniform, gave Jawhar a nod of thanks, and retrieved his halberd. Mud and blood coated the blade, which he wiped on his already gore-crusted top.

"Need a new tailor?" said Abdal. "We all do." They looked up as Marid's soldiers peered down from the windows. Spears shot down towards them like acid rain. Jawhar extended its body and rose above his friends heads like a cloud. A spear shivered above Abdal's head, one that would have killed him if not for Jawhar.

"Good work," Abdal said, and patted the 'belly' of the Ferod. They moved away from the walls, towards the lawns and maze gardens. Onwards for the secret entrance.

"Are you sure they're here?" said Hasdru. The nomads peered towards the large city, unease clear on their faces. The many domed towers glinted in the dawning sun, and stretched towards the blue sky like tall spears. Gunbai flew about his head, his white body flashing like lightning.

"Your heart is that way," said Gunbai, in his squeaky voice. The Gjinn pointed towards Amjad with a clawed finger.

"Hasdru, the cities of the outside world are strange to us," said Ghalib. "Will we not be executed as brigands?" A series of nods and murmurs met Ghalib's words as the nomads considered them.

"I do not know, Ghalib. I have been to few cities, and those that I have, their gates were open, and flocked with trade caravans from all over the world. This one does not open its gates," said Hasdru.

"Those statues are fearsome," said Ghalib, as he pointed towards the metal statuettes that flanked the stone path ahead. Hasdru smiled.

"You are afraid, Ghalib? Scared of metal immobile beasts?"

"You know as well as I that some are not always so immobile, Hasdru. Are there not Ushabti?"

"That is different. What are these protecting? I see no tombs," said Hasdru. Ghalib nodded towards the city.

"That, Hasdru, seems worthy of protecting," said Ghalib. Hasdru nodded.

"What do you suggest then? Give up and turn back?" said Hasdru.

"The Great Desert is in trouble. I think Amro was wrong for sending all of us out here while the black columns destroy our lands."

"You doubt the Jared's reasoning?"

"No, I am a father too, and would do much for my daughters. The Quil'ahman has predicted these times, Hasdru. The coming of the black columns. Our sacred duty is being neglected on this task."

"Don't you think I don't know that," Hasdru said, bitterly. "For thousands of years the Jurhom have watched over the Ushabti of the Great Desert. You think I am willing to be part of the generation that fails in its sacred duty? We have little choice, here, Ghalib. The quicker we find her, the quicker we can go home." Ghalib nodded his head, and led his camel forward.

"You're right, Hasdru. Let's get on with this." They moved forward, onto the path, dragging their camels forward. The sun crept further into the sky as an anxious silence swept along the road.

Abdal punched the wall, shouting with the impact. His left hand was raw and bloodied. The red liquid splattered his knuckles and ran down his forearm like small rivers on a map.

Why had Hamid done this to him? To Tambukta? Had he not been a loyal servant? Had he missed his prayers? - crunch, the fist smacked the jagged rock wall. His hand seared with pain, the knuckles split like craters in rock.

He went to punch the wall again but a slender hand grabbed his wrist. Atiya gently caressed his wounded hand, and smiled sadly. She shook her head and brought a length of cloth out from her pocket. Abdal began to relax, his shoulders slumping.

"I certainly didn't come along with you to be your nurse," she said.

"I told you to go home. You are not beholden to me. You owe me nothing. Return to your desert home and leave me be."

"I told you I will go home when I choose, not you. You maybe a sultan now, but I am not your slave."

"Sultan, sultan of what? I have nothing, it has all been taken from me." Atiya wiped his tears with her thumb, and screwed her face up.

"This is not the brave Prince I met in the desert."

"That Prince is gone," Abdal said. He pushed her away, and turned back to the wall. The muddy surface was stained with his blood, and flakes of broken skin.

"You still have us," she whispered. "Are we nothing?"

"I… no, you are not nothing," Abdal said, as he removed his turban. He looked at his bloodied, torn ragged clothes, and laughed. "Look at me, Sultan of Tambukta and I look like a peasant."

"I'd say you looked like a butcher," Atiya said, with a smile. Abdal chuckled.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"Right where you left them. Resting by the lake. They are all concerned, Abdal, and need you now more than ever. They have lost much too." Abdal nodded.

"When I first saw you, I thought you looked like my wife. Then, when I met you following us, I thought you would be nothing but trouble. You are nothing like my wife, and have been a reassuring presence during these hard times. You are like a rare jewel, Atiya, a rare jewel."

"Come," she said, taking him by the hand. "Let's go back to the lake." Abdal nodded, and let her lead the way, back down the winding slope.

Twenty-Eight - A Much Needed Bath and Hasdru's Disposition

Abdal removed his top, trousers, and undergarments, and tossed them onto the grass. He stretched his arms, feeling the sun warm his naked body. Abdal glanced over to his friends who sat in a circle, eating food from the camel's packs. He noticed Atiya's head whip quickly away as soon as their eyes met. She brushed her hair back, and began to converse with Amal.

Abdal smiled, then entered the warm water, its surface gleaming like a mirror. His hand was still raw, and stung like a thousand needles as he dipped it into the lake. He submerged himself, diving under the surface. The rocky bottom was blurred but visible, and revealed many small craters like pock-marked skin.

Abdal held his breath, and ran his fingertips through his hair. The whole sensation refreshed him, and as his lungs began to burn like fire, he broke the surface of the lake like a jumping fish.

Abdal would get his children back, and avenge his family's murders. If there was a God in Heaven it would be so. Tambukta would be free of Jaffar's power. Ghafsa, to the west, were opposed to Jaffar last time he'd met the Caliph. Caliph Ala' al din was an old friend of his father's, and would not be happy to hear the news, Abdal was certain.

"I was certain about Amber too," he whispered. "Can I really trust Ala' al din?" Had more than just Tambukta fallen in the weeks Abdal had been away? Stay positive, he thought. What good is despair when my foes still live?

He heard a splash in the water. Atiya swam towards him, a broad smile on her face. Amal and Mahmuud chuckled over something, as Jawhar pestered Mamba. The camel farted and spat, and paced towards the gold-domed building on the grass.

"Feeling better?" she asked, as she cut through the water. She was naked, her supple body blurred by the water and shining surface. She dipped her tangled, matted hair into the water, and whipped it out again like a heavy fan. Water splashed over Abdal's face as she flicked it out from her hair.

"Yes," Abdal said. "I still want to murder them, my wife in particular. Every time I think about my sons," Abdal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Are they mine, or one of her lovers, Marid maybe? When I picture their small faces, faces the size of my clenched fists," Abdal turned his hands to fists and hoisted them before him. "I believe they are mine. I say 'his nose looks familiar, or his eyes.' Is that foolish of me?" She shook her head.

"No, Abdal, it's not foolish. It would be more foolish to not think of them at all." Abdal shook his head.

"I loved them like they were my own, though I did not show it. I was more interested in the affairs of Araby, and keeping Tambukta's borders safe from Jaffar's invaders. I spent little time with them. Now I can see how silly I was, not acting like a father."

"You were acting as Prince of your realm. How old was your father?"

"Old, too old to fight, too old to lead his armies. That task fell to me."

"Then you were acting to defend the whole of your country. Sometimes a father must choose between his own sons, and the sons of thousands," said Atiya. Abdal began to chuckle. Atiya smacked her arms into the lake, and splashed Abdal with a warm wave.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You, you sound like my grandfather."

"That would be a woman's wisdom at work," she replied, then smiled.

"Ahh, so you claim to be a know-it-all?" Abdal swam closer to her, and she splashed him with more water. "Or are all women 'know-it-alls'?"

"The exception to the rule are the ones that sleep with Mahmuud," she said. They both stared at each other, and laughed.

There she was, in the water, carousing with the strangers as though she was a cheap whore. Atiya was even naked, naked! Other men had seen her that way, and Hasdru had not, not until this moment. He wanted to stalk down from his vantage spot, and drag her from the water, by her hair if necessary.

He spat on the rock, and stood up. Ghalib and the nomads closed their eyes as Hasdru stomped down the muddy mountain slope, towards the secluded lake.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" said Yaq'ub. He was a young nomad, with youthful smooth skin and large blue eyes.

"Not even if you paid me a hundred camels," Ghalib replied.

Hasdru moved quickly down the mountain slope, until he touched the grass. Mamba noticed him and growled, rushing from his spot by the bank. Hasdru drew his scimitar, and snarled a challenge at the beast.

"By Hamid's breath, he'll get himself killed," Yaq'ub said. The young nomad stood, drew his blade and charged down the mountain. He reached Hasdru's side, and breathed heavily as fear took over. Mamba stared Yaq'ub in the eyes, and growled, revealing long, sharp teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Atiya shouted. She covered her breasts and groin with her arm and hand as she rushed to her clothes by the bank.

"What am I doing here? Me, it's you who should be answering that question. Put your clothes on, we're going home." Abdal left the lake, slipped into his trousers and picked up his sword. Abdal's body dripped and shone with water in the sun as he paced over to Mamba. Amal and Mahmuud came rushing over, weapons out and glinting in the light.

"Hasdru, isn't it?" Abdal asked, not forgetting the face, and the curving moustache of the nomad.

"Yes," said Hasdru. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again, outsider, but it 'ain't." Hasdru went to push past Mamba, but the large cat growled, and went to strike him with a clawed paw.

"Easy, Mamba," Abdal shouted. Mamba stayed his paw, and lowered it onto the grass. "I thought I'd meet one of you again."

"Atiya, hurry woman," Hasdru shouted, as he watched her dress slowly by the bank. "You're embarrassing yourself, and you're embarrassing me." Atiya paced over, anger across her face.

"Embarrassing you, how so?" Hasdru grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her away. She struggled in his grip, but Hasdru spoke into her ear.

"You are to be my wife, it's not proper for you to be in this state around other men." She wiggled out from his grasp.

"I'm not your wife yet, and have agreed to no such wedding."

"Your father has," Hasdru snapped back.

"I do not love you, Hasdru, not like that. I consider you more an older brother than a lover. Why do you think I left? I do not want to live my life in the desert, married to a man I do not love." Hasdru struck her across the cheek, and knocked her to the grass. Abdal paced forward, his sword drawn.

"Stay out of this, outsider," Hasdru said.

"If only I could do, but I owe this woman my life, and will not see her struck," said Abdal.

"You are challenging me? You know nothing of our customs. This woman is my property, and I will take her back to the desert with me," said Hasdru. Atiya clambered to her feet and walked to Abdal's side. She stood behind him and stared at Hasdru, her cheek red.

"I am not coming back," she said.

"I will drag you back if I have too," said Hasdru.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," said Abdal. "She's with me." Hasdru pointed the tip of his blade towards Abdal's throat.

"I have come a long way for her," Hasdru snarled.

"I've had a very bad day, and I'd leave before I take my anger out on you." Abdal knocked the blade at his throat aside. The blades rang loudly in the valley.

"Then there is only one way to sort this out," said Hasdru. "Prepare yourself."

Twenty-Nine - The Interrupted Duel

"Are you sure about this?" Mahmuud muttered, as he watched Hasdru talk amongst his nomad friends. "I'd be happier if I took over, My Prin- Sultan." Abdal placed his hand firmly on Mahmuud's left broad shoulder.

"It's in Hamid's hands now, my friend. If I fall, do not be trouble." Mahmuud grunted.

"I'll chop his head off," Mahmuud whispered. Abdal couldn't conceal his smile as he walked to Atiya's side. She took hold of his arm with both her hands.

"Please, Abdal, do not kill him," she pleaded.

"I'll try not too," said Abdal. "I might not have much of a choice." A small semi-circle formed around Abdal and Hasdru as they walked slowly towards one another. A large shadow passed over them, and the sky darkened. Black clouds swarmed from the west, drifting over the mountain peaks like a fresh night sky. Amal removed his turban, and placed one end of it in his mouth.

Abdal, his tanned, muscled chest exposed to the sun, took a hold of a gold medallion hung from his neck, and kissed it. He slashed his sword deftly left to right, then half-turned to face Hasdru, one hand on his waist, his blade pointed at the nomad's throat. Hasdru smiled, removed his own shirt and tossed it to the ground. He thrust forward at the thin air, his eyes not leaving Abdal's. The nomads behind him looked uncomfortable, and eager to get this over with.

"What are the terms of the duel?" said Abdal.

"To the death. The victor takes the girl," said Hasdru. He cast a solid, harsh look at Atiya, who couldn't hold his gaze and dropped her eyes to the grass. "Ready?" Abdal nodded.

They both placed their silver blades together. Hasdru struck, he knocked Abdal's blade aside to the right, then lunged, the tip of his blade lancing towards Abdal's throat. Abdal threw his left shoulder back so the blade passed his neck, and took one step to the right. He slashed his sword down, but Hasdru parried, and forced the attack away.

They both stared at each other, the sun pounding their half-naked bodies, circling like unsure dogs around a carcass. Abdal lunged, and Hasdru met the attack. Stepping into it, Hasdru turned the blade aside, then went for Abdal's opened body. Abdal jumped sideways, landed on the grass, his elbow smacking the earth and sending pain shooting up his forearm. He quickly rose, and threw his sword up to guard Hasdru's arching strike. Their blades sang, ringing loudly between the steep mountain slopes that surrounded the lake.

Mahmuud watched impatiently, his hands gripping the shaft of his great halberd tightly. He wanted to step in, to thrust Abdal aside and take the responsibility himself, but could not. Honour demanded Abdal and Hasdru fight. Any interjection on Mahmuud's behalf would belittle the Sultan's honour. Amal couldn't watch, and rubbed his thinning hair while he chewed his turban.

Hasdru made a thrust for Abdal's chest, but Abdal slapped it aside. Another thrust shot forward. Abdal parried it then stepped forward, the tip of his blade aimed at Hasdru's thigh. He cut into Hasdru's leg, and the big nomad grunted with pain. Hasdru stumbled back, but remained on his feet as red blood began to coat his trousers.

"A nick," said Hasdru, and smiled. "First blood. I wouldn't get too cocky now, lad."

Hasdru paced forward, parried Abdal's strike, and punched him square in the face. Abdal's head whipped back and he fell to the grass. It felt like his nose had been broken; warm liquid ran over his lips. Abdal rose slowly, as Hasdru turned to his nomad friends and laughed loudly. Ghalib remained silent, but the others joined in the mirth.

Atiya rushed to Hasdru's side.

"Please, Hasdru, stop this. I will come back, but not now. I gave my word to Abdal I will help him. He has lost everything, his family, his Kingdom."

"My heart bleeds," said Hasdru. He pushed her away and paced towards Abdal. "Get up, boy," he said. "There is more to come."

Abdal shook his spinning head, and wiped the blood from his face. Hasdru was a competent swordsman. He did not want to kill him, but it was becoming apparent that it might be his only option.

Hasdru attacked with fury, shouting and chopping with his sword again and again. It was all Abdal could do to get his blade in the way. Hasdru forced Abdal back towards the lake.

"Come on, Abdal," Mahmuud muttered.

Abdal dropped to one knee, and went for Hasdru's kneecaps, swiping the sword across him. Hasdru leapt the blade, landed on the grass and kicked Abdal in the face, knocking Abdal backwards into the water.

A loud spine-tingling screech filled the air and everyone looked to the sky. To the west, long wiggling bodies with giant hooked wings glided through the air, slicing the black clouds like knives through butter.

"Mu'ayyad," Amal shouted. "Serpent riders!" Hasdru looked to the sky, fear in his eyes.

"Quickly, to the temple," Mahmuud bellowed. "Move, move!" Everyone broke for the safety of the gold-roofed temple that sat on the small rise by the lake. They rushed across the grass like scared children running from a schoolmaster.

Hasdru went to strike Abdal as the Sultan bobbed in the water, but grabbed him by the arm instead, and pulled Abdal from the lake. Abdal, shaken from the kick to the head, looked to the sky through blurred eyes.

"Get off him," Mahmuud shouted, as he took a hold of Abdal's free arm. Hasdru let go, and rushed to the temple, glancing to the black forms beneath the clouds. They wiggled through the air like giant snakes, their arrow-head shaped tails trashing wildly from side to side.

The screech filled the sky again as the Mu'ayyad closed. Mahmuud and Abdal reached the safety of the temple arch, and pushed inside just as the serpent bodies of the Mu'ayyad cast shadows onto the grass.

The nomads and Tambuktans pressed themselves against the walls of the temple, keeping away from the small rectangular windows where sunlight squeezed through in long solid beams. The camel stood at the centre, its ears pricked, staring hypnotised at the small four-armed statuette of the God Hamid which stood on a lacquered table. Jawhar whizzed about within the domed ceiling, its water-like form returning blue. Heavy, anxious breaths filled the small temple as they listened to the flapping of muscled wings, and shrill screeches.

"What are they?" Atiya whispered into Abdal's ear.

"Scouts. They must be searching for us," said Abdal.

"Where did you leave the camels, Ghalib?" said Hasdru.

"On the mountain path, with Fayed," Ghalib replied.

"That poor bastard will give us away." There was a screech, and a heavy thud as something large landed on the grass outside. Abdal slowly paced towards the doorway, placed his hands on the cold stone, and peered outside.

The Mu'ayyad had landed on the grass.

Thirty - The Mu'ayyad

The Mu'ayyad had no legs like the dragons Abdal had seen to the north before the war. Its thick, long serpent body nestled into the grass and squirmed slowly forward. Its head rose into the air as the armoured rider pulled back on the long black reins.

The head of the beast was larger than the rider, with big beady eyes under an armoured plate of silver bone. A long thick lance with a flashing silver point rested on a mount on the saddle. The rider was dressed in bone-coloured armour, with a full-helmet and visor, which he flicked up to reveal a solid, square chin. His shoulder plates spanned like smaller versions of the Mu'ayyad's folded wings. His chest plate was a giant skull with large eye sockets covering the pectorals.

The rider dismounted, and waved to another Mu'ayyad in the sky. It flew away, east, towards the desert. The rider paced over to Abdal's discarded shirt by the bank, and picked it up. He placed the cloth to his face and sniffed deeply.

Abdal heard heavy footsteps behind him. He turned back into the temple, placed his finger to his lips for silence, then turned his attention back to the rider. The armoured figure stalked over to where the duel had taken place, and picked up Hasdru's shirt, sniffed it then paced beneath the mighty head of the Mu'ayyad. He lifted the shirts towards the serpent. There was a loud, sniffing sound as the beast took the scents of the shirts. It screeched and waved its head towards the sloped mountain path to the north.

The rider dropped the shirts, and took hold of a rope hanging from his saddle. With practiced ease, the armoured rider moved up the serpent body like an experienced rock climber, and sat in the saddle. He slid his skull visor down, and took hold of the reins. He snapped them, and the Mu'ayyad slithered forward.

Abdal moved out of the entrance, to the corner of the temple, and poked his head round the side. He watched anxiously as the tail thrashed from side to side, colliding with the clumps of rock leading up the mountain slope.

The beast sped up and disappeared around the corner. There was another screech that bounced off the mountain walls. Abdal saw a nomad rushing back down the path moments later. He was covered in blood and screaming. The Mu'ayyad charged back down, towards the nomad, its open maw covered with gore. Large teeth glinted like swords, while a forked tongue lashed out like a long red whip. The rider urged the beast on with hard tugs on the reins.

The nomad turned to face the beast, his whole body shaking, and dropped his sword. The Mu'ayyad stared at the man for a moment, weaving left and right, flicking its tongue in and out of its mouth. It hissed, and opened its mouth. The nomad screamed and raised his arms in a futile effort to protect himself. The Mu'ayyad snapped him up with one lunging strike, and swallowed him whole.

Abdal could see the man squirm inside as the nomad was pushed deeper into the creature's body, and imagined the horror of being trapped inside its belly. The rider looked to the sky, and pulled the reins. The Mu'ayyad raised its head, extended its large black wings, and took off into the sky. Abdal watched it pass over a snow-topped peak, then closed his eyes and ducked back into the temple.

"It's gone," he said, relieved. "Though your camels and man are too," he added, as Hasdru pushed past.

"Fayed?" Hasdru called loudly. "Fayed?" The nomad's sword remained on the grass, and glimmered in the sun. Hasdru bent low and picked it up. He looked at the blade sadly, then tossed it to the floor. He began to pace up the mountain slope as everyone emerged from the temple back out into the sun. Ghalib quickly rushed after him. Blood ran thick on the red-rock slope, dribbling into crevices, creating miniature rivers and lakes.

There were bits of camel strewn all over the path, along with damaged bags split open on the ground. Hasdru dropped to his knees, and shook his head.

"The camels, the provisions… all gone," said Hasdru.

"How are we going to get back to the desert now?" Ghalib asked, as the nomad picked up one pack. He rummaged through its contents like a street urchin looking for food in a bin. "There is barely enough food here for two, let alone five," he said.

"Poor Fayed. We can't even bury him," said Hasdru. They returned to the lake, the remnants of the camels packs slung over their backs.

"We have no supplies," Hasdru declared out loud. "As those beasts were after you," he pointed at Abdal, "I demand reimbursement."

"Don't be stupid, I have nothing to pay you with."

"You have a camel, and food," said Hasdru, as he nodded towards the camel. Amal stood in front of it, and shook his head.

"Your need is not greater than ours, desert man. There will be no 'trade'," said Abdal. "You can come with us to Ghafsa. There will be tradesmen there you could purchase fresh food and camels from. If you lack gold, I have some items of value you could use to purchase your goods. The camel and food are staying with me," said Abdal. He turned away and walked over to Amal. "We are leaving now, Hasdru, make your decision." Hasdru stepped forward and spat on the grass.

"It seems like we don't have much of a choice," he said.

Thirty-One - The Long Road West

They followed the river west. It branched from the flowing white-washed waters of Akhir an-Nahr, meandering through the emerald jungle with a rushing whisper. It was almost a joy to be back within the confines of the trees. The canopy above felt like a protective shield. Jawhar looked well again, his form larger and healthier.

The only people who seemed uncomfortable were the nomads. Hasdru had a permanent scowl across his face, while the others were all downcast. It was understandable; they had lost one of their own, and their provisions to get back home. At least they still had a home. Caliph Ala' al din was an old family friend, a man who ran his country similar to Abdal's father. Would he open his arms and take Abdal and his friends in? It was his only concern now. To find allies that still resisted Jaffar. Allies that could help him retake his homeland.

They camped by a great tree that rose as tall as a mountain, whose stump was as wide, on the seventh night of travel. It stood flanked by small rocky clumps covered in vegetation, while a small stream, the remnants of Akhir an-Nahr, ran under the tree's base, through the mound and out the other side.

Amal built a small circle out of stones and filled it with thick fallen branches and leaves before lighting it. As night fell, and the sunlight that bathed them gave way to darkness, they sat around the fire. A meagre serving of provisions were handed out to everyone, along with some juicy fruits found in the jungle on route.

"Tell me, did you see the black columns in the desert?" said Hasdru. He chomped into a green Pu'tang, its red juice spilling out of the skin and running down his chin.

"Yes, several," Atiya replied, as she peeled an Oran. She tossed the pink skin into the flames, and removed a half-circle segment from within.

"You know they are mentioned in the Quil'ahman. The Great Desert will suffer," said Hasdru, as he wiped the dripping liquid from his chin.

"The Quil'ahman?" said Abdal.

"It is an ancient book of prophecy. Our religion, and way of life is built around it. Most of the nomads of the Great Desert know its teachings," said Hasdru. "The Prophet Halludin could see many things. Most have come true. He predicted the fall of the Pharaoh Kingdoms long before it happened. He says that one day Araby will be close to its destruction. A sign of those times would be great black towers, chomping through the sands." Hasdru stopped, and fumbled in his trouser pocket for a moment. He removed a small book that fit in the nomad's palm. Hasdru leant forward, and passed it to Abdal, who sat opposite. The orange flames revealed a plain leather-bound book in pristine condition. Abdal opened the cover, and carefully studied the pages. Each page was written beautifully by hand. There was a border on every page, bright and colourful, with many pictures of men and animals wrapped around the straight lines.

"You say Halludin foresaw these times? Does he know how it will end?" asked Abdal.

"No, it does not go into detail. The emphasis is on great destruction."

"Is there mention of who is responsible?"

"Yes, there is no name, just a description. He is tall, and can control the weather. He is very powerful, and feared, and controls many nations," said Hasdru.

"Jaffar," Mahmuud spat.

"It certainly sounds like him," said Abdal.

"Jaffar?" said Hasdru.

"Sultan of Mahabbah, and more. He is a powerful sorcerer, and I would not put it past him to control the weather. Why would he be creating tornadoes to destroy the desert?" said Abdal, his face a picture of hate.

"He searches for the Ushabti, Tomb Guardians left in the desert," said Hasdru. He took one final bite from the Pu'tang. "They are very powerful, and number in their thousands. If he finds them, his armies could be bolstered no end."

"That is all he searches for?"

"Halludin said there is also a great item hidden in one of the tombs. The details of the item are vague, but suggests that it could destroy the world. Perhaps he searches for this too?" said Hasdru.

"I'd put money on it," said Mahmuud. "Lot's of it." Abdal closed the book, and passed it back into Hasdru's hands. Hasdru stroked the cover with his thumb, then placed it back into his pocket. They fell asleep shortly afterwards, nestling into the soft grass around the fire, beneath the great tree.

Thirty-Two - Ushabti

More sandstone was revealed, grains of golden silk nestled over the stone like a blanket. Wadi watched the excavation team dig away at the sand with large silver shovels. Every few moments a new wave of gold flew away from the structure. They unearthed the head of a stone Ushabti, and panicked. The three workers around it threw their shovels to the ground and rushed away holding their turbans. The statue's feline features were twisted into a frozen snarl, and caused Wadi to shiver. Suspicion and fear surrounded these mythical beasts like the wrath of Hamid. Wadi briefly considered why he was here, helping a madman release daemons into the world.

"This is taking too long," said Jaffar. He wiped sweat from his brow as he reached Wadi.

"I thought you were resting, sire," said Wadi.

"How can I rest when what I seek is but feet beneath my own?" said Jaffar. He stamped on the sand with one foot. Wadi turned to the nomads. They sat and stood by their camels, watching the fearful men dig. The leader, the one with the large pole-arm dressed in black, paced towards Jaffar and Wadi.

"I have shown you the temple, now leave the Great Desert and my people alone," Mujahid said. Jaffar grinned. He liked this man; unafraid, though he had every reason to be from Jaffar's own powers, and a man of his word. Unfortunately, that was not the plan. If Jaffar was to conquer Araby, the desert would have to be manipulated so he could move his armies across it.

"My thanks, desert man. There is a change coming. I know I go back on my word, but believe me when I say this is true. It is inevitable."

"This is not for the best of my people." Mujahid went for his halberd but Jaffar held out his arm. A purple beam shot towards the nomad from Jaffar's fingertips. It encompassed him like a new skin.

"I do not wish to kill you, Mujahid of the Great Desert," said Jaffar. He could feel it clawing at his mind. The need to squeeze the life out of this disobedient fool! To remove his skeleton. His spine tingled.

Mujahid could not reply. The nomad couldn't even move his vocal cords. The nomads behind armed themselves and rushed across the sand, blades gleaming in the sun. Wadi withdrew his own scimitar, and stood by Jaffar's side. Jaffar released Mujahid, the purple light fading like the dying embers of a fire around the nomad. Mujahid collapsed heavily to the sand.

The workers stopped digging and rushed away as the nomads closed. The desert people surrounded their leader, and stared daggers at Jaffar and his men. Jaffar turned to the statue, and held out his staff.

"You know what this is, beast," said Jaffar. He waved the green-jewelled tip of the weapon at the Ushabti. The jewel glowed green, and so did the beast's eyes, flashing to life like a candle. The nomads began to move slowly back. Wadi swallowed his saliva as he watched the beast pull itself from the ground, sand falling from it like grainy water. Its sandstone body was replaced with black skin, and it swung with its two-handed pole-arm. The weapon was shaped like a bow, with golden metal as sharp as a Dwuegor's axe.

Once it emerged from its spot on the wall, the beast swung its large weapon in an arc. Jaffar stepped backwards, hesitant. Had the spell worked? Wadi shook as he held his weapon out before him. The Ushabti moved forward with alarming speed, and sliced through three workers before they could defend themselves with their shovels. Their ruined bodies collapsed onto the sand. The feline-headed Ushabti stared at Jaffar, and moved towards him, digging its clawed paw-like feet into the carpet of sand.

"You are mine," shouted Jaffar, as he waved the gold serpent-headed staff at the beast. The Ushabti hesitated, slowed its step. The jewel on the staff flashed green, and the eyes of the Ushabti flared like fresh kindle.

"Yes," said Jaffar, "that's it." Jaffar stepped towards it, certain it would not attack. Wadi was not so sure, and stood rooted to the ground like the nomads.

"Kill them," said Jaffar, gesturing towards the desert men with an outstretched finger. The beast turned without a verbal answer. It moved towards the nomads with giant feline strides, the bow-shaped weapon high above its head.

The nomads moved to defend their leader, visibly frightened but determined not to leave the black clad man on the ground. It swung the edge of its weapon towards them.

"Stop!" shouted Jaffar. The beast froze like a statue, its weapon still poised to strike. The green eyes were still alive. The nomads edged backwards. Mujahid was on his feet, the double-ended bladed weapon shone in the sun.

"You have a choice, desert man. Join me or your people die. I am a fair ruler of men. I strive to create a new world, Mujahid, one you and your people would be welcome. We need not be enemies." Mujahid stared at the Sultan, then at the beast above his head. What choice did he have? Mujahid lowered his pole-arm, and nodded.

Thirty-Three - The Wall of Hudrin

The jungle was fast disappearing, thinning out onto dry rocky plains that stretched like a desolate ocean. A giant mountain range encompassed the western horizon like a giant jagged city wall. Everyone was covered with dirt and grime from the jungle, and dust from the plains that led towards Ghafsa.

The sky was a gorgeous blue, littered with patchy blocks of white drifting clouds. The sun shone high above the peaks of Izz al Din, casting a brilliant light onto the snow-caked points.

"How far is Ghafsa?" said Hasdru. Abdal shook his head. He'd already told the nomad a dozen times on the trip.

"Far," said Abdal. "We will enter its borders once we have traversed the mountain range." Hasdru nodded.

"You know a safe path? We nomads are not known for mountain climbing," said Hasdru. Abdal stopped, and pointed towards a mountain.

"That is the Wall of Hudrin. There is a path there we can travel, though I have not crossed it for many years." They continued past tall, charcoal-like trees with naked skinny branches. Small black birds sat perched on the skeletal limbs, watching the travellers with beady eyes. A harsh wind whipped down from the heavens, roaring about their ears like a storm.

"It is like a constant nightmare," said Yaq'ub. "I will not leave the desert again." Mahmuud chuckled at the young nomad's side, and slapped him on the back.

"Bugger off then," Mahmuud said, then he smiled broadly. Yaq'ub slowed his pace and fell behind the large man. Ghalib cast Yaq'ub a reassuring smile, and clasped the lad's shoulder.

"You should not be so harsh to the young one," said Ghalib, as he paced at Mahmuud's side.

"Who are you to tell a retainer of a Sultan what to do?" said Mahmuud. He did not stop, or even glance at the nomad.

"I am a retainer as well, though I watch over something more than a man." Mahmuud grunted.

"The sand? Desert girls who won't go home?"

"Ha, jest away, my large friend," said Ghalib. The nomad laughed heartily as he slowed his pace to rejoin his comrades at the back.

They reached the mountain range hours later. The broad rocky walls were coloured orange and red from the setting sun. Abdal peered up at the disappearing peaks that stretched towards the sky. There was a pass that rose up as a gentle slope between a dozen mountains. Two giant ancient statues, weathered with age, stood guard by the entrance, staring at the world with blank, cold eyes. Their large figures clutched spears and tall rectangular shields. Their heads and shoulders were covered with dried old bird excrement and malted black feathers.

Abdal led the way, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he paced up the dusty path. A loud screech filled the air and echoed like the voice of a god. For a moment Abdal imagined the Mu'ayyad had returned, had been waiting for them at the pass. Abdal looked up, his heart beating wildly. It was just a large black bird soaring between the peaks. The nomads armed themselves quickly, drawing their shining blades. Hasdru looked up with fearful eyes, then quickly sheathed his sword as he caught Abdal's stare.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" said Atiya, as she lowered her bow. She replaced the arrow back into her quiver with one swift movement.

The Ferod flew wistfully about the rocks. It disturbed an eagle nestled into a crevice. The majestic bird squawked at Jawhar, and caused the Ferod to fly away like a whipped cur, back to the safety of its comrades.

"There, there, Jawhar, it won't harm you here," said Atiya, as it squeezed in by her legs. Atiya laughed, and stroked the blue shimmering body as Jawhar coiled its form about her left leg like a magical snake.

"I see you've gained another lover," said Hasdru, bitterly. Atiya didn't even answer, she walked towards Abdal, and nudged him on the elbow.

"It feels like we are travelling the world together," said Atiya. She smiled, trying to cast Hasdru's ignorant comment from her mind.

"We have travelled many miles," Abdal agreed. "We have more before we can rest in safety."

"Ghafsa, you trust this country?"

"I have little choice but to place my trust here," Abdal replied. "Besides, I'm looking forward to asking Caliph Ala' al din for a change of clothes."

"You think he could provide us all with clothes?"

"Even ones that can fit Mahmuud," said Abdal. "And he had his own personal tailor." They pushed onwards, into the mountains of Izz al Din. Hasdru cast eyes like daggers at Abdal and Atiya's back as he watched the pair converse in a way Hasdru never could.

Thirty-Four - The Mountains of Izz al Din

The bridge stretched out across the chasm. It looked sturdy compared to the last rope construct they had traversed back in the jungle. Abdal and Mahmuud exchanged uneasy glances as they neared the edge and looked down. Instead of a river there was solid rock hidden by darkness.

"Well, we won't be eaten this time," said Abdal. The night sky glittered with hundreds of stars, the twin moons visible like giant coins. Abdal turned to the party.

"We'll camp in the ravine there, and cross at daylight," said Abdal. There was a series of nods.

"Yes, My Sultan," said Mahmuud and Amal. Amal guided the camel down the slope, into a v-shaped trench that ran between the path and the mountain wall. Small clumps of man-sized rocks lay strewn across the path and in the ravine, blocking sight back down the slope despite the depth of night.

"We are close now, Hasdru," said Abdal, as the nomad paced towards the bridge. The man stroked the right side of his curling moustache, and peered below.

"It's a long drop, and all it would take is a slip," said Hasdru. He looked up to the sky, stretched his big arms and walked off, towards the setting camp.

There was a shortage of blankets. Amal began a search for stones to ring the fire with, while Yaq'ub and Ghalib lay the kindling on the ground. The three remaining nomads shared two blankets, and sat on the floor near the fire.

Mamba settled down the slope, its form ghostly in the night, ears poised like alert soldiers. Jawhar followed him, shaped like a mock-tiger, bouncing down like a mate.

Mahmuud and Atiya stood near the fire, waiting for its warmth. Ghalib struck his flint and lit the wood. The flame slowly ate away at the kindle, until the whole lot cackled and burned.

Abdal, deep in thought, moved towards the fire. His family were dead, there would be a time to mourn, but his children were still alive. They were his, he knew this deep in his heart. He placed his palms towards the fire, and crouched. There would be no way he could allow his sons to grow up with someone like Amber as a mother. No way he could let Jaffar and Marid live after their hostile take-over of his homeland.

"You seem troubled, Sultan," said Hasdru. "Daemons of the past catching up to you?"

"Watch your tongue, Nomad," muttered Mahmuud. "Or I'll throw you down the chasm, and grow a better moustache than you." Hasdru grinned.

"You are quick with your words, Mahmuud. I won't be that easy to move, and this moustache will be too much for the likes of you," said Hasdru.

"What is that pendant you wear?" said Abdal.

"No concern for you," said Hasdru. The nomad clutched the pendant. Amal returned, his breath heavy.

"Sultan Rahiim, there is something you should see," said Amal.

"What is it?" Abdal asked, rising from the warmth of the flickering flames.

"It is like a giant fire-snake," said Amal.

"Fire-snake?" said Hasdru, as the nomad rose.

"Show me," said Abdal. Amal nodded, and led everyone further between the ravine gulley. A giant rock slab lay slanted across, leant against the mountain wall. The gap looked too tight for Mahmuud, but the big man slid his halberd from his back, lay it upon the rock wall and squeezed through, sucking his belly in as he held his breath. Mahmuud pushed through with a grunt. Abdal passed the halberd through the gap into Mahmuud's waiting hands.

Amal motioned them forward with his arm. They headed down the slope, until they reached a giant gap in the mountains. They had travelled that route the previous day. Now it was being used by someone else. There were hundreds of torches moving along the trail. The flames merged together, forming the illusion of a giant snake or worm traversing the mountains.

"Who are they?" said Hasdru.

"I don't know. They must be soldiers, perhaps an advance force securing the mountains to Ghafsa?" said Abdal. He scanned the length of the snake. At least several hundred men were marching towards them, their boot-steps thumping through the rocky walls. Who they were, Abdal could only guess.

"We cannot remain camped here," said Abdal. Mamba growled, and tensed. There was a dozen sharp growls in return. Dark shapes were lit by the moon as they pounded up towards them. Atiya loosed an arrow into the lead creature. It was too dark to make out details, but it was a large enough animal, with a shaggy mane and long bushy tail. The eyes of the beasts burnt red.

"Nazlum," shouted Amal.

"Back to the bridge," Abdal shouted. "Quickly." They turned to flee, the nomads leading the way. Atiya remained on the sturdy summit, shooting arrows at the approaching beasts.

"These things will tear us apart," Abdal shouted. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.

Abdal ran like never before, his legs pounding the ground, forcing Atiya along. He could hear his own breathing loud on the night air, and the girl beside him. The growls behind grew closer and louder, and rumbled like a hungry pack of dogs.

The Nazlum were cruel creatures, twisted and warped by handlers and magic. Abdal reached the narrow gap, and pushed Atiya through. Mahmuud and Amal still remained behind, along with the growling cat and the Ferod. The Nazlum crested the rise and roared as one. Their red eyes stared out with murderous passion as they pounded towards the Tambuktans on clawed feet.

Mahmuud and Amal were already armed, and ready to strike, blades glinting in the moonlight. There were taller figures among the Nazlum bodies, riding horse and dressed in black. They carried long whips, and lashed at the Nazlum from their saddles.

"We'll stand a chance behind the rock, limit the number we face," said Abdal, as he grabbed Mahmuud's shoulder. "Not here." Mahmuud seemed reluctant to leave.

"They will just find the main path round and flank us," said Mahmuud. An arrow flashed past them and struck a horses' neck. Atiya's well placed shot caused the animal to rear, throwing up its front legs, and collapse onto its rider. The man screamed as the beast crushed his leg.

Mahmuud went through next, squeezing his large frame through the gap. He had a look of discontent on his face as he did so, and shook his head as he passed through.

"That's the last time I'm bloody doing that," he muttered. Abdal pushed through next, Mamba crawling beneath him. Amal twirled his twin blades and met the first Nazlum with a grunt. He sliced through the beast's lower jaw as it dived open-mouthed towards him. The creature fell at his feet, and Amal sliced its rat-like head from its body. There was more growls as the creatures continued to close. Amal felt himself rise above the ground. The Ferod held Amal by the legs, and flew upwards as the Nazlum dived for the retainer. Amal sliced through another face as the beast jumped high.

Amal breathed with relief as he was carried over the leaning rock, and lowered safely to the other side.

"Glad you could make it," said Abdal. He grabbed Amal by the forearm, and hoisted the blustered man to his feet. Amal nodded his thanks.

The Nazlum squeezed through the gap with squeals and growls. Atiya placed an arrow in the lead beast's eye and dropped it, but the death did little to slow the Nazlum advance. With pale moonlight cast upon them, the Tambuktans and nomads spread out to face the foe.

Thirty-Five - The Nazlum and the Bird Riders

The Nazlum were horrifying beasts, animals warped by the minds of evil men. Their heads looked like those of rats, with large narrow faces extending from black, lion-like manes. Their supple frames were tense with bulging muscle. Saliva dropped from their open maws in bubbly, stringy lines.

They attacked quickly, roaring and springing into the air. Abdal stepped forward, Amal and Mahmuud at his side, and met a beast with a diagonal slash that took the tip of a Nazlum's nose. It screeched and back-tracked. Blood oozed from the wound and dripped to the ground. Abdal moved quickly after it, and pinned it against the leaning rock with the point of his wide sword. The body kicked, then slumped to the ground as Abdal withdrew the blade.

Mahmuud twirled his great halberd above his head, shouting obscenities as he sent it smashing down left. He cleaved through two of the beasts as they emerged from the gap, splattering their dark blood against the mountain rock. Amal danced to the right, bobbing and weaving. He struck one blade left, into the body of a beast, then half spun and chopped through another, his beautifully decorated swords washed with dark blood.

A Nazlum leapt for a nomad's throat, but the man stepped forward and thrust the tip of his blade through its open mouth. The beast thrashed then died, dragging the sword arm to the floor. Another two beasts leapt at the man; one clamped its jaws around the sword arm, its teeth digging deep into flesh. The other caught the man in the throat, and dragged him down.

Hasdru and Ghalib moved quickly to aid their comrade, but it was too late. His eyes stared blankly up, his mouth twisted with pain. Blood ran on the ground from his wounds as the beasts tore away, gore and flesh dangling from their mouths.

Atiya fired her bow, and dropped one as it made for Hasdru. The body kicked up small rocks and dust as it collapsed. Hasdru and Ghalib met the other, and both stabbed at it with lunging strikes. Ghalib struck its flank, while Hasdru pierced its chest.

There was the snap of whips, and human shouts above the ravine. The horsemen had rounded the rock, stuck to the road and come upon their flank. Another team of Nazlum growled at their steeds feet, and leapt into the rocky trench, bushy tails waving behind.

Another nomad was dragged to the earth, screaming, as the Nazlum struck from the flank. It bowled the man over, and tore him to pieces like hungry Piranha. Hasdru, Ghalib and Yaq'ub attacked, blades high in the air as Atiya sent arrow after arrow into the heaving mass around the body of the nomad.

The arrows whistled in the air and thumped the black, drooling monsters as they feasted. The Nazlum handlers were whipping them, but the beasts were frenzied and did not listen. The Nazlum began feasting on their own dead, tearing into the bodies with sharp claws and serrated teeth. Abdal caught a Nazlum in the face with his boot, then slashed the head in two. Both halves flapped back, revealing arteries and bone. Blood splashed him as Abdal pointed towards the bridge.

"Back, now's our chance." They moved back, weapons drawn, watching the feasting howling beasts with caution. The Ferod took hold of the camel's reins and started to pull it along, floating at head height as a wispy cloud. The animal did not refuse, but stared at the Ferod as though it was water in a funny place. It made a rasping noise, vibrating its big lips, then farted.

They rushed away, much to the distaste of the handlers, who began shouting and cracking their whips even more furiously. Some of the Nazlum responded, and pounded after the retreating Tambuktans and nomads. Abdal turned to face them, then watched astonished as arrows rained from the sky. White feathered arrows whizzed into bodies with precise skill, taking riders clean off their saddles and pinning the beasts to the ground.

Abdal looked up. Large, dark forms with wide wing-spans and feathered bodies flew in the sky. There were dozens of the birds, some circling above the battle like Vijai, waiting to feast on the corpses. The Nazlum, without handlers, began to falter. They spread out and rushed off in different directions, their clawed feet padding the rocky earth like drum beats.

The action was over as quickly as it began. The dead remained on the ground as a reminder of the mindless slaughter of the minutes before. The birds descended, their clawed feet stretching for the rock and landed on the path above the ravine.

The riders wore white ankle-length robes beneath golden greaves, breastplates and conical helmets which revealed the face but covered the ears and cheeks. Their bows honed in on the travellers, and did not waver. One of the riders climbed off a giant eagle. The man was tall, and broad of shoulder, clean-shaven as far as Abdal could tell in the night's light. Golden jewelled bands covered his fingertips.

"You are not of the Daemon's armies, you resist them like we do. My name is Barakah Hanbal, commander of the Caliph Ala' al Din's most glorious Eagle Riders. Who are you?" Abdal stepped forward.

"My name is Abdal Rahiim, former Prince of Tambukta." The man called Barakah narrowed his eyes and looked Abdal up and down, then cast his eyes across the rest of the ragged travellers behind.

"We do not have long. The Nazlum handlers have spies who will be no doubt returning to the column to report this action." Barakah scrambled down into the ravine and removed a green piece of cloth from inside his chest plate. He handed it to Abdal. There was nothing significant about the cloth, it bore a small symbol of the Caliph; two interlocked eagles, and nothing else.

"If you are who you say you are, you will be welcome in Ghafsa. Keep going west, over the bridge until you arrive at the guarded crossing of Anis. Show the officer in charge this piece of cloth and tell them that Barakah sent you."

"Where are you going?" said Abdal.

"Why, Prince, I plan to make a bit of mess of that advancing column. Good journey." Barakah bowed his head, smiled broadly, then clambered back up the trench wall. The man hopped onto the eagle saddle, then held his arm to the sky. The eagles sprang silently into the air, and headed east, towards the fire-snake and Jaffar's troops.

"Mad bastards," Abdal heard Mahmuud mutter. Abdal had to agree, but there was something majestic about them that filled him with awe.

"Time to get to that bridge," said Abdal.

"What about our dead," said Hasdru. "Do they not deserve a burial?"

"Do what you want with them, Hasdru, but we have very little time." Abdal watched the eagle riders disappear behind the peaks of Izz al Din. Good luck, he thought, as he turned towards the bridge.

Thirty-Six - Anis Bridge

They were all exhausted. The cold winds whipped down onto them like they were traversing nothing more than a blast tunnel. Despite the dawning sun, the chill of the wind bit their skin like a thousand needles. Abdal was wrapped as best he could, his turban loosened to add a scarf. Atiya looked freezing, but she had gladly accepted the offer of a blanket from the camel's packs. Her teeth chattered wildly as she moved.

The pale morning light was beautiful, made more so because of their surroundings. The snow capped peaks sparkled like precious jewels in the new sun, with broad ancient mountain walls created by Hamid himself casting shadow onto the path.

They could see the massive structure of Anis, spanning a great chasm in front. Anis was a stout, weather-beaten bridge. It was wide, long enough to march an army column across, with cyclopean blocks of grey stone. The front of the bridge was guarded by a stout building with a portcullis, its tall walls lined with men.

"I did not think the world could get so cold," said Yaq'ub, as he shivered. Yaq'ub rubbed his biceps as he hugged his body for warmth.

"It can get a lot colder," said Amal. "Trust me, fall into a river and not change your clothes for a week or two."

"Don't your clothes just dry after a few days?" said Yaq'ub, his eyebrow raised. Amal smiled.

"Not if you constantly fall into rivers." They carried on towards the bridge. The men on its walls became more visible, more like men than ants. The tall green banners bore the golden stamp of the interlocked eagles.

"I hope that cloth works," said Mahmuud, as he strode at Abdal's side. Abdal nodded, and clasped the cloth Barakah had given him. "I hope he meant what he said. Otherwise he might have just handed you a 'shoot them' sign and they won't ask any questions."

"It bears the mark of the Caliph. I doubt they would shoot openly at his symbol," said Abdal.

"Well, if it's all the same to you, My Sultan, I'm going to stand behind the camel." Abdal laughed.

They crossed onto the stone bridge and Abdal raised the green cloth into the air. It fluttered in the wind.

"Men of Ghafsa, I have come to speak to your Caliph, Ala' al Din." The men on the wall were dressed in green thick robes to keep back the chill of the mountains. They looked hard and uncompromising soldiers, who aimed long, curved bows at them. The iron arrow-points glinted between the parapets.

"It is a time of war. You think us foolish enough to allow just anyone through to speak to Ala' al Din?" A voice called back, but Abdal could not tell from which throat. He stepped closer.

"Abdal," said Mahmuud. Abdal turned to his retainer.

"I must get closer so they can see the symbol. Stay here, all of you." Mahmuud grunted, and shrugged his shoulders. Abdal stepped forward, his heart racing. He could be a pin-cushion any moment, he thought, as Abdal pushed towards the portcullis.

"I have come in peace. I am Abdal Rahiim, Sultan of Tambukta."

"The royal family of Tambukta are dead, you are lying." The voice called back.

"I assure you, I do not lie." He lifted the green cloth again. "Barakah, commander of the Eagle Riders of Ghafsa, gave me this cloth himself." A man in a bowl-shaped helmet lowered his bow and nodded to someone out of Abdal's sight.

Abdal held the cloth aloft, and remained ten yards from the grille. He could see soldiers armed with body-sized shields and spears stood inside the guardhouse, behind the portcullis. With a groan the metal grille began to rise, lifted between the vertical grooves by thick linked chains.

A metal door opened within, and the bowl-helmed man from above marched out, a flowing green cape trailing behind. He was flanked by the spearmen as he approached Abdal. The soldiers lowered their spear points towards Abdal's chest as 'bowl-helm' moved to study the cloth. The man stretched out a hand, and Abdal passed him the cloth. 'Bowl-helm' studied it a moment, and nodded.

"Unless he has been killed, and you stole it from him, I shall take it as the truth. Barakah would not be so foolish to send enemies into Ghafsa. My name is Awad, I have the pleasure to command the forces at Anis Bridge. Forgive me, times are hard and I must do this by the book. You may enter, indeed, even see the Caliph, but you must relinquish your arms." Abdal nodded.

"My thanks, Awad," said Abdal. He unbuckled his sheath, and passed the commander his weapon. Awad took it and studied the decorated sheath and pommel.

"We must search you as well. I do not wish to be responsible for sending an assassin with concealed weapons to face my Caliph." Awad nodded at his men. One lay his shield and spear carefully onto the stone floor, and began to pat Abdal down. He found nothing else, and nodded at Awad.

"Of course we must do this to your men as well," said Awad. Abdal nodded.

"Of course," Abdal said, and stepped aside as Awad ordered his men forward.

Thirty-Seven - Gatehouses and Horses

Abdal felt refreshed after the meal. He placed the empty plain bowl onto the stone floor, and looked about the room. Abdal stretched his arms into the air and almost yawned. It was good to be out of the driving wind. Even better to be within the borders of Ghafsa. They had been locked into a storeroom, stale but spacious. Most had gathered by the solid bench that lined the north wall. The nomads sat across its length, and tucked into the bowls of rice on their laps Awad had provided. Amal sat in the corner, cross legged and in prayer, the form of Mamba settled at his side. The Ferod had disappeared. Mahmuud gripped onto the iron bars that made up the gap in the door, staring out at the passage and silent guards.

"This is no way to treat a sultan," shouted Mahmuud. "I demand pillows, and soft cushions."

"I'm sure he can do without those," said Atiya. "Or do you think of him as soft?"

"The Sultan is not soft," said Mahmuud. "You are," he added, and smiled wildly to reveal his gapped teeth.

"My, is the gap in your head as spacious as those in your teeth?" Mahmuud struggled to hold his temper. It wasn't the best time to goad a massive warrior with a short fuse. His face went red, his hands gripped the iron bars tightly.

"Don't break the door," said Abdal, as he pushed between them. Mahmuud stepped away as Abdal peered out of the door.

"You there, guards. I demand to speak to Awad. We have been locked in here for hours, and I do not appreciate being treated as a prisoner of war." The guards looked at each other, then stared blankly back towards Abdal. "Well, at least they can hear me," Abdal muttered, as he moved away. Hasdru chuckled deeply, stared at Abdal harshly, then shovelled more grains of rice down his throat.

"How long do you think they'll keep us down here?" asked Atiya, as she pressed her back against the wall by the door, and slid to the floor.

"As long as it takes," said Abdal.

"What are you going to do when you talk to the Caliph?" said Atiya. She yawned, fatigued. "Sorry, I am not bored," she added. Abdal sat opposite her, aware of Hasdru's distasteful glance, and smiled.

"We're all exhausted. Mountain walking is tough. Up and down constantly… bad for the legs I hear," said Abdal. There was a loud sound of a bolt being drawn, and the screech of an opening door. Abdal stood up. Heavy footsteps pounded the stone outside.

"I am sorry we took so long," said Awad. A guard went for the keys, which jingled as he searched for the right one on the metal hoop.

"Any longer and I might have asked Mahmuud here to break it," said Abdal. Awad stared the big man up and down.

"Barakah has returned. He will take you to Eagle City. The enemy are upon us now, camped along the mountain pass."

"Have they attacked?" asked Mahmuud.

"No, they are preparing too. They are assembling their siege equipment now, and it will not be long before they are ready to push the towers against our walls. You must go now. Your weapons are piled by the cart outside. Your camel is there, along with fresh steeds to take you to your destination." Abdal nodded. Awad stepped aside and gestured them to leave.

"Good luck," said Abdal. Awad smiled.

"I have always been lucky."

They followed a guard through the tight cold passageway, up a flight of steps until they reached a solid oak door. The guard opened it and revealed daylight, and the chill air. It rushed into Abdal's eyes and caused them to sting for a moment, until they adjusted.

They were in the middle guardhouse courtyard, set at the very centre of the bridge. Above the battlements, to the east, were columns of black smoke spiralling into the sky. Campfires, hundreds of them. The enemy were warming themselves for the fight.

Green armoured troops rushed past, through the open portcullis towards the first guardhouse. There was a series of horses tied to a length of wood by the west exit. The cart was close-by. Barakah sat upon his winged-steed like a sultan, nobility shining through his every pore. His armour flashed in the sun, while his white robes were perfectly clean.

"I know you now," said Barakah, as Abdal and his companions approached. The eagle stretched its wings, and opened its huge beak.

"You are indeed the Prince of Tambukta."

"You have seen me?"

"Yes, last year, when the Caliph journeyed to Amjad to discuss the alliance against Jaffar. Forgive my eyes, the night and the coming battle blinded me."

"It is fine, Barakah. I simply wish to get to Eagle City, and continue that proposed alliance."

"You do not remember me however," said Barakah, then smiled cheerfully. "There was no need too. I did not ride the eagle then, only a horse. Talking of horses, I suggest the white one, it's the swiftest animal of the lot." Abdal looked at the white horse. It looked sturdy, and well looked after, with calm dark eyes, and a small swishing tail, much like a brush.

"I'll take that one then," said Abdal. Amal took the camel by the reins and claimed his ride.

"I can't ride horses," he said.

Everyone retrieved their weapons from the cart. Mahmuud looked very displeased with the way his beautiful halberd had been handled. He pointed to a nick on the sheath.

"That's new," he said. "I'll charge them for that."

"Come, my friends," said Barakah "we must move now before the battle begins." Barakah led the way through the west gate, his flying-steed rushing forward on its mighty clawed feet, bobbing from side-to-side like it was hopping. Abdal and his companions followed suit, and moved through the portcullis passageway, and out onto the bridge.

Abdal turned behind him, took one more look at the dozens of campfires, and sent a prayer to Hamid for Awad and his soldiers protection.

"Go with Hamid," he whispered, before turning to leave.

Thirty-Eight - Mahmuud and The Fish

Ghafsa was different from Tambukta. There was little jungle, but many forested mountain slopes, mist rising about them like low clouds. The trees were dark green and conical, tall and thin, packed tightly together like a regiment of spearmen.

The sun cast its warmth upon Abdal's skin as his steed trotted besides the river. Abdal looked down at his reflection that spread on the shimmering mirror-like surface. His clothes were still covered with dried Nazlum blood, and dirt from the journey. His face was bearded, cheeks slightly thinning, with eyes rimmed with shadow. Abdal looked fatigued, and felt it.

Barakah was in the air by the river bend, his steed hovering, flapping its muscled wings to remain steady. There was a splash and Abdal turned to the rippling surface. He noticed a large white fish cutting through the water. Mahmuud's stomach rumbled loudly behind.

"Permission to fish, My Sultan," said Mahmuud, his eyes not leaving the fish as it began to swim in circles.

"It's fine, Mahmuud, go catch a fish. The horses need to rest anyhow." Abdal stopped his horse, slid from the saddle and landed on the grass. Everyone else did the same, and spread out about the bank. Abdal led his horse to the edge, and watched the steed lower its head to drink. It slurped at the water, making choppy splashing sounds.

Mahmuud rolled his trousers up to his thighs, and entered the water, halberd in hand, naked blade revealed. Rolling his trousers was pointless, as soon he was standing in the water waist deep, the weapon poised above his head ready to strike.

"Make sure it's a big one," shouted Amal. "I'm fed up of the small ones you usually catch," he muttered afterwards.

The nomads stood by their own steeds, letting the animals drink. Atiya knelt on the bank by Abdal, and cupped her hands in the water. She stooped low and washed her face, rubbing away sweat and grime.

Abdal stared at her for a moment, then turned his gaze to the flowing water. It looked so refreshing, and peaceful. The forested mountain slopes leading towards the river banks were quiet, unlike the jungle with its growls and bird songs.

"Get out of the water!" Barakah called from above. Everyone stared up at the bird rider. He swooped down quickly, short-bow in hand.

Mahmuud shrugged.

"I am allowed to fish, bird-man," said Mahmuud. He stabbed the water at a moving fish, missed by a hairs length, and pulled the blade out, empty and dripping wet. Barakah loosed an arrow, which whipped into the water twenty yards away. It shot into the river near a large moving ripple.

"If that was aimed at me, you're not such a good shot," said Mahmuud. A red-ridged fin broke the surface, ancient and long, and sliced the water like a giant blade. Another arrow whipped into the water, but didn't slow the beast's advance.

"Hamid's balls," Mahmuud whispered.

Barakah skimmed the surface of the water. The eagle extended its claws and gripped Mahmuud's shoulders, lifting the surprised warrior out of the river. The beast attacked, and leapt from the water. Its body was barrel shaped, white as snow. It had a wide mouth with many sets of teeth, which snapped at Mahmuud's legs. It had large fins, and gills the size of windows which flapped open in the wind.

The creature missed Mahmuud by inches and landed heavily in the water. There was a massive splash as the beast disappeared beneath the surface.

"Move away from the banks," Barakah yelled. He turned the eagle round, and headed for the bank. As the eagle dived in, it released Mahmuud onto the ground. There was a snap as Mahmuud hit the grass, and the big man howled in agony.

"My leg," Mahmuud shouted. "The bugger's broken my leg!" Barakah landed, and shook his head.

"You would've suffered more than a broken leg. I hear that it can take up to three days to be digested by one of them." Barakah dismounted, and rummaged inside a pack that hung from the eagle's saddle.

"Though, I'm not sure how one would know," said Barakah, as he knelt by the wounded Tambuktan. He lay a white bag on the floor. It contained a metal rod, and bandages.

"Hold still," said Barakah.

"Hold still! You've broken my damned leg," muttered Mahmuud. "I'm hardly going to perform a dance, but you'll allow me to squirm in pain, surely?" Abdal and the others surrounded the pair. Hasdru chuckled wickedly.

They moved out shortly afterwards, Mahmuud's leg bandaged and set. It was late afternoon by the time they hit the dry road through the sandy deserts of Ghafsa, towards Eagle City.

Thirty-Nine - Eagle City

The heat was a welcome return, warming the skin, bathing his eyes as Abdal kept them closed. The gentle bob of the horse was sending him to sleep. He felt the drifting sensation, the world slipping away into darkness.

"Wake up," said Atiya. Abdal jumped in his saddle, sat bolt-right up, and rubbed his eyes. "You'll fall off the horse otherwise," she said, then smiled. Abdal nodded. Atiya was beautiful even after all this time travelling. Her skin was fresh and radiant, showing no signs of stress and fatigue, her hair still shone with health. Atiya's smile was wonderful, and warmed what was left of Abdal's soul.

They paced through a rocky canyon, its red walls casting shadow onto the road. Much of the desert lay behind them, shimmering in the distance with the rising heat. Abdal looked about at the travelling party. Of the nomads, Hasdru was the only one not slumped in the saddle. He stared at the rocky walls, and wiped his brow with a forearm.

Mamba paced slowly to Abdal's left, dragging his feet over the dusty ground. The animal's body was thinning from lack of food and too much exercise. Mahmuud and Amal were side by side. Mahmuud was wide awake, one hand above his brow, studying the sky. Amal was slumped forward onto the camel's neck, and snored loudly. Abdal could see no signs of Barakah.

"Where is Barakah?" he asked.

"He flew further south-west, towards the city to let them know we will soon arrive," said Atiya. "Personally, I'm more concerned about Jawhar. I haven't seen him for days."

"Since the mountains," said Abdal, nodding. "Perhaps he decided we no longer needed him, and returned home?"

"Home, to Kadar. There was something odd about that sorcerer. When you were asleep, he kept asking me questions about The Quil'ahman, though with the knowledge of the book. He could only have read it by the things we discussed."

"He was strange. Kadar spoke to me when you were asleep, though I do not recall them all. He loves magic, lives in a mushroom forest and is as crazy as a hermit can be."

"I thought him wise," said Atiya.

"Wisdom comes at a price," said Abdal.

They continued, Amal's choppy snoring echoing through the valley. Patchy brown grass began to spring out of the ground the further they followed the road, until they eventually left the rocky valley and entered a lush grass field with many hills and slopes that led towards Eagle City.

Eagle City was bigger than Amjad, and stood upon a broad hill that ran for many miles. The tall walls were made from blue stone, and looked solid, impenetrable. Dozens of dome-topped towers sparkled like polished jewels, stretching up into the blue sky.

A river ran close, to the right of the hill, and led towards the ocean. The small river huts, wooden constructs mainly, were dwarfed by the city besides them, but stretched out in a line along the river's length.

They could see fishermen pushing their small boats into the gleaming water, and the sails of triremes as the galleys headed for Eagle City port. The nomads stared, mouths agape.

"Now this is a proper city," muttered Hasdru. Mahmuud cast the warrior a hard look, and went for his halberd.

"Mahmuud," said Abdal. He didn't want to get into a fight now. Hasdru smiled at the warrior, and mocked a whipping motion with his hand. Mahmuud grunted, and turned away.

"It's a wonderful city," said Abdal. "I have been here only a handful of times, but the architecture and size always astounds me. That blue stone was mined and imported from another land to the west, a land where the people are tall and fair, with pale complexions and thin ears."

"I have not heard of these people," said Atiya.

"They're called Elves," said Mahmuud.

"I have only seen two in my life. They travelled over to see my father when I was a child. They were quite scary, actually, but very well dressed. I recall a blue cloak covered with odd shapes, and tall pointed hats decorated with jewels," said Abdal.

"They live for thousands of years, the lucky bastards," said Mahmuud. "Imagine all the women I could have in a few thousand years?" He rubbed his hands together and smiled at the thought.

"I dread to think," said Atiya, under her breath.

The path they trod began to widen, and was made from stone cut into irregular blocks. Parts of it were damaged, missing tiles here and there, some loose and others cracked, with moss and grass growing on the grey blocks. The horses hooves rang dully on the stone. There were squawks and Abdal turned his eyes to the sky. A swarm of black birds cut beneath the wispy white clouds, flying in a v-shaped pattern.

Eagle City's main gates were open, and many caravans and people moved in and out. They were fast approaching the back of the line to enter the city. A giant cart filled with hay sat before them, its owner, a fat man chewing on a long length of barley, stretched his arms and turned around. He examined them a moment with dark eyes beneath bushy brows. The man had a flat nose which looked like it'd been broken at some point in the man's life. He wore a ragged red and black striped top which spoke of someone who laboured hard in fields.

"You lot look the worse for wears," he said, the whiskered grains of the barley bobbing up and down as it hung from his lips. "Where have you travelled from? You do not look like Ghasfa folk."

"That is none of your business," said Mahmuud.

"I agree," said the man. "I meant no insult, but when men come covered in blood, as you lot are, one has to ask."

"We're not waiting in this, surely?" said Hasdru, harshly. "If this is our destination I must gather provisions, and animals to take us home." Abdal nodded, and steered his white steed off the road and onto the grass. The others followed suit.

"Fine, don't tell me," said the hay cart rider as he watched them jump the queue.

The ragged, tired men and women waiting in the line turned to watch Abdal and his companions move past, and cast stern unbelieving glances at the queue jumpers.

"Can't you see there's a line?" shouted one rider sat at the front of his oxen drawn cart.

"I'm talking to you," the man continued, then spat onto the stone path. Mamba growled and the man remained silent.

The gates were huge gold constructs reinforced by a stout iron grille, and opened inwards into the city. Two huge eagle heads rose from the centre of each door, shining in the sunlight like well polished statues. The guards stood with wide white shields with the Caliph's emblem melded into the boss, with tall spears in one hand.

The officer wore a black cloak, and a plumed golden conical helmet which covered all but his face. The man was broad but looked agitated, as if the whole process of checking visitors into the city was a bothersome task. He slapped a vine cane onto a small table where a man sat scribbling onto paper with a feathered quill. The man jumped as the cane struck the wood.

"You there, can't you see there's a damned line?" the officer said, as he stepped towards Abdal. He stopped Abdal's horse and looked the travellers up and down. "How dare you come to this city like that, unwashed and covered in blood. Guards, arrest these men," the officer said.

"Arrest us at your peril, Captain," said Abdal. "For we are here to see the Caliph." The clean-shaven captain laughed.

"The Caliph will not see thieves and murderers like you. Where did you get those rings from?" the captain said, tapping Abdal's hand with a vine cane. "Stolen no doubt. And this sword, far too expensive for the likes of you."

"His name is Abdal Rahiim, and is the Sultan of Tambukta." The officer whipped round. Barakah marched along the wide busy street towards the gates, dressed in his white robes, a dark green cloak trailing behind. A procession of armed palace guards marched behind in two thin lines, carrying square chest-sized silver shields and curved sheathed swords.

"Forgive me," the captain stammered with his words as he stepped back. He bowed his head as Barakah stopped next to them. The line of people waiting to get in grew restless, but watched with interest. Whispers of royalty spread down the line.

"Forgive me, Abdal, but I've had to deliver a lengthy report to the Caliph, which took longer than I had hoped." Barakah stared at the officer with his head bowed, and touched the man on his shoulder.

"Did the message to allow them through not get to you?" The officer nodded.

"It did, but I was expecting a more regal looking Sultan. Please, forgive my ignorance."

"You're forgiven, captain," said Barakah. The captain nodded, stood firm once again, and returned to the desk.

"Please, forgive captain Zaim. He has been out here all day, since the crack of dawn, and I fear this gets to him. The man would rather be off making war than checking lists," said Barakah, as he stepped aside. "You may proceed to the palace mounted if you like. My men and I will flank you on foot, so don't go too quickly!"

"Thank you, Barakah, please lead the way."

Forty - 'There's a War On You Know'

Abdal moved through the streets, the crowds of people parting as the flanking guards moved them aside with their shields. Under the shadows of the city walls, canopies of a bustling farmers market added a flash of colour to the grey roads. The farmers sold their wares, shouting loudly to garner interest. The scones and jams on one store made Abdal's mouth water.

"It's a busy day," said Abdal.

"The market days always are," said Barakah in reply. "You should see the agora, it is even more bustling." Barakah withdrew a horn from his belt. It was curved, and made of ivory. "That's where this will come in handy if the people do not move."

They continued through the tight-packed streets, past square block structures built as flats, with small holes for windows. The grander buildings were closer to the palace, and in the rich areas of the city. The area they were in was the outer city. There was another series of walls and gates to go before they reached the heart.

The agora was filled with thousands of people, packed tightly together as though they were marching to war. Multi-coloured pavilions covered stalls of various sizes. A giant stone structure stood at the centre of the square, tall and thin like a stone tree. It had a pointed top and bore many ancient marks from the times of the Pharaohs.

Barakah had no need of the horn, the crowd parted to let them through, moving out of the armed troops way with speed. Abdal could barely hear his own thoughts in the agora. It was the biggest, busiest market Abdal had seen, a battle of colour and noise.

Once through the agora they came to a wide boulevard, the centre lined with tall evergreen bushy trees. The buildings that flanked both streets were tall and lucrative, sturdy and intimidating, with broad balconies and splashing fountains. At the end of the wide street stood the inner wall that lined the heart of the city. The palace could be seen on its podium at the centre, though only the towers.

A group of children dressed in rags rushed past, laughing and playing games as they whizzed through the city streets. Their broad smiles and bright eyes portrayed their innocence. Abdal envied them for a moment, and watched them disappear into the agora crowd.

"If only we could be like that forever," said Barakah, as he noticed the Sultan's melancholy expression. "I for one would've laughed out loud if I knew I'd be leading the Eagle Riders of Ghafsa, but alas, I am no mystic."

"It is a fool's dream," said Abdal "to hope one could be a child forever. We must all grow old and die, nature demands it."

"That is rather bleak, Abdal," said Barakah. "There is, of course, the afterlife, where we can all live like sultans, and dine without worry that war would break and disturb our meals."

The inner wall gates were closed, and were cast in gold. The two eagle heads stared down like guards, but remained silent. Barakah smiled, held out the horn, and placed it to his lips. He blew a powerful note that echoed hauntingly through the street and made Abdal's hairs stand on end. A moment passed before they began to open, the strain of the moving chains ringing as the doors folded backwards.

Armed soldiers stood in the gate archway, similarly armed as those that escorted them to the wall thus far. The soldiers parted and Barakah led Abdal and his companions through.

The inner city was much grander in design. There were many cultivated gardens bursting with life with a thousand colourful flowers, with sculpted fountains spraying water into goldfish occupied pools.

The street stone was immaculately set, and the whole place was tiered and neatly sectioned. There were hundreds of steps everywhere Abdal looked, steps that led to some platform, to some building or garden.

Abdal could see the palace from here. The main section was a squat round building, with a giant domed golden roof. Many balconies and windows stretched out from the glimmering metal. Memories of the past flashed before him. He had stood on one of those balconies the last time he was here, and stared out to the distant mountain ranges towards Tambukta.

They stuck to the main path; a gentle slope that ignored the stairs and went directly towards the palace, cutting through the tiered platforms and buildings. The steep walls flanked them as they rode up the slope, the grass and scent of flowers filling their nostrils.

They arrived before the palace in good time, as the sun began to set, casting the sky into a beautiful pink-red. The clouds turned a dark blue, almost purple colour and looked as soft and comfortable as a bunch of giant cushions.

The large palace doors were already open, heavily armoured crack troops standing in pairs along the inside of its arch. The palace was made from the same blue coloured stone as the city walls, but seemed to glow with polish.

"Please, dismount," said Barakah. Everyone slid from their saddles, and stretched their legs. A series of men dressed in purple silks came forward from small doors inside the arch. They moved silently towards the animals, almost gliding across the floor like ethereal spirits. They took hold of the reins without a word, and kept their eyes focused on the floor, avoiding the gazes from the travellers. The animals were led away, not back through the arch but towards a long rectangular building with a red-tiled roof. One of the figures remained. He was tall and very dark skinned, with a well-trimmed black beard and honest unwavering eyes.

"I will not take you to the Caliph. This man is called Kavir, and he will serve you during your stay here. There's a feast planned tonight, Kavir will show you to the guest quarters, where you will find a change of clothes more suited to this evening's activities. It is his daughter's eighteenth birthday, and no war can stop him from doting upon her." Abdal nodded.

"I understand. I am not one in a position to judge him for that. I neglected my own children during war, and have lost them because of it."

"I am sorry to hear that, Abdal."

"Will you not be attending the festivities?" Barakah shook his head.

"I fly back to Anis Bridge, and offer what support I can." Barakah extended his hand. Abdal took it and felt the solid, firm shake. "It has been a privilege to aid you, Sultan Abdal Rahiim, but I must be off about my business, there's a war on you know."

"Yes, Barakah. May Hamid protect you." Barakah smiled, then made a curtly bow, before he headed after the men leading the horse away. Kavir stepped forward and bowed.

"Please, follow me," he said, his voice hard as stone.

Forty-One - An Audience With Caliph Ala' al Din

The quarters were spacious, and reminded Abdal of the luxuries of home. He stretched out on the bed, feeling clean as ever after the recent bath, and sighed. His muscles felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. The white satin sheets smothered him as he clasped the soft material with both his hands.

There was a repeated knock at the door, and Abdal cursed his luck. He wanted to lie on the bed and forget the world a moment longer. The knock came louder, and faster.

Abdal swung his legs off the bed, and stood. He walked bare-foot across the warm marble-tiled floor, over a soft fluffy carpet, and clasped the golden doorknob. He opened the door and found Kavir standing there, holding neatly folded clothes in his hands.

"Please, sire, wear this for tonight's feast, Caliph Ala' al Din insists."

"When are we expected?"

"In half-an-hour, sire," said Kavir. The servant held out the clothes, which Abdal took, then bowed and hobbled off on his bad foot. Abdal looked down at the silk clothes in his hands. They were well made, and shone like armour. The trousers and shirt were both sea blue, with a matching coloured turban. He closed the door, and went to change.

Abdal knocked on the door. The others were all ready and waited along the corridor, but Atiya had yet to leave her chambers. Hasdru stalked over and banged on the door hard.

"Hurry up woman," shouted Hasdru. There was the sound of slapping feet, then the lock turned and the door opened. Atiya wore a beautiful silver satin dress. It was connected at the left shoulder by a green-jewelled brooch, the other remain revealed. She wore sandals, her toenails varnished red. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and was kept in position with two golden pins. Atiya wore a golden amulet that hugged her right wrist, and subtle make-up which highlighted her eyes and lips. Atiya smiled at the two gawping men.

"Aren't you going to tell me how beautiful I look, or do I have to say so myself?" Hasdru coughed.

"You look stunning," said Abdal. "Like a queen."

"Perhaps they'll let you keep it for our wedding?" said Hasdru. They both moved back as Atiya stepped out, a broad smile across her face. Kavir looked them all up and down, and nodded.

"Now you're ready to see the Caliph."

They were led down cold passageways, past cackling torches spilling embers onto the floor, through arched doorways and into empty halls until they stopped at a great black door. Burning braziers coated four armed guards by the entrance. Two grabbed hold of the doors as they noticed Kavir approach, and pushed them back.

There was music playing, flutes and drums, meshing together in a peaceful atmospheric harmony. There were three very long tables connected to one another, formed like an incomplete rectangle around a raised floor. Women dressed in green, purple and red, danced seductively at the centre while the guests chatted and watched.

The hall was huge, the night sky revealed through large arched windows. Torches burnt on the stone columns which lined the flanks, along with round bowl-shaped braziers near the tables. The whole place had an orange tint to it, a glow almost like the setting sun. Shadows and embers flickered like live beings.

Kavir led them left, and around the back of the table. The occupants turned and stared up at the newcomers. Some smiled and nodded, others ignored them or cast blank uninterested looks.

The Caliph sat at the centre of the head table at the far end, his back pressed up against a tall decorated oak chair. He looked like the Caliph Abdal remembered, fat and well dressed; he wore a wide white hat with a huge white and black feather at its centre, and a white shirt with gold embroidery. He wore a pleasant smile, his cheeks pushed out like a hamster as he grinned.

"Ahh, Abdal," said the Caliph. He quickly stood, and moved his small, fat frame towards Abdal. "It is good to hear that not all the Tambuktan royal family are dead." He embraced Abdal like a son with a bear-like hug, then let go and gestured Abdal and his friends to sit.

There was enough space on the head table, and they pulled back the chairs to sit. Kavir bowed his head, and drifted back to the wall. Abdal sat to the right of the Caliph and studied the men opposite. They were advisors and family, old and bearded mostly, but a few were young. Abdal nodded a greeting, which they all returned in kind.

The Caliph's daughter was sat on the left, and couldn't take her eyes off Abdal's tall, broad form. Abdal noticed her, and stared into her light green eyes. The girl was very pretty, with soft skin, thin black eyebrows and long raven hair that flowed to the small of her back. She blushed and turned away.

"You remember my daughter, Jumanah?" Ala' al Din gestured his daughter, smiling broadly. Abdal bowed his head, which a red-cheeked Jumanah returned shyly.

"I do, though she was a child last time we met."

"We are all getting old," said the Caliph. "How do you fare?"

"I am well, though my heart is in agony. I do not wish to speak of such things on an evening as this, so I will say no more on that," said Abdal. He looked at the table. There were many foods and dishes spread out across its length; fruits, beans and grains, nuts, olives and dates. He could hear chomping to his right; Mahmuud had already begun to feast, and bit into a length of lamb meat like a hungry tiger.

"Fair enough, my young friend," said Ala' al Din. "Let us feast instead, and make merry with this evening's activities. We have the greatest dancers in the world." Ala' al Din gestured with an open hand towards the supple frames of the girls on the raised floor. They danced and glided with skill and passion, but Abdal had seen better in his own palace.

"Indeed," said Abdal. The Caliph raised his left hand and snapped his fingers. A dozen well-dressed servants emerged from the shadows behind carrying tall urns. They poured red liquid into golden, jewelled goblets, then retreated back towards the darkness.

"Please, drink," said the Caliph.

"Let me guess," said Abdal "it's the best wine in the world?" Caliph Ala' al Din tilted his head back and laughed.

It was deep into night by the time Abdal returned to his quarters. His head spun and he knew he was drunk. He moved into a small adjoining room, all but empty save a large bowl atop a stone surface in the white wall, and a fluffy blue towel by its side. A tall thin mirror stood in the alcove behind the bowl. Abdal dipped his hands into the water and washed his face, feeling the cold liquid refresh him. He raised his head, retrieved the towel and padded the water from his cheeks and brow, then looked into the mirror.

It had taken them many weeks to get here. Long hard days beneath an enduring sun, through constant dangers. It felt like a bad dream, that maybe he was actually standing in Amjad Palace, staring into a mirror. All the tests of his courage and heart were pure fantasy, fantasies created by strong drink and imagination. Abdal turned away, and slowly walked through the darkness of his chambers until he found his bed. He lay his back upon the satin sheets, and closed his eyes.

He didn't know how long he'd drifted asleep, but he could feel breath upon his face. He opened his eyes. In the darkness he could see a figure above him, long black hair dangling down and stroking his face.
"Atiya?"

"Ssh," Atiya whispered. She placed her finger on his lips and Abdal spoke no more. "Tomorrow I return to the Great Desert. I am to marry Hasdru. Tonight I am a free woman, and I am yours." She lowered her naked body onto his. Abdal kissed her passionately, pressing her warm body firmly against his. In Caliph Ala' al Din's guest quarters, Abdal and Atiya made love.

Forty-Two - A Weapon Found

Jaffar's staff bathed the narrow passage walls jade. It was an eerie un-natural light which made Wadi shudder. This whole situation was getting worse, but what choice did he have other than follow? To disobey, to resist meant death, and Wadi did not want to die.

They came to a stop at a solid round door. The sculpted surface was of a giant scarab. There was no visible mechanism to open the door; no handle, no lever. Another closed door that only Jaffar and his staff could open. Another closed door that should remain sealed.

"You look very unwell, Wadi," said Jaffar. The sorcerer smiled. "Is it the confined space we now find ourselves, deep below the sand?"

"Yes, sire," said Wadi. "I have never liked the feeling of being trapped." Jaffar smiled at the irony of Wadi's words. The man was trapped, not by metres of sand, but by circumstance.

Jaffar raised one black eyebrow and swept his hand near the door. It began to slide, slowly but surely, rolling to the right with a rumble until it sank into the wall. The room was large but empty, with a low ceiling. There was another round door at the opposite side. The sandstone walls were marked with hieroglyphics, perfectly conserved in the sealed environment. At the bottom of each wall were holes. Wadi bent low to examine them. They were a decent size, a man could crawl through, and looked like tunnels of some kind. The armed men behind Jaffar and Wadi spread out about the room, each man watching the holes and walls with a mix of fear and interest.

Jaffar paced over the tiled floor then stopped at the centre. He felt the tiles beneath his feet depress, then heard a click that filled the silent chamber.

"Hmm." He studied the gold emblem of a scarab beneath his feet. There was a shuffling noise, one which started off as a faint whisper, but built up to a crescendo.

The soldiers began to mutter in panicked, anxious voices. There was a scream, and one of the armed guards dropped to the floor. A black form scuttled about the man's feet as he kicked at it.

"Scarabs," someone cried in terror. Wadi looked at the creatures scuttling from out of the tunnels, dozens of black armoured forms with long sharp horns. Their pointed legs thumped quickly on the stone. The soldiers retreated, back-to-back, and formed a circle, shields and swords held out and ready. Wadi watched the downed man become engulfed by black forms. His screams silenced after a while, but the echo still bounced around the room, along with the creatures screeches and shuffles.

Jaffar raised his staff, and sent out a circle of green energy from the tip. It encompassed the guards, passing through them harmlessly, but like a wave, crashed into the scarabs. The green light tore chitin plates from their bodies, and legs and horns until all that remained were piles of steaming black smoke, rising gently to the ceiling.

"Ahh, a wonderful toy," said Jaffar, as he held up his staff and smiled at it. This was no game, thought Wadi.

There were sighs of relief as the soldiers moved out and cautiously paced over to the smouldering remains. They began to flip over thick chitin backs with the tips of their blades.

"I thought you said these men were your best?"

"They are, sire, though you must forgive them. They are religious, and what we are doing is considered sacrilege."

"My dear Wadi, nothing is sacrilege when you have the power of a god."

"You should not be here." The voice was strong and firm. Everyone turned towards the speaker. Footsteps rang hard along the passageway outside. Mujahid bent through the round entrance, and looked about the room.

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, servant," said Jaffar. "This is destiny."

"This is foolish. You have read the words of Halludin. This tomb was not meant to be disturbed," replied the nomad.

"Then Halludin should have hidden it better, don't you agree?" Jaffar turned his back to the nomad, and waved his arm to open the next door. It rolled back with a rocky rumble.

Red light filtered out into the scarab room. Jaffar covered his unadjusted eyes with his forearm. He led the way, taking giant strides as his eyes became familiar with the light. It was bigger than the scarab room, with a series of steps leading to a lower chamber. Jaffar placed his hands on the golden handrails and slowly tracked down the stairs, his blue cloak stroking the stone steps.

The source of the crimson light hovered above a pedestal. It was like nothing Jaffar had seen, and made his heart thump like mad.

"It's beautiful," Jaffar whispered. He rubbed his hands together, and smiled. Araby was his, of that he had no doubt.

BOOK TWO

Seven Years of Pain and Seven Years of Gain

~ I.C 1448 ~

One - The General

The heat of the day seemed to stifle his every move as the General marched up the rock strewn slope. He paused a moment, and looked back down towards the grass fields. Thousands of canvas tents lined the horizon, pillars of smoke rising from fires towards the heavens. It was a cloudless sky, a perfect blue like an ocean without movement, marred only by the remnants of the soldiers fires.

His scars began to itch, and he rubbed his cheek and neck to relieve the pain. Damned fire had stripped him of his once handsome appearance, the scars of the flames marking more than three-quarters of his body. Now every time he looked into a mirror he saw a monster staring back.

"General, are you sure she is here?"

"Yes, Barakah. Destiny calls like the sun in the morning. It's inevitable."

"But she was clearly mad, General, are you sure we should be wasting our time searching for her when we are so close to battle?" The General laughed.

"Come, Barakah, do not trouble yourself with thought. She is here, I can feel her."

The General carried on, clasping rocky hand-holds as he pushed his tired form up the slope. The air seemed to be somewhat fresher the higher they climbed, the heat of the day lost as wind began to stroke their forms. The General stopped at the summit, and cast his eyes across the broad mountain top. He breathed hard, but steady, feeling his thighs burn like fire from the trek. He was glad he had removed his chest-armour back in the tent.

There were many collapsed rocks on the top that could have only been moved up the hill by human hands. There was a ruined circle of shattered blocks twice the size of men besides a mound of earth and rock. The mound had an animal skin entrance drawn closed. It fluttered gently in the wind.

"See, Barakah, you should have more faith in me."

"It is not that I do not have faith in you, General, more I do not have faith in her. A man makes his own luck." The General did not reply, instead, he pushed on towards the makeshift home of the woman he had come to see.

There were small brown birds sitting on the tops of the ruined rock formation, chirping happily to anyone who would listen. The General stepped over rubble, and stopped before the skin door. The skin was stretched and looked like brown leather, wrinkled and stained with dark blood. There was a loud squawk, and the brown birds fluttered off in panic. A large crow stared down at the General, and flapped its wings.

The animal-skin entrance was whipped aside, and the old disfigured woman peered out. She was as foul as he could remember, dressed in thick animal skins despite the hot weather. Her skin was as pale as the moon, and marked with sores and boils. Her nose was bent like the curved beak of a bird. Her lips were thin and without colour. She was mostly bald, but stringy white hair remained at the back of her head and flowed to her hunched shoulders. She studied them both briefly, angling her head from side to side like some kind of bird. Her movements were quick, almost frantic. Finally she stepped inside her abode and gestured for them to enter with her long-finger nailed hands.

The place was cramped. Both men could not stand full height and were forced to arch their backs as they entered. What little space was available was occupied with boiling pots and small stools. Two shelves lined one wall, dozens of glass jars sitting on the wood. There was the smell of sweat and decay inside, which made the General grimace.

"Sit," the old lady said. The General and Barakah sat on the two stools she provided, and watched the woman with interest.

"What is it you want with me, old woman?" The old lady beamed an open-mouthed smile, revealing dirty yellow teeth.

"Things of importance, things of the future," she said.

"I have heard rumours of your soothsaying powers. Tell me, what do you see?"

"Your sons." The General's eyes widened and he stretched forward, grabbing the woman by her clothes.

"This had better be good, or I swear you'll suffer the point of my blade." Barakah placed a restraining hand on the General's left shoulder. The General turned his scarred face to his officer, fire in his eyes, then calmed. The General let go, and sat back on the stool. "Forgive me," he whispered.

"Please continue," said Barakah, as he removed his golden conical helm and lay it on his knee.

"They are close. The army you face is led by a man who knows their location."

"Marid," the General spat. "If you are a soothsayer, can you not see for yourself where they are?" The old woman made a cackling noise with her throat, and she closed her eyes.

"They are somewhere dark, without light."

"A cave, a dungeon… where?" the General said, firing his questions off in quick succession.

"I cannot see. My powers are sketchy at best, but I have known your struggles since I was born and old enough to deal with the visions. I thought this would be of some importance to you, to know they still live." The General grunted.

"What good does that do me when I do not know where they are? I have searched for seven years, and have not come close. Am I to believe every mad woman I meet as I move my army through the kingdoms?"

"Believe what you want for the truth will reveal itself in time." The General scratched at his burn marks on his right cheek.

"And of the battle, can you see what will happen?" The old lady smiled.

"Of course I can, but that will be something you should find out for yourself. Have faith, Abdal Rahiim, trust in Hamid."

"I placed my trust in him years ago, for all the good it did me," said Abdal, as he rose from the chair. "If that is all you will tell me, then I shall leave now. Barakah, arrest this woman, and bring her to the camp. She may be of use to us." Barakah nodded, went to draw his sword, but the old woman lay a restraining hand on his.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "I won't be any trouble. I've already packed my things." The old lady tapped a small black bag with her foot, then stooped and slung it over her shoulder. "After you, young ones, after you."

Two - The Second Horn

"Would you like me to polish your sword, General?" Abdal looked down from his white steed at the young boy. He was only twelve, with big dark eyes and a friendly smile. His skin was burnt black from the sun's exposure.

"No thank you, Zalim, I'm about to go to battle, I doubt my enemy will mind if my sword shines." The boy shrugged his shoulders and looked disappointed. "When I get back it should be in rather a bloody mess, so if you feel inclined to clean it then that will be the perfect time." The boy smiled, and rushed off. Abdal watched the boy zigzag through the tall white tents, leaping crates left on the grass, and rounding marching troops. Abdal smiled sadly, then turned his steed east.

The flat grass land swarmed with men sectioned off into regiments. A host of long spears rose into the sky like small forests. The ancient phalanx fighting method worked well with their flanks protected, and he was happy with the training and progress his men had made with the eight-foot long spears.

Abdal rode forward, nodding his head at captains and soldiers he had come to know in the last seven years. Men held their weapons up as he passed, and cheered, bashing their shields with the hilt of their swords, or butts of their spears.

"Hamid protect you, General," a voice shouted.

"We going to give 'em hell, General?" another called. Abdal smiled and stopped his horse.

"I'll give them more than hell, gentlemen," he said, then kicked the flanks of his steed. He rode to the front of his army, where more of his officers waited on horseback and foot.

"A lovely sight," said Mahmuud, as he rubbed the thick stubble on his chin, and nodded towards the enemy. The red line of Marid's troops spread out for over two kilometres, their faces hidden by distance, tall red and black banners fluttering in the breeze. They stood immobile, waiting for Abdal's advance. The large Ushabti stood in the front ranks, their black forms a reminder of Jaffar's evil. Giant scorpions bobbed their tails in the air like a waving ceremony.

"How fare you, Amal?" said Abdal, as he noticed his old friend crouched on one knee. Amal was near sixty now, and could no longer fight like he used too. He wore beautifully fashioned heavy silver armour with a gold flower at the centre of his chest and a domed helmet with splendid gold cheek guards, the flower motif etched into its surface. His greaves were silver and rose to his knees, while his shield, leant under his right arm, was round and bronze. Amal looked up and smiled.

"I am well, My General," he said, then struggled to rise to his feet, gripping his shield for support.

"That is good to hear, for I need you to hold the line steady on my right. You know the usual drill, gentlemen. I won't be happy if you start wandering off to the wrong place due to senility." There was a series of laughs.

"Let's smash these bastards and show them what good old fashioned guts and metal can do," said Mahmuud.

"To your positions, we march at the second blow of the horn." The men nodded. Abdal shook each hand in turn, then turned to Mahmuud. The warrior was lean and muscled now, seven years of warfare and not so generous living had worked wonders on the man's stomach.

"What did the witch say?" Mahmuud asked.

"Something about my sons. It's important we keep Marid alive if possible." Mahmuud nodded.

"That's a pity," said Mahmuud. "I was looking forward to taking the scum's head from his body." Abdal nodded. An itch began to strike by his nose, but Abdal ignored it.

"Once I have discovered where my sons are, I will take his head myself." Mahmuud looked over the grass.

"I still can't get my head around this," he said. "He's managed to turn sand to fertile land." The river to the right flank glistened. "Even create whole new rivers. Do you think Jaffar's really Vazam?" Abdal spat a goblet of phlegm onto the ground, and shook his head.

"Vazam was never so greedy."

"How do you know that? It could all be myth and he was a selfish son-of-whore." Abdal looked towards the enemy, feeling nothing but hatred. This was it. If he failed here today, his army would be routed and destroyed and there would be no chance to defeat Jaffar.

There was a series of squawks above his head; Barakah and the famed Eagle Riders flew north, their golden armour flashing in the sun, large nets dangling from the saddles. Abdal heard the rustle of armour by his feet. His horn blower waited patiently at his side, the head of Tamir's horse shaking. Tamir was a solid competent man, able to blow the horn better than most. The long elkk instrument hung at his left side, slung above his sword.

"Blow the first horn," said Abdal. Tamir nodded, and drew the large curved instrument to his lips. It was wide, the colour of bleached bone, with star-like diamonds running its length. He sucked in a long breath, then blew into the end. A loud ear-piercing rumble rippled across the plains. The army began to form, marching into a long line that matched the length of Marid's army opposite, thumping the earth like thunder roaring in the heavens. The line was thinner on Abdal's side, while Marid, with close to thirty-thousand men, had a large body of troops behind.

At least they lacked cavalry, Abdal thought, an element that had won him several victories against Jaffar's forces in the past. They never learnt. A wry smile spread across his scarred face.

Abdal drew his sword, held it high in the sky, and rode to the right, Mahmuud and Tamir close behind. The troops in line cheered as Abdal rode past. He reached the right flank where his cavalry waited; four-thousand heavy horse that could ride men down like grass.

"Blow the second horn." Tamir nodded, and blew another note that started the army advance.

Three - A Day of Battle and Blood

The line of black and red marched forward beneath fluttering banners and the shadows of giant Ushabti. The shine of their armour and weapons flashed beneath the sun's enduring touch. Drums sounded loudly across the plains; constant rhythms and beats that kept the men in step. Abdal watched Marid steer his great golden chariot behind the front ranks, dressed in black, wearing a tall-tower like hat.

Abdal felt a constant vibration as the horse beneath his legs moved across the grass. He heard the steed's breath as it pounded the ground, the thump of the animals around him and the clang of the riders weapons and armour.

Two hundred yards from the enemy, Abdal nodded to Tamir. The warrior raised the horn and blew another blast. A series of other horns tracked down the long line, each musician blowing a single lengthy note on his instrument. The line changed, folding back so they were the shape of a bow's arch. The cavalry continued. The General watched the light cavalry on the left flank storm forward, Barakah and the Eagle Riders high above them, blotting the blue sky like a flock of birds flying in a v-shape.

Abdal could see the faces of the enemy now, the whites of their eyes. He held up his arm and Tamir stopped the line with another blast. Abdal raised his sword and pointed it right, wheeling the heavy cavalry to face the river.

As Abdal hoped, a long trail of enemy troops began to turn away from the main bulk, following the light and heavy cavalry as both groups of horse drew outwards from their own line. Horns blew at the allies centre, and they began to move forward in the new shape.

Barakah's Eagle Riders screeched as they swooped above the enemy's forces, the green robed, golden armoured archers pulling back their bowstrings. Their arrows cut swathes and dropped men in their dozens, screaming and bleeding to the grass.

The enemy ranks began to pack tightly together, raising wicker and metal shields into the sky. There was a huge cheer as the two infantry lines met, smashing shield into shield, sword upon sword. The phalanx spears dropped down in one swift motion, the dense forest points chomping into the lighter armed crimson dressed soldiers like a machine. There was frantic pushing, and manic slashing as man fought man. Heavy thuds washed over the scene as the lines fought for control, for an opening.

Abdal kicked the flanks of his horse, its canter turned to a striding run. The heavy cavalry thundered forward around him, chopping the grass, spraying soil and mud into the air. The enemy infantry met the cavalry with raised shields and braced legs. Abdal smashed through, the chest of his great steed knocking men back like sticks. He slashed down hard, and struck a foe in the face, slicing through cheek and cutting to bone. He slashed left and right, his magnificent scimitar cleaving through bodies like a scythe through wheat.

There was panicked neighs as horses were dragged down, speared, their great muscled legs thrashing the enemy's shields like heavy punches. Mahmuud's steed reared and fell, a long gore-covered pole through its neck. The warrior threw himself off and landed on writhing bloodied bodies. He swept his great halberd in an arch, the deadly cutting age carving its way through wicker shields, flesh and bone.

Abdal pushed his armoured steed through the throng of panicked desperate men, taking one foe through the neck with the tip of his bloodied blade. His horse whinnied, bolted forward, and hobbled. A soldier withdrew the blade from the steed's side, blood dripping like rain-water from the tip, then went for another lunge. Abdal met the attack with his shield, felt it vibrate from the strike, then crushed the man's skull with a heavy blow through his helmet.

Abdal's arms burned and ached with the blows, the weight of his sword and shield. His blood boiled, his soul raged. Dust rose into the air like dirty fog, blanketing the fight in a permanent cloud. The heavy horse had smashed through the line, and fought close to the shimmering river. Men fought from horseback and on the ground, shouting and screaming. More than blood coated the floor. Abdal's bleeding steed slipped in spilt entrails and Abdal gripped the reins with his hands, and clenched its flanks with his legs.

A series of large shadows passed over the fight, along with hallowing reassuring squawks as Barakah's Eagle Riders swooped down into the enemy ranks, firing white-quilled arrows into the mob, crushing men with clawed feet, taking others into the sky. One had two in its grip, and flew high before releasing them screaming to the earth like missiles.

"My General," shouted Tamir, as the horn blower reined in. The soldier buried his horn into a foe's face, then blocked another attack. Tamir's riposte tore a hole in the opponent's throat, and coated the horn man with fast pumping blood. Abdal looked to the sky. A red flag was held aloft by one rider, swooping south across the field. The left flank light cavalry had routed their foes, and were harassing the main bulk with javelins.

Then there was a roar, and a mighty Ushabti bounced into view. A wide path opened to allow the terrifying beast through. It had the head of a Jazeera, narrow and deadly, with a green and white striped cloth hanging from the back of its head. It stared out from black pits and opened its bony jaw as it swept the giant halberd into Abdal's men. The strike cleaved through men like blades through melons, taking limbs and life.

"Nets!" Abdal shouted. "Bring up the nets!" The beast roared as men rode forward, grey meshed nets spread between pairs of riders. It used the flat of its weapon to swot the first net team aside like flies, sending horse and rider crashing to the grass and into other fighting bodies. The next team managed to wrap the beast's lower legs in the netting, and went to pull tightly before the beast and Jaffar's troops cut them down.

Abdal pushed his horse forward, Mahmuud at his feet, Tamir to his left. The three begun to fight their way towards the raging Ushabti. Mahmuud swung his weapon in an arc above his head, then stamped his lead foot onto the ground as he cleaved through crimson dressed men.

Abdal slid from his saddle, took a blow on his shield and lashed out at the enemy with his boot. Abdal caught the man in the shin, and dropped him a moment later with an upward slash through the chin. More riders shot forward, pushing the enemy around the Ushabti back, but not the magical creature itself.

Abdal ducked its swing, rolling onto the piss and blood-stained earth, feeling the blade push wind into his face like a gentle breeze. The Ushabti dragged the nets around its legs forward as it went for the general, the tasselled ends of the nets sliding through the gore on the ground.

The creature's blade smashed into the ground by Abdal's face. The weapon reflected Abdal's scarred helmeted face, revealed his dark eyes and the glistening sheen of sweat on his forehead. He felt his heart beating like mad as the Ushabti raised it out of the sucking surface. It roared, and went for him again, swinging low. Abdal dropped his shield and took the attack on his shining golden boss on his round iron shield. The blow knocked him back, denting the iron shield and sending Abdal crashing into dead and wounded men.

A horse lay on its belly, neighing as it bled from several wounds to its body. Abdal looked for his sword, his stomach and arms aching like mad. It was around here somewhere, in the bodies and gore.

He heard Mahmuud roar and curse. The big warrior managed to grab one of the net corners, and with one hand began to tug with all his might. Tamir and other unhorsed men joined in, throwing themselves forward against the wicker shield wall of Jaffar's troops.

Then something large tumbled from the sky, twirling and spinning as it fell. The eagle and its rider, a man with no chance of survival, crashed into Jaffar's men, shattering bodies and bone as it collided with the earth.

Despite the Ushabti, Abdal noticed the enemy flank had thinned. Men on the ground no longer stepped forward to confront one another as the heavy cavalry whirled and crashed into the exposed flanks again and again.

Banners began to fall, discarded by their owners, and the ranks wavered. Abdal stooped low and found the handle of his trusty sword. He picked it up, gutted a crawling wounded soldier and sheathed the blood smeared blade. Abdal cast his shield to the ground, and picked up another part of the net. The Ushabti lifted one team of men into the air, legs wailing as they held on for dear life. It swung them from side to side, and the men shouted as they crashed back to the ground.

Mahmuud's large form pulled on the net hard, his sinews tensed, veins popping to the surface like pipes. With a mighty roar, the giant warrior bowled the Ushabti onto the ground. It tried to rise but twenty swords crashed into its downed form, and cut the beast to pieces. There was a giant cheer, and Abdal raised his drawn sword, pointing the crimson tip towards Marid's fleeing men.

"Free men of Araby, forward!" he shouted.

Four - 'It's Been a While'

Amal took the lunge on the boss of his shield, and clenched his teeth as the blow rang up the length of his ageing arm. Sweat coated his brow and armpits as he thrust his sword, putting a fresh dent into his foe's shield.

The world was nothing more than a whirl of energy, pain and madness. Men fell and died all around as Marid's forces began to break through. The bow shape allied formation began to bend backwards as the foe pushed on the phalanx at the centre. The bulk of Marid's troops had pushed the crescent shaped line far back now, and quickly swarmed through the perceived gap.

The Ushabti bodies lay twisted on the ground in broken pieces, surrounded by piles of dead. At least the large beasts were no longer any trouble at the centre, but he could still see the creatures swinging and moving in the ranks behind.

Amal dropped back into his own ranks, tired and exhausted. The gap was filled a moment later by a lower ranked officer who shouted encouragement as soon as he arrived. Amal began to squeeze to the back of his men, pushing past armoured soldiers as they waited their turn in the line.

Amal breathed hard, and placed his hand over his chest piece, where his heart was. It beat so hard and fast Amal had to sit down amongst the dead and wounded, and rested his back against a crumpled shield. Amal lay his old sword on the ground, and took the helmet from his head. What was left of his grey, stringy hair was coated thick with sweat. He wiped it from his brow and sighed.

This was life, the only existence he'd known for seven years. He was getting tired. He could close his eyes and fall asleep right here, he thought. Just close your eyes, old man, rest - his head bobbed and Amal snapped his eyes open.

"Captain, a rider approaches." Amal looked up. The sun was blocked by a tall dark figure dressed in green silk. He wore a silver cuirass that covered his chest, and wore a green plumed hat.

"A rider?" Amal slowly stood up, sheathing his bloodied sword. A rider approached, kicking the flanks of his brown mare. Amal walked out, and raised his hand. The rider slowed then stopped as he recognised Amal's blood-stained armour.

"What news?" Amal asked. The rider was young, without a single hair on his face, and tried to steady his horse, but the animal was skittish and did not stay still.

"Our left flank has turned the enemy's right. I must inform the General," said the rider. The man kicked the horse onwards, and rode through the death littered ground.

"It's almost time," said Amal. A young boy rushed forward, and offered Amal a drink of water from a small animal skin bag. Amal took it out of the boy's hands, and raised it to his lips. He drank deeply, then poured it over his face. It was a moments respite. Amal tossed the empty bag to the ground, replaced his helmet, and returned to the line.

The scorpions screeched at the charging heavy horse as Abdal's men cantered on after the fleeing infantry. Long heavy lances lowered towards the large bobbing beasts, and a loud war-cry parted from a thousand lips.

Abdal, remounted on a fresh horse, slashed through the backbone of one man as he fled, slicing him open like a fruit. A crimson jet of blood splashed upwards and coated Abdal's scarred face.

The ground was littered with dead, their cut bodies like broken mannequins, laying in impossible positions. It wasn't honourable, or glorious, thought Abdal, but he had no qualms about killing these men. They had folded to Jaffar's will without a fight, and deserved nothing less.

Arrows began to rain like hail from the sky, whipping with fury into the scorpion handlers. They dropped in droves, and the beasts began to wander and fight amongst themselves. One drove its huge tail through its own handler, lifting the skewered body into the air like a trophy.

The cavalry smashed through the confused beasts, piercing chitin armour with heavy sharp lance points and force. Abdal, without a lance and further back from the front line, carried on, his wide scimitar marred with blood and high in the sky. He watched as his cavalry smashed through the scorpions, some horse falling and throwing riders, others thundering on, pounding the fresh earth with cloven feet.

There was a fresh flag held high in the sky by one of Barakah's men. It was a green one, sectioned off into squares; one was red, another bore a gold circle. Awad on the left had turned the enemies right flank, and were harassing what was left of it towards Marid's own men. At the centre, the crescent was bending further backwards, and the enemy piling men into it.

They were trapped. Abdal smiled. He looked for Tamir but the man had vanished. He found the war horn strapped to his belt, and blew a sharp note that rang loudly over the field.

In the distance, unseen by Abdal, the skirmishers at the edge of the crescent shape began to move forward and fold around Marid's men, launching arrows, rocks and javelins into the enemy flanks. The missiles hit Marid's soldiers with a relentless fury, the constant sound of struck flesh and armour ringing loud with the cries of dying men. The reserves rushed behind the skirmishers, in deep columns masked by the missile troops.

There was a panicked call. Mahmuud bounded forward, still on his feet and coated with gore. He pointed towards a long line of Marid's men rushing from the battle at the centre. Marid held onto his chariot, his facial expression hidden by distance, riding behind a thick line of infantry, guiding his men towards the heavy cavalry. Ushabti ran fast at the front, their giant strides taking them closer to Abdal's tired men.

"Abdal, the bastard comes," said Mahmuud. Tamir bounded over, blood gushing from his forearm.

"Blow the horn, Tamir, we must wheel, and make the call for a wedge!" Tamir nodded, his face slightly pale from his wound, his eyes distant. He blew the horn, once, then followed it with two short blasts that carried across the blood-strewn fields.

"Curse the eager bastards, they'll carry on chasing off the enemy we no longer need to kill," said Mahmuud, as he watched a few hundred heavy horse carry on after fleeing men. The horn blew, and they slowed. Abdal moved to the front as they reformed into a wedge.

"We'll drive through the infantry and go straight for Marid," said Abdal, loud enough for a few hundred to hear. "Forward," he shouted, pointing his sword to the enemy. The horses began to canter straight for the black forms of Ushabti, and Marid.

The Ushabti swung in wide arcs, their deadly weapons smashing riders from their saddles, and cleaving thick horse necks. The wedge continued, Abdal at the front, a series of lances at his side held by the men behind. The infantry panicked, and tried to move, causing chaos and confusion in the enemy ranks as Abdal burst through.

Marid slowed his chariot, aware of the danger, but the wheel bounced over a series of ruined corpses and overturned, throwing the rider and Marid to the ground. Abdal smiled as he noticed Marid's misfortune from the melee, and pushed his horse through the fleeing ranks of men.

Marid couldn't believe his luck. Damned chariot! He drew a curved dagger from a golden decorated sheath on his waist, and thrust the blade deep into the rider's back as the man tried to scramble to his feet. Warm blood washed his hands and Marid felt a moment's satisfaction. The rider thrashed quickly in Marid's grasp, moaned lightly and collapsed against the upturned cart.

A long blade flashed into view. He could feel its cold metal against his throat. Marid slowly raised his glance from the body of the rider, towards the man who held the blade.

"Well-well," said Abdal. "It's been a while, Snake."

Five - The Snake

"Well, Abdal, what are you waiting for?" said Marid, as he felt the scimitar prickle his Adam's apple. Red clothed soldiers ran past, tossing their weapons onto the floor to free them of burden. The thud of hooves rang loudly as heavily armoured warriors on horseback rode a-mock on the grass.

"My, that fire left its mark on you, didn't it?" Abdal stepped forward and kicked Marid in the face, feeling the nose break beneath his boot. The sorcerer fell backwards, into the body of the rider he'd murdered moments before. Rivulets of blood ran into Marid's mouth.

"Why don't you defend yourself with magic?" said Abdal, as he placed the tip of his point onto Marid's chest.

"Would it make any difference?" replied Marid. "Do it and be done with your revenge."

"I should, and probably will, but I have need of you. You will talk, and I will listen." Marid laughed.

"The great Abdal Rahiim needs me? How amusing, but alas, I have nothing to tell you." Abdal bent closer, so his breath washed over Marid's narrow face.

"Oh, Marid, but you do, now get to your feet."

Abdal stared out at the field. It was green hours before, now it was littered with corpses. Men and horse lay still amidst shattered shields and weapons, half bent spears and thousands of arrows. Flags and banners fluttered in the dying wind where the bearers fell, some still raised to the sky as though on parade. The fighting was thickest at the crescent's centre and the scene of that fight turned his stomach. A large bulk of Marid's red-clothed troops lay in piles, slaughtered as they became pinned in a circle of missiles and long spears. It was not a pretty sight. Abdal heard the patter of feet on grass, and shook his head.

"Here," said Abdal. He unbuckled his scabbard and held the weapon out. Zalim smiled and stared up at him like Abdal was a god. "What are you waiting for, boy?" Abdal dropped the weapon into Zalim's hands. Zalim pitched forward with the weight, but steadied himself. "Go clean, be happy." Zalim bowed, and rushed off towards the tents. Mahmuud appeared from behind one, and the two almost collided.

"Whoa there," said Mahmuud. Zalim didn't look up, and rounded Mahmuud.

"Why that boy adores you, I don't know? If he'd seen half the stuff I did out there he'd have a field day," said Mahmuud, as the warrior moved past. Mahmuud's broad muscled arms were nicked with a dozen cuts, all of them scabbing over. He moved directly besides Abdal, and the pair locked their eyes for a brief moment before looking at the slaughter.

"What are you going to do with Marid?" asked Mahmuud. "You know the rest are calling for his head, an execution in front of the men. Barakah says it will boost morale, what do you think?"

"I have yet to question him."

"Then why do you dally? He might have the answers you seek." Abdal nodded.

"I know, Mahmuud. What would I do with sons? I am a monster. I have taken more lives than I care to remember, some in battle, some I murdered like I was a street thug." Mahmuud grunted, and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"You are not like them, Abdal. Go to Marid before you lose your chance, and get the answers you seek before you begin to care about nothing." Abdal's eyes burnt with hatred. What did Mahmuud know about loss? Then he calmed, and turned away from his old friend, ashamed and guilty of his thoughts. Abdal felt a large hand on his shoulder as Mahmuud's tall frame moved close.

"Save your own soul, Abdal, and find out." Mahmuud walked away, head down, rounded an empty soldiers tent that rocked from side-to-side and disappeared from sight.

Marid sat on a stool with his hands on his lap. His wrists were bound by silver amulets linked by a single sturdy chain. The amulets had ancient golden glowing writing etched onto the surface. The light was wondrous, and bathed the tent amber like a magical torch.

Abdal pushed through the entrance, wearing a white silk shirt and trousers, a rolled blanket in his hands. A beam of dying daylight encompassed the inside of the tent, bathing the prisoner, the round shoddy wooden table and the guards in a wan light.

"Ahh, Abdal, I wish to make a complaint," said Marid. "Your guards have neglected to feed me, and my throat is parched, be a dear fellow and fetch me some water." Abdal grunted a short laugh, placed the rolled brown blanket on the table and paced towards the chained man. Abdal crouched in front of the Marid, his scarred face revealed by the amulets glow.

"I hear these things remove your ability to harness the magical winds," said Abdal, as he tapped an amulet. "I've never seen any evidence of your magic." Marid smiled.

"You are a remarkable man, Abdal, but a fool never-the-less. What is all this for?" Marid gestured the tent and the guards with a series of nods. "You really think you can beat Jaffar with a handful of kingdoms? Your army is dwindling, each battle you fight you lose men, men that cannot be so easily replaced with your limited means." Abdal stood up.

"Leave us," he said, his body tense. The guards bowed and left, sealing the tent door as they did so. The room was pitched back into amber.

"Jaffar is not my present concern," said Abdal. Marid narrowed his eyes.

"What is it you are after?"

"Something you helped steal from me, my sons." Marid's eyes opened wide, and he nodded with a smile spread across his face.

"The noble Abdal is not quite so noble now, is he? Is Araby no longer a concern for you?"

"What is of concern to me is of no concern to you, so you will tell me what I want to know, or I'll deal you more pain than you thought possible."

"You are no torturer," said Marid. Abdal walked over to the table, and dragged it across the room until it lay in Marid's sight. Abdal placed his hand on the blanket, and unrolled it. There were many blades inside, each held in a pocket. One had five sharp edges like a hand, others were thin, others curved. They looked mean and nasty.

"You jest?" said Marid, his smile vanishing. Abdal took one curved blade from its pocket, and slowly stroked the edge. It drew a bead of blood that ran like a giant tear around his thumb as he turned his hand.

"Are you sure you're willing to test me? I am, after all, a very different man from the one you knew in Tambukta." Marid stared into Abdal's eyes.

"I don't believe you," said Marid. Abdal shook his head, then slammed the dagger into Marid's thigh. He twisted it slowly as Marid screamed in agony.

"I am not known as a liar," said Abdal, as he pulled the blade out. Marid clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes.

"You stab- stabbed me."

"What were you expecting, a harsh slap across the cheek?" Abdal struck Marid with the back of his hand, and knocked the man off the stool and onto the ground.

"Very well," Marid cried. "I'll tell you what you need to know, just put the knives away, okay?" Abdal nodded, a large smile spreading across his scarred face.

Six - Unexpected Guests

"My General, wake up," said Amal, as he poked his head inside Abdal's tent. Abdal stirred, and held his head. He didn't want to wake; his body was wracked with pain from the battle of the day before.

"If Jaffar isn't standing outside with his hands to the heavens shouting 'I give up', I'm not getting out of bed," he replied, groggily.

"My General, there are many people flocking to our camp." Abdal groaned, and pulled the covers from his body. He slept in his boots, an old habit learnt from campaigning in enemy lands, and slid off the bed. He didn't reach for his discarded shirt, and chose a long white hooded robe instead. He quickly tied the sash around his waist, dipped his hands into a bowl of water on a small desk by his bed, and washed his face. Then he wrapped a black scarf around his face so it covered all but his eyes.

"Lead the way." Amal nodded, and held the tent flap open. Abdal ducked through into the night. It was chilly, and forced Abdal to cross his arms and rub his biceps for warmth. The twin moons lay overhead, like giant eyes in the sky, watching his every move. Black clouds drifted through the star studded sky like stealthy assassins sneaking up on the moon. The mountains in the backdrop looked like sleeping giants, highlighted by the twin moons glow.

The camp was in high spirits after their hard fought victory. Men, although exhausted, sat or stood around campfires in large groups, talking and laughing, singing and drinking. They didn't notice Amal and Abdal coast through, and those that did simply nodded, or raised a drink.

They moved south-east, towards a large group of people bunched together away from the tents and surrounded by armed guards. Barakah talked to a tall man shrouded by darkness. Their conversation died as soon as Abdal appeared.

"My General," Barakah began "these people have come from the desert." Abdal looked over the dark figures. There were many camels with large full packs. He couldn't count how many people were there, and couldn't be bothered to anyway. The tall man walked over, and smiled beneath his hawk-shaped nose.

"My name is Amro, leader of the Jurhom." Abdal nodded.

"I once came to you, many years ago and asked for your help. You refused, and sent me on my way. Why should I help you now?"

"Because the Great Desert is dying, and I was foolish to believe that it would not. The Jurhom are a proud people, Abdal, and this is not an easy thing we ask." The Jurhom were here, was Atiya down amongst them too? He glanced behind Amro and cast his eyes over the visible quarter.

"Abdal," a voice cried. It was feminine, and cheerful. Two figures emerged from the throng, the tall one dressed in black, her face hidden, a child clasping her hand. Then a third figure emerged, broad shouldered and armed with a wide scimitar sheathed at his side.

The woman and the child stopped before Abdal. The woman removed her black scarf. It was Atiya, daughter of Amro. He couldn't see much difference in her appearance from the last time he'd seen her riding away from Eagle City Palace. Her black hair was just as long, her eyes big and beautiful, and full of hope and interest.

"It has been too long," she said. She moved to hug him, but Abdal held out his arm, and stopped her. Atiya smiled, hiding her pain, then quickly turned to her child. "I'd like you to meet someone," she said. The child stepped forward, and looked up at the scary general. "This is my son, Asad."

"He is my child also," grumbled the third figure, as he stopped by his wife and son. He had a long moustache which curled like a grin. It was Hasdru. The years had not been so kind to him. He bore a vicious vertical scar over one eye, the socket damaged and white. Abdal briefly looked at the child. He had short cropped black hair and fat cheeks. Then he looked at Amro.

"You may stay if you wish. I am sure there are many tents that are no longer occupied. Barakah, gather some men and take down the tents. Pitch them in the west and let the nomads rest." Barakah nodded. Abdal bowed his head, and stalked away.

"You're not going to talk to her?" Amal whispered, as they departed.

"No," said Abdal. Amal nodded, cast a sad glance back to the distant figures, then followed Abdal back through the tents.

Atiya stalked through the tents, pushing her lithe body silently across the grass. Most of the noise and bustle of the night had vanished as men eventually gave way to sleep. The burning embers of fires still remained, some sending plumes of grey smoke into the heavens.

Abdal's large tent was close, his banner, clouded in darkness, but visible above the soldiers white canvas tents. She had never seen so many men before in her life. This was an army, a dangerous machine bred for one purpose, killing.

Had all this fighting and death turned Abdal into a remorseless killer? She hoped not, but he'd been nothing but cold towards Atiya and her son. It was not the Prince she remembered leaving that night seven years past.

She stopped, and crouched as she heard hushed voices, and stomping feet. Two guards walked past, their shadows cast onto the white canvas tent to Atiya's right. She poked her head up as they passed, and watched the cloaked armoured figures disappear behind a tent. She stood, and quickly rushed across the thin path. Her foot caught on a guide rope and she almost fell, regaining her balance only by holding onto a wooden post pushed into the ground. The tent she almost pulled down shivered, but no-one stirred and woke.

Atiya continued on her way, carefully, and stopped near Abdal's tent. There were guards posted on the door, tall men broad of shoulder carrying large rectangular shields with eagle-shaped boss'.

Abdal emerged, ducking through the tent doors dressed in a black robe, a similar coloured cloak trailing behind. His face was covered by a scarf. The guards remained silent and immobile as Abdal left the tent, a blade dangling at his side. Atiya followed him north, keeping a short distance behind, hiding her footfalls with Abdal's steps, and using the tents for cover.

After a five minute hike, Abdal stopped at a small circular tent with armed guards posted at the entrance. Once again, they offered no greeting as Abdal pushed his way inside.

She watched, intrigued, wondering what Abdal was doing. There was a flutter of canvas, but no-one emerged from the entrance. Atiya caught their shadows from the side of the tent. Abdal moved quickly away, a man in his grasp with a blanket wrapped around the hands.

Abdal and the other man moved north, then stopped and crouched to avoid a patrol. Why was Abdal hiding from his own men? thought Atiya. Surely they'd let him pass? Once the two man patrol vanished, Abdal stood and headed north, towards the mountains, away from the comfort of the camp.

Seven - The Road to Mahabbah

The sun shone with relentless fury. Abdal could feel sweat trickle down his temples and forehead as he took in the scene. To the left sat the mountains of Tambukta, the rocky slopes hiding the country's jungle, while on the right was an ocean of grass. The rope in his hands grew taught. Marid struggled to breath as the rope, connected to a metal ring around his neck, drew tight.

"I need water," said Marid. "Before I collapse and die and be no use to you whatsoever."

"I thought you were made of sterner stuff." Abdal pulled on the rope and forced Marid to move.

"Very well, slave-driver," said Marid. "You have noticed however, that someone is following us?" Abdal nodded.

"He's harmless," said Abdal. "Just a boy."

"Can you remember when you were just a boy, and sitting in my office?"

"Fortunately it's a lost memory."

"You poked yourself with one of my instruments, right above your left eye. I believe it was a compass."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you might like to talk about the good old days, before we were enemies." Abdal shook his head, and carried on walking, forcing Marid to keep in step. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you? Much prefer using a knife - slow down man, I can barely walk as it is."

"Be quiet, the soothsayer healed your wound. Bear with it." Marid stared at his leg.

"The bandages are slipping."

"Silence," said Abdal, losing his patience with the man. He placed his freehand into his robe, and withdrew a small scroll. He unravelled it one-handed, and held it out between both hands. The river was close ahead, shimmering with sunlight. It was on the map the scouts had recently charted, and was a decent place to rest.

"There is a river close, we will stop there. Perhaps I'll even drown you in it?" said Abdal.

"A fascinating threat," replied Marid. "Though you'll permit me a smile. You need me."

"Unfortunately, but keep in mind I would not hesitate to kill you if the need arise."

They reached the river in silence. It was a small stream that moved with a whisper past the pebbled banks. There were many palm trees around the water, and other vegetation, casting shadow across the grass and river.

"It'll do when you don't have a fan-servant," muttered Marid. Abdal lowered his pack to the grass, tied Marid to the tree, and stretched. Marid sat cross-legged, and stared into the flowing water. It was silent, the quiet calm and inviting. Abdal then crouched and opened the bag. He brought out some salted meat and placed it on the ground. Abdal removed a small skinning knife, black and plain, and sawed into the flesh. The first clump fell away. He tossed it towards Marid.

"Eat," said Abdal.

"I said I was thirsty, not hungry."

"Dip your head in the river then, but eat, or I'll force it down your throat." Marid nodded, then dipped his head into the river.

Abdal cut a small piece for himself, and ate it happily. It was hard to chew, and tasted awful, but Abdal had had worst. He stood up, and motioned the mounted figure towards him.

"I ought to strangle you, Zalim," said Abdal. "Why have you followed me?"

Zalim, shading his face from the sun with a hand, smiled, as he bobbed with the camel's movement.

"You left without packing enough food." Zalim patted a large pack on the camel. "So I thought I'd bring you some, My General."

"He's a smart boy," said Marid, talking with a mouthful. The camel stared dumbly at Marid, then spat a goblet of phlegm onto the grass.

"You have come too far now to go back," said Abdal. "Make yourself useful, and watch Marid while I study this map."

Zalim nodded, and slid off the camel. The boy led it towards the water, and tied its reins to the trunk.

Abdal watched the boy remove a short re-curved crossbow from a striped blanket in a bag, and insert a solid silver bolt into the groove. He sat cross-legged on the grass, and pointed the crossbow at Marid's chest.

"Watch him, Zalim. Shoot if he moves. I am going to scan the path ahead, and see if I can find a crossing."

Zalim nodded, a stern look across his face.

"He'll do it," said Abdal, as he left. The smile on Marid's face vanished.

Abdal moved away, and stopped a few yards upstream. Atiya stood there, dressed in black. She had a furious look on her face, and stared Abdal directly in the eyes.

"What are you doing here?" said Abdal.

"I was going to ask you the same thing?" said Atiya.

"Why do you care where I am going? It's my business, not yours. Go back to your husband and child with the rest of the army."

Atiya placed her hands on her waist and laughed loudly.

"You of all people should know how stubborn I can be."

Abdal shook his head, and made a waving motion with his hand.

"Mahabbah, that's where I'm going. Follow me if you like, but don't get in my way." Abdal turned and paced back towards Zalim and Marid, the end of his black scarf fluttering as he moved.

Eight - 'Everyone Can't Go'

"What?" Barakah said, his eyebrow raised. Mahmuud passed him a piece of paper.

"He's buggered off," said Mahmuud. "Hamid knows where. Marid is with him." Barakah studied the handwriting, and shook his head. Wan light filtered in through the tent door.

"He's given me command and wants us to move the army west," said Barakah, reading from the sheet of paper. "Abdal does not know when he will be back."

"What's he up too? Doesn't he know he's an army to run, he can't just wander off when he feels like it," said Awad. A murmur of agreement met his words. Mahmuud rubbed his black hair, snatched the letter out of Barakah's hand, and slammed it onto the table between them with a thud.

"I know what Abdal's doing. He's after his sons." Barakah nodded his head.

"I was there, Marid knows their location. This does not bode well," said Barakah. "Bring the soothsayer, maybe she can tell us what we need to know?" Awad nodded. The officers parted to let him through, and watched him depart.

It wasn't long before Awad returned, soothsayer in tow, dragging her along by the scruff of her neck. She protested with inaudible mumbles as Awad presented her. The gathered officers turned and studied her with disgust, and fear. It was not everyday they met someone who could tell their future, perhaps how they were to die.

"You are a soothsayer, so I presume you already know what I will ask." The old lady brushed her silver hair, and smiled, revealing her decaying stained teeth.

"Yes. Abdal Rahiim has taken Marid north. They travel to Mahabbah. The snake is very dangerous, and will bite if not properly watched," she said, her winkled eyelids closed.

"Then we must follow," said Mahmuud. "I will go. I have watched him for most of my life, and I see no reason in stopping now." Mahmuud turned to leave, a silent Amal following in his shadow. Tamir and Awad stepped in line too, adjusting the swords on their belts.

"Everyone can't go," said Barakah. "I wish you gentlemen good luck, but someone needs to keep this army together. Tell Abdal I would have liked to aid him in his task, but unfortunately, there are bigger things at stake than his sons." Mahmuud nodded, and pushed through the door.

Amro stood outside, his hands on his waist, dressed in splendid satin clothes that glimmered like water in the sunshine. Hasdru stood next to him, playing with his curled moustache.

"What do you want?" said Mahmuud. "We have important business."

"My daughter and nephew are missing," said Amro. "Perhaps you know where they are?" Mahmuud shook his head.

"Isn't that the second time you've lost her? I don't know where they are, now if you'll excuse us we have work to do," said Mahmuud.

"Where is Abdal?" said Hasdru. He stepped forward into Mahmuud's path. The two large warriors stared at one another. "He's not there either, is he?"

"No, he's not."

"Well, isn't that a coincidence?" said Hasdru.

"Ha, perhaps she's thought better, and taken her child away from such a bad father. Maybe you'll find her in one of the soldiers tents." Hasdru punched Mahmuud square in the face. Mahmuud reeled back, but stayed on his feet. He stroked his chin where the blow had struck, and smiled. Awad and Tamir drew their swords.

"No," said Mahmuud. "There's no need for that." He drew his shirt-sleeves back. "You've had this coming for years, you silly bastard," said Mahmuud. He stepped forward, and slammed Hasdru in the stomach with a fist. He dropped the man with a second punch to the side of the head a heartbeat later. Hasdru coughed, dazed, and tried to stand. Mahmuud went to hit him again, but Amro stepped into the path, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Amro. "Hasdru can help you find Abdal better than a guess, if Atiya has travelled with him." Amro grabbed Hasdru's forearm, and helped the man to his feet. Hasdru brushed himself down and wiggled his bottom jaw.

"How so?"

"With this," said Hasdru. He held out his amulet. The gold pendant glowed white, and something emerged out of the solid surface, amidst the bright light, pushing its way free like a new born baby.

"Hamid's balls," Mahmuud whispered. "What the devil is that?"

"I'm a Gjinn," said Gunbai. Mahmuud nodded his head, bewildered. "I can find whatever you're after."

"A bold statement, creature," said Mahmuud.

"You're a creature to me as I'm to you," said Gunbai. He spread his dagger-sharp wings and soared upwards into the blue sky. He pointed north with a finger. "Your heart's desire is that way," said Gunbai.

"Right then, pack your things, we leave in ten minutes," said Mahmuud. He stomped off towards his own tent, watching the Gjinn hover in the sky.

Nine - The Waterfall Child

They had walked across the fields the rest of the afternoon, keeping the rocky Tambuktan mountain slopes close to the left. The clouds above them began to block out the sun, drifting across the golden globe like a giant hand. There was an uncomfortable silence, Abdal did not want Atiya around and didn't cast her a glance for much of the journey. He did not want her to see him like this, scarred, a shadow of the man he once was. War had changed him, he knew that. He kept his scarf drawn tightly around his face so all that was visible were his eyes.

"We will move from the plains, and head west, into Tambukta for the night," he said. He did not want to stay out in the open grass fields.

"What is this tension?" muttered Marid. "I didn't feel this when the woman wasn't here. Quite frankly it makes for bad company."

"You're bad company," said Abdal, as he tugged Marid along.

"I know, that's what my father always said," replied Marid. "Before he beat me." Abdal pulled harder, and the man fell to the grass.

"Get up," Abdal demanded. Marid tried to stand, but tripped again. Abdal gripped the rope with both hands, and pulled Marid across the grass. Marid coughed and spluttered as he held the ring about his neck.

"Abdal," Atiya whispered. "Stop, that's not going to help." Abdal turned to her and held out the rope.

"If you think you can do better, whore, you hold him."

"A whore am I?" said Atiya. She snatched the rope, and grabbed Marid by the elbow, gently hoisting the sorcerer to his feet. Zalim watched from the saddle of the camel, his crossbow resting against his folded arms.

"Thank you, madam," said Marid. "I don't suppose you could brush my clothes? They're a bit grubby and I don't want to be seen by any wild animals in such a state, I've a reputation to uphold."

They carried on until Abdal called a stop beneath the shadow of a mountain. The jagged peaks were visible, and almost blocked the falling sun. Small bugs flew in large dense formations around several mountain plants, their black forms creating cloud like shapes that drifted from place to place like smoke from a fire.

"These peaks are part of the Imbad Spine. There is a lake, and a waterfall beyond these mountains. It has been many years since I last visited them. We shall rest there," said Abdal.
"How long will it take to get there?" said Atiya.

"The stars will be above our heads before we stop, there is a little while yet."

Lake Nalah sat nestled in a valley beneath a wide canopy of tall jungle trees. The water shimmered silver under the twin moons light, while the waterfall, cascading from a small mountain peak, rushed with a constant thrum and splash. The banks were overgrown with long grass that rose to their waists, and tickled Abdal's arms as he moved.

"It's beautiful," Atiya whispered. Abdal recalled how she would say that about everything. A parrot would fly past and she'd stop to admire it. Women, Abdal thought, a breed apart and made no sense.

They pushed through the long grass until they reached the edge of the lake. Abdal scanned the dark waters shielded by the trees above. Nothing stirred. He could hear the others trampling the grass behind. Zalim slid from the camel's saddle, and began to crush large clumps back with his bare-feet, until he'd flattened an adequate amount for them to lay blankets on and camp.

"Light a fire," said Abdal. Zalim nodded, and moved over to the camel, dragging it closer to the flattened grass. He removed a small leather bag and poured kindling onto the ground. "Do not lose him," said Abdal, nodding towards Marid. Atiya nodded, but looked sleepy.

Abdal began to move away. His body itched madly, but he could not scratch here, in front of Atiya and Marid. The lake would diffuse the uncomfortable sensation, the prickling, and the pain.

"Where are you going?" Atiya asked.

"For a midnight swim." Abdal skirted the lake until he reached the waterfall. It poured down the spray-weathered mountain wall, and tumbled into the silver water like a spilt giant wine glass.

Abdal reached his hand into the fall, and felt it pound and wash over his arm. He removed his clothes and cast his eyes towards an orange light that rose from their camp. Abdal dived into the water and felt immediate relief. His body no longer itched. The warm water soothed his wounds. Abdal emerged from the bottom, breaking the surface where the fall hit the water, and ran his hands through his hair as the unrelenting liquid struck him. He swam under it briefly, then returned to the bank, treading water.

There was a plop and a ripple in the water; dust and rubble tumbled from the fall slope above. There was a small figure crouched and holding onto the rock with small fingers.

"Hello," said the figure. Abdal pushed himself away from the bank, and cut through the water towards the speaker. He was young, and dressed in dark coloured clothes.

"Who are you?" asked Abdal.

"Why are you covered in scars?"

"If your mother ever told you not to play with fire, I'd take her word for it."

"My mother has told me much about you," said the boy.

"Has she now?"

"But she did not say you were so ugly. Is that why you always wear a scarf?" Abdal chuckled.

"You're a brave boy. I could be a monster and take insult, yet you stay and talk."

"My mother told me you were the bravest, kindest man she had ever met."

"Your mother tells you much about me, yet I do not know her name."

"Yes you do," said the boy. "She is sitting over by the fire."

"Atiya is your mother?" The boy nodded. "She will not be pleased you are here, why did you come?"

"To see you," said the boy. Asad stood, beamed a smile, then turned and ran away.

"Wait," Abdal called, as he cut through the water. He pulled himself up the bank and looked for Asad, but the boy had gone.

Ten - Parting

"He was here, I swear it," said Abdal. He pointed towards the waterfall. "Up there." Marid chuckled, rocking from side-to-side as he sat cross-legged on the folded grass.

"What's so funny?" Zalim demanded. He prodded the sorcerer with a smouldering stick from the fire, a serious look on his face. "Do not mock The General."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, dear boy," said Marid.

"Are you sure?" said Atiya.

"Are you calling me a liar?" said Abdal, raising his voice. Atiya shook her head.

"Asad," she cried. "Come out my son." The only sound in reply was the waterfall and the cackle of the fire. The flames licked the wood, and cast a cosy orange light over the gathered group. "Asad," she called again.

There was a trampling sound, rustling, coming closer and closer. Abdal drew his blade, Atiya her knife while Zalim reached for his crossbow that lay at his side. They watched as long lengths of grass were crushed underfoot by something they couldn't see, heading directly for them.

"Asad?" Atiya called again, her cry echoing off the close mountain walls. The small form of Asad squeezed through the tall grass, his eyes closed. Atiya rushed forward and embraced her son, lifting him up and into her bosom. She rested her chin on his mop of hair.

"Why did you come, silly boy?" she said, brushing his hair around one ear. "You were safe with the army. Your father will be very mad." She lowered him carefully to the ground.

"I followed you," said Asad.

"I wonder where he inherited that attribute from?" said Abdal, as he paced towards the fire. He sat down and spread his hands towards the flickering flames.

"I will have to take him back," said Atiya, ruffling the boy's hair with both her hands. Asad slipped out of his mother's grasp, and walked cautiously towards Abdal. "Are you hungry, my son?" Asad nodded his head and sat on the grass. The boy couldn't take his eyes off Abdal. There was a pop, and embers flew from the fire, landing gently on the grass like orange snow.

Zalim stood up, a small bag in one hand, crossbow in the other. He sat besides Asad and dipped his hand in the bag. A moment later he removed a Pu'tang, which Asad happily accepted. The boy threw it gently into the air, and caught it again.

"We have a juggler on our hands," said Marid. "But can he do that with two?"

"Be quiet, or I'll cut out that tongue," said Abdal. Marid shrugged, and fell silent. Zalim and Asad tucked into their food, tearing open the green Pu'tangs thick skin, and digging their teeth into the juicy red insides with relish. In the distance, near the waterfall, Abdal noticed something shimmer like a cloud as it flew towards the trees.

They woke as dawn broke, its wan light filtering down in thin and wide beams onto the camp. The jungle was alive with noise; the splash of the waterfall, a thousand different birds tweeting at the start of a new day, growls and other strange calls that echoed off the mountain walls, and in the depths of the jungle.

As Abdal stretched in the morning sun, peering at his reflection in the water, he noticed Atiya move to his side. She looked tired, and in the daylight could see how the seven years had worn her face. There were winkles around the eyes and corners of the mouth. She smiled, that flash that was so inviting and friendly that had warmed his heart all those years ago.

"Why did you leave?" said Abdal.

"I am the daughter of the Jurhom. It was not my place to stay." Abdal nodded.

"Aren't we the lovely couple." Abdal turned around. Marid stood behind them, a large grin on his bearded face. He held out his bound hands and pointed to Zalim. "I don't suppose you could call your pet off, he's been prodding me with sticks and aiming that rather shoddy crossbow in my direction all night and morning. I'm afraid it might go off by accident." Abdal grunted a laugh.

"If it goes off it won't be by accident," said Zalim. Abdal took the rope out of Zalim's hand and tugged Marid close.

"Don't give him an excuse to use it." Then he noticed Asad. The boy looked curious and scared. There was disappointment in his eyes mirrored by Atiya. Abdal turned away from the grinning sorcerer.

"Abdal, we're going now," said Atiya. She tried to gauge Abdal's expression through the black scarf he wore like a mask. Abdal nodded.

"The Mu'ayyad are at their peak at this time of the day, watch the skies as well as the ground."

"We will," she said, taking her son's hand in hers. She smiled, tension in the air. Abdal nodded, and turned, tugging the sorcerer behind him as Abdal edged around the lake, back towards the mountains and the grass plains. Atiya and Asad, hand-in-hand, their reflection shimmering in the water by their feet, watched him go. Zalim, mounted on the camel, turned and cast them a wave and a smile. Asad waved back, but he did not smile. Mother and child looked at each other with melancholy expressions, and walked away.

Eleven - An Old Acquaintance

The advancing soldiers wore black turbans, red shirts and pantaloons. They seemed to be stifled by the heat, carrying their wicker shields and swords as they manoeuvred along the narrow confines of the mountain pass.

Abdal had not expected to see men here, so far from any obvious objective. Perhaps they were travelling to Lake Nalah after a hard day's trek? What were they doing here? Was it an advance scouting party for a much larger force moving towards his army Abdal had abandoned? He hoped not.

Abdal held Marid backwards against his chest, covering the man's mouth with one hand as they watched from the cover of the bushy slope trees. Marid squirmed in Abdal's grasp, his efforts at shouting turned to muffled mumbles.

"Silence, sorcerer," said Abdal, whispering into Marid's ear. "Or I'll drive my sword through your back." Marid calmed. Abdal needed to think. This was the only route to Nalah, and the one they had used yesterday. They could risk staying hidden, but the camel was fidgeting, moving back and forth, brushing its furred form against the bark of the trees.

"Stop it," said Zalim in a whisper. If he said it louder the enemy would hear. "Trust you to get an itch now." The camel stared dumbly at him, and spat a goblet of phlegm onto the gnarled tree trunk by Zalim's head. Abdal held his breath. The soldiers stopped. One pointed his sword west.

Abdal turned to face that direction. His heart beat like mad, and a sense of nausea filled his stomach. More troops marched that way, similarly clothed, tugging along a hooded figure. The figure tripped and fell, and a large soldier with broad shoulders and thick stump-like legs kicked the prisoner in the ribs. A series of rough laughing filled the pass, echoing from the walls like the laughter of a pack of wild dogs. It made Abdal's soul boil with rage.

They hoisted the man to his feet, and the figure's hood fell back to reveal his face. He was old, with startling white eyes and hair, with a greying beard that fell to his stomach. He was instantly recognisable as the man Kadar Abdal had met many years past.

"Move yourself, old man, or Jaffar will not get to see you," said the bully guard.

"I'm sure he'll be furious about that," said Kadar, his high-pitched voice bringing more laughter from the guards. Kadar smiled, and cast his white eyes towards Abdal's hiding spot. A shiver ran the length of his spine as their eyes met. There was a rustle behind, and for a moment Abdal thought it was the camel.

"Keep that animal quiet," said Abdal.

"Stand up, drop your weapon." Abdal turned around. There were several black-clothed men pointing black swords towards him. They'd moved in silence, like trained assassins. Abdal had not heard them coming. Zalim was already in the arms of one, a knife held at his throat, the boy's un-fired crossbow at his feet. Abdal went to draw his sword, but the man holding Zalim pressed his blade closer into the boy's skin, and drew a bead of blood.

"Okay, just let the boy go." The man took the blade from Zalim's throat. Abdal stood slowly, the rustle of the leaves clear in the air. He let go of Marid.

"How unfortunate, Abdal," said Marid, as he moved away. The black-clothed guards pointed their weapons towards the sorcerer. "I am Marid, Sultan of Tambukta and General of Jaffar's armies to the west. I have the Crest of Jaffar tattooed on my right pectoral as proof." One man moved forward and drew Marid's shirt up. Jaffar's crest, four coiled snakes shaped like a cross, was right where Marid said it was, and glowed red with magic power. The man stepped back and bowed his head.

"Usurper," growled Abdal. Someone stepped forward from the side and struck him hard in the face. Abdal's world spun as he collapsed to the ground. A boot flew in and knocked Abdal unconscious.

The constant rocking motion forced him awake. Abdal opened his eyes and stirred, moving his arms in a tired, thoughtless fashion. He grumbled and placed his hand to his head.

"Rest easy, young man." There was a high-pitched voice, but the figure hovering above his head was blurred. He felt something pat his shoulder, and he tried to brush it away.

"My General," another voice piped in. The rocky motion made Abdal feel sick, and he turned on his side, violently coughing like a sick man dying from the plague. Through blurred watery eyes, Abdal slowly used one arm to lean up.

"Here," said Kadar. He held out a dark-skinned water bag, which Abdal accepted. Abdal nodded and went to remove his mask. Kadar held out the black scarf.

"It's already off, Abdal. I must say, you are a very unfortunate man, aren't you?" said Kadar.

"More fortunate than the many thousands deceased from this war," Abdal replied. He removed the stopper with a pop, and raised the bag to his lips. The water was cool and refreshing, and he gulped it down without regard for conservation.

"This boy does you credit, young man," said Kadar, gesturing towards a smiling Zalim. The boy had a black-eye, and a bloodied lower lip. "He did not cry once when they beat him." Zalim nodded, pride etched across his face. Abdal nodded.

"He's a strong boy. A bit thick headed, but loyal," said Abdal.

"He'd have to be to follow you," replied Kadar, a thin smile spread across his face.

"Where are we headed?" said Abdal, as he looked about him. They sat in a rickety caged-cart, drawn forward over a roughly made stone road along the grassy plains. Piles of thin patchy straw lay as a mat on the floor, and itched like his own burns. The mountains of Tambukta still lay to the left, and seemed to bob with the motion of the cart. The camel had been tied to one of the wooden rungs of the cage, and kept up with the slow pace, head up, ears pricked like an alert wild cat at the back of the cart.

"Mahabbah. I believe they have a few things they want to do to us there before taking us to Jaffar," said Kadar.

"What of Marid?"

"The sorcerer is at the head of the line," said Zalim. The boy pointed towards the man, and spat onto the straw floor. Abdal nodded.

"What brings you to this unfortunate circumstance?" asked Abdal. Kadar stroked his beard, the jewelled bands Abdal remembered no longer on his fingertips.

"The bastards caught me napping. I went for a stroll, something I don't usually do. I thought I'd go and see Lake Nalah. I named it you know, after my first wife." Abdal remained silent, it was clear Kadar was not right in the head. Lake Nalah was thousands of years old, too old for Kadar to have named. "By the time I got there I was exhausted, breathing like a youth about to make love for the first time. I lay my head on the grass and drifted off, only to be rudely awaken by a spear point to the chest. Grumpy thieves the lot of them," said Kadar. He held up his ring-less hands. "They took all my jewellery. I loved those rings. They were special, worth more than gold." The old man began to laugh. "But they didn't take the most precious one, oh no. They couldn't." Abdal and Zalim exchanged an uneasy glance as the cart bobbed along the road.

Twelve - The Cat and the Ferod

Atiya covered her eyes from the burning sun, and studied the horizon. Asad ran about her feet, kicking at the long grass for fun. He stomped along as he pictured himself a giant, and roared like a beast as he crushed grass underfoot. Atiya grabbed his hand but he shook free, and began to burst away, laughing madly.

"You'll never catch me," shouted the boy. Atiya shook her head and smiled. Asad was always happy despite the war, and despite the Jurhom losing friends and home, but she'd never seen the boy so energetic and joyful as now. The jungle seemed to have revived him. It was good to see as her other thoughts were dark.

Abdal was miserable, she could tell that now. He'd lost everything and had carried hatred in his bosom for seven years. She wanted to break his icy exterior, to remind him of the man Abdal once was. Was it possible? Would he still be interested in her? She had harboured a hidden love for seven years too, made sane by Asad's introduction. It was not as though life with Hasdru was bad. He cared and loved her as honestly as he could despite knowing she did not love him the same.

Asad bounded up a tree-covered dark hill, his laughter loud in the air, disturbing small birds which fluttered into the skies as the noisy child approached. He watched the birds fly, spreading their green and red wings, and listened to them squawk. Then Asad stopped, the smile on his face vanishing as a large black cat stalked forward between the plants. It growled, and stared at the boy with green unmoving eyes. Asad held up his fist, his heart pounding like mad, but did not run as the creature paced slowly forward, pushing its lithe muscled form through the undergrowth of jade.

Atiya noticed the cat but could do nothing, she was too far away. If she had her bow she could have killed it, but in her rush she had left the weapon at camp. Atiya raced forward, the person she valued more than anything else in her life in danger. Her heart beat like she'd ran through the whole of the desert.

"Asad," she cried. "Run!" Asad did not turn to look at his mother. The cat's form was too large and intimidating for the child to move. He'd frozen. Asad could hear his mother rushing through the foliage, and her desperate voice urging him to run, but he could not oblige and ease her worries. The cat growled again, its open maw revealing sharp sets of teeth capable of rending Asad's flesh as easily as a melon.

It readied its body to spring assuming a crouch, then shot forward. Atiya screamed while Asad closed his eyes. There was a growl, and a purr but the cat did not reach Asad. He opened his eyes and saw what had saved him. A blue floating water-like cloud held the black cat in its body. The beast squirmed as the cloud held it, thrashing its paws to no avail.

Atiya's eyes opened wide. It was a Ferod, exactly how she remembered it in her dreams. The Ferod cast the cat into a tree, swinging it at the trunk with force and speed. The animal yelped as it struck the tree, and ran off into the darkness of the jungle. Asad stared at the Ferod, still unable to move, eyes wide with awe and fear. He felt his mother lift him up, and hold him tightly to her chest.

"The jungle is a dangerous place, never run far from me again."

"Is that a Ferod?" the boy asked, remembering the tales his mother and father had told of the magical creature that fired his imagination. Atiya nodded her head.

The Ferod seemed to study them for an instant, and darted into the trees.

"It's okay, we won't hurt you," said Atiya. It poked part of its shimmering body out from behind a trunk. Atiya lowered her son to the grass and took his hand in hers.

"Thank you," she said to the Ferod. "Thank you for saving my son." The Ferod drifted out from cover, and approached the pair slowly. It stopped before them, and lowered its form to the ground. An arm extended from its body, and waved. Atiya and Asad chuckled, and waved back.

"Jawhar?" Atiya whispered. "Is that you?" A head like shape extended from the centre, and Jawhar nodded.

"It's very good to see you." Atiya pushed her son forward. "I'd like you to meet someone. This is my boy, Asad." Asad smiled, and reached out a grubby hand to touch the Ferod's body. Jawhar let the boy stroke him, and reformed into a large ball. Asad felt the soft fleshy substance, and stared at the little bubbles floating inside the Ferod's body.

Gunbai whizzed above their heads, a trail of white dust left in his wake, floating down like snowflakes. The dust fell over Mahmuud's form, making his revealed shoulders and face tingle and itch. They'd been travelling for days, with only Hasdru's pet as a guide, stopping only to eat.

The creature was leading them through the jungle now. They no longer traversed the lush grass plains, instead opting for irregular landscape which murdered the muscles as surely as a sword.

Amal was the worst for wears. He was sweating like a pig, and far back now, helmet strapped to his belt, and wiping his brow with a black cloth. Only Tamir remained close to Amal, keeping an eye on the old warrior. Amal was slowing them down. I should have refused him along, thought Mahmuud. If this trek killed Amal through exertion, he'd never forgive himself.

"We are close," said Hasdru, as he stopped besides Mahmuud and stared at the line straggling up the slope.

"How do you know?" Hasdru pointed to Gunbai.

"You see the blue colour of the tail?"

"Yes."

"It is usually white, and changes blue when the target is close." Mahmuud nodded. The closer they were the better. Amal could sit and rest and remove the guilt from Mahmuud's mind. Why couldn't he tell his friend he didn't believe he was up to it? It was harsh, but the bugger clearly wasn't.

"Your friend should not have come," said Hasdru, as he watched Amal's struggles. "Someone should at least remove some of his burden." Mahmuud nodded.

"He's stubborn," replied Mahmuud. "But I agree. It's sad to see. He was the finest fighter I ever laid eyes on, and I've seen a few heroes in my time." Hasdru nodded.

"I recall his swiftness. Age is the ruin of us all."

"It brings wisdom, my father always said. Something not to be feared. I am a man of war. It has been my life. When my body is too weak to fight, I will be afraid." Hasdru looked at the aging warrior. Mahmuud looked leaner than before, less fat and more muscle. His black hair was greying, his beard white as snow.

"We people of the Jurhom have a saying. When the camel grows old, the Vijai ride him." Mahmuud nodded.

"Nothing good will come from an old man who still wants to dance," replied Mahmuud. "Come, let us continue. If we are close we should not stop." Hasdru nodded agreement, and the party continued up the slope, one foot at a time, under the constant strain of the sun.

Thirteen - Nejaz and the Giant Red Bird

The cart wheels creaked across the shoddily made path with a constant rhythm. The plains that surrounded them were covered with rock and patchy grass, leading towards mountains to the north that were shrouded in mist. The sun toiled, and white clouds swam across the sky.

Kadar talked in his sleep; speech that was indecipherable. The old wizard had his hood up, shadowing his face, and kept sucking at his lips before blowing them out.

"He's a few arrows short of a full quiver," said Zalim, as the boy slid towards Abdal, across the straw. Abdal nodded, and stared at the armed guards flanking the caged cart. They looked weary. Many wiped sweat from their foreheads, while others stared back with blank expressions. The black-clothed men who'd captured them were up front, with Marid.

"Where are we?" asked Zalim.

"Nejaz."

"I've not heard of it before."

Abdal smiled sadly. Nejaz was a painful memory, where his older and only brother died. They were close to the field now, where the patchy grass rose by a series of small hills. It was on those hills his brother's army had made their last stand, and perished under a raging hot sun. He guessed there would still be evidence of the battle if he was allowed the freedom to explore it. Broken arrow-heads buried in the earth, swords, shields and bones.

The cart slowed as they neared the forested slopes of the mountains. Arched trees formed a dome above the wide pass, casting the road ahead into shadow. There was a small outpost with a wooden wall that stretched across the pass. A tall tower with a slanting reed roof stood tall, poking out from the tree canopy high into the sky.

The gates creaked open as the travelers approached. The cart wheeled forward, the motion throwing Abdal backwards as it moved again. The outpost was small; there was the tall tower accessed by a wooden plank ramp that circled the structure, a small barracks with a reed roof that looked the worse for wears; Abdal guessed there was no more than fifty men stationed here, and another squat building with a closed door. A small stables with fine black mounts stood to the left of this building.

A burley officer slammed his left breast with a fist and raised it in the air as Marid passed. The man was tall, and broad of shoulder, dressed in white satin clothes with a long cloak that stroked the dusty ground. The sorcerer did not return the salute. Marid held his hand out and the line of men stopped.

"Bring us food and water, Captain," demanded Marid. "My throat is parched." The bearded professional soldier nodded, and clapped his hands. Two adjutants quickly rushed off towards the building connected to the stables, and pushed through the door.

"What news of the battle?" asked the Captain. He spoke with a strong confident voice, in a manner fitting of nobility. "I heard Marid was routed from the field, and captured." Marid chuckled.

"Quite," he said. "In that cage we have captured the mighty General of the Alliance." The Captain's eyes widened. He stared towards the cart.

"That is the great Abdal Rahiim?" Marid nodded.

"Yes."

"Then the resistance is over? The Alliance crushed?" Marid shook his head.

"No, they're still about, Captain, but it won't be long now."

"Where do you take him?"

"Mahabbah, where he will be publicly executed no doubt." The captain nodded.

The adjutants returned, with other men bearing wide bags and buckets slopping with water. They dropped the buckets onto the ground, spilling some of the liquid, then offered plain iron cups to the officers and men. Marid accepted a cup and drank it quickly. Once finished he chucked it onto the ground, and wiped his mouth with his hand.

"We shall rest here. If you could bring me a chair and table," said Marid, as he spun on his toes. He looked about the courtyard, rubbing his chin. "Ahh, there," he pointed. "I want it set up there." The captain saluted and stomped off.

The sun had all but disappeared within the arched sanctuary of the forest outpost. Beams of light shot through areas of the foliage, and struck the lining thickets and walls with its golden light. Guards patrolled the log walls, lazily taking in the view of the rolling plains outside.

"I need to stretch my legs," said Abdal. He gripped the iron bars of the cage, and stared fiercely at the relaxed figure of his former prisoner. Marid didn't pay any notice, and continued to eat the selection of fruits laid out on the table. He raised his feet and placed them on the stool, and smiled.

"Bastard sorcerer. I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"I completely agree," said Marid. "But then you were never the brightest candle in the hall. You stab me in the leg instead of the heart." Abdal shook the cage as he wrestled with the bars like a wild animal. They wouldn't budge. Marid stood, and stretched his legs. He walked towards the cage, sweeping back his newly acquired cloak. He stopped out of arms reach of the disposed Sultan, and looked Abdal up and down.

"I hear you are married," he said. "To the Caliph's Ala' al Din's daughter no less."

"That is not your concern."

"She must be very lonely, with you off fighting your war. Tell me, has she ran to other men like Amber did?" Abdal strained against the bars. "And that she cannot bear children. Barren as the Great Desert once was, I hear." Abdal felt a hand on his elbow. It was Kadar.

"Don't let him get to you," the old man whispered into Abdal's ear. Marid considered the man a moment.

"What does Jaffar want with you?"

"Nothing he would bother confide in you, lackey," said Kadar.

"True, I am a lackey, but at least I'll be on the winning side. If Jaffar has need of you, he will most likely kill you once that need is gone."

"The same for you, black-magician." Marid narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as though straining to hear a quiet sound.

"Perhaps, but I think he has need of me more than he has need of you."

"You'd be surprised," said Kadar. He then crawled back, away from the bars, and lifted his hood to cover his face.

There was a giant screech in the air which filled the outpost warriors with dread. Abdal could not see beyond the ceiling of the cage, but stared outwards, towards the canopy. Screams began to cry out along the wall as men pointed to the sky. The leaves of the trees began to rustle with wind, playing sweet gentle music.

"What is that?" demanded Marid, as he called towards the captain rushing towards him.

"Something wicked flies in the heavens," said the guard, superstitious fear clear on the tone of his voice.

"Well shoot it down man," said Marid. There was a rustle. Beams of light that once filtered through the canopy disappeared. The great flapping of giant wings filled Abdal's ears.

The flying creature burst through the foliage, tearing away branches and leaves with clawed feet. It was the colour of scarlet, with a wide open, orange beak projecting ear-tingling sounds. The wingspan of the bird encompassed the width of the passage between the mountain pass, and when they flapped, great gusts of air knocked armed men to their feet. Marid was thrown back into the table hard, the blow striking his ribs and damaged thigh. When Marid opened his eyes, he watched the clawed feet grip the carriage, and rise high into the sky. The great bird squawked, and flew through the hole in the canopy, taking Abdal away from Marid's grasp.

Fourteen - Rochadin, Home of the Rocs

The great bird soared through the skies, cutting through wispy clouds and fog. The brisk mountain air was cold but refreshed Abdal's awakened senses. He watched the bird's wings flap through the mist; the red feathers flittering like fingers in the wind. Zalim poked his head out the cage, and gawped at the creature too. It was twice as large as the eagles Barakah and his men rode to battle.

"Relax, he's a friend," said Kadar. The hood was still up around his face. Kadar's eyes glowed orange in the shadow.

"Is this your doing?" said Abdal. Kadar nodded.

"If you could escape so easily, why did it take you so long to call for aid?"

"There are many things you do not understand, Abdal Rahiim. For now, sit back and relax for you will not gain any more information from me just yet." Abdal moved forward and went to grab the sorcerer, but Kadar held up one hand and Abdal involuntarily froze. Some unseen power held him. All he could manage was breathing and blinking.

"My General," Zalim shouted. The boy tried to pull Abdal back, but could not move the man.

"I am not your enemy, but I will not be touched by you in such a manner as you intended. Now sit back and watch the mountains, for we go to Rochadin, home of the Rocs."

Abdal felt the power that held him subside. He collapsed to the straw with a thud. Zalim moved to his aid, taking his arm and wrapping it around the boy's shoulders.

"There is no need," said Abdal.

The bird glided between two pin-point snow-capped peaks, the sun shining between the rock. Abdal covered his eyes as the glare of the sun flashed from the snow covered rock, then, as the sun was clouded by a broad mountain, removed his hand and watched the journey unfold.

They flew past running streams, shooting mere feet above untouched rock and water as fresh as it could be. His mouth watered and the bird slowed.

"Thirsty?" Kadar inquired. Abdal and Zalim both nodded. As they passed the stream, Kadar held out his hand. The water current flowed away from the rock, and ran directly towards Abdal and Zalim, slowly spanning the distance like a growing bridge. Not a drop escaped as it ran directly into their mouths. It was so cold, and full of taste Abdal did not want to stop drinking. Kadar sent the water back into the stream bed, and Abdal watched it flow down the mountain slope once again, his thirst quenched.

The bird began to move faster, its wings working hard, flapping up and down in solid movements, then gliding every now and again, swooping past the mountains. There was a great city in the mountains ahead, the peak itself carved into the head of the bird that now carried them in its great claws.

A series of cave structures made from rock jutted out like humps from a broad expanse of rock that stretched out beneath the peak. The cave holes were black as pitch, and Abdal wondered what secrets they held. Zalim stared at them wide-eyed.

There was a flutter of red below as the bird rescuer squawked. Other giant birds emerged from the holes, unfolding their rings as they stomped into daylight. The creatures looked up at the coming party, orange beaks widening at the sight of their comrade.

"Ahh, what a marvellous congregation. I wonder if they remember my favourite food?" said Kadar, as the bird descended through thin veils of mist. It spread out its great clawed feet; each toe ridged like giant worms topped with black thick swords, and gently lowered the cart onto the platform, directly at the centre of the balcony, between the caves.

The birds stomped forward, wings wrapped around their torsos like folded arms. Their orange eyes watched Abdal closely. A series of hoots and shrill noises filled the air as Kadar unleashed a wave of blue energy at the bars. The metal disintegrated, and crumbled like ancient bones to dust. Kadar exited the cart, and stretched his arched form, beaming a wide smile that revealed white teeth.

"Ahh, it's good to be out of that thing," he muttered. "Greetings, Rocs," said Kadar. "Oh yes, I forgot, you can't talk in Arabic can you… silly me." Kadar touched his fore-head, and one of the birds took a step closer. The bird squawked, and flapped its great wings. Kadar turned away, a smile still broad on his face.

"They are pleased to welcome us," said Kadar. "Which is very sporting of them. I've been cooped up in my own magical forest for far too long, I forgot there was an outside world of beings worth talking too. Please, come out, they are quite harmless." Kadar studied one of the Rocs feet. "Well, if you don't agitate them."

Abdal exited the cart first. His legs felt weak, and shook as he stepped forward. It was good to be free, he thought. He heard Zalim drop out too as Abdal moved to Kadar's side.

"What are we doing here, Kadar?" asked Abdal.

"Putting something here for safe keeping. Please, follow the big red bird." Kadar gestured towards the bird. "He is called Quiekmieckhceike'te. Quite a tongue-twister I know." Kadar placed his hand on his forehead, closed his eyes, then opened them a moment later.

"You may call him Mieck."

"That's a relief," said Abdal. He bowed his head as a greeting. The bird unfolded one of its great red wings, squawked then showed its back to the General. Mieck began to pace towards the slope that led to the Roc carving on the peak. It rose into the open beak, and into darkness.

Kadar trailed behind the Roc, and gestured the others to follow. Abdal and Zalim kept in step, and gazed at the giant birds that flanked them. The Rocs were impressive birds, staring out with wide orange eyes. Abdal hoped they weren't hungry.

They ascended the gentle wide slope, into the shadow and darkness of the peak. Kadar snapped his fingers, and a bright orange flame lit up the dark. Giant stalactites hung from the ceiling, and cast shadows onto the rock walls. There was a passageway revealed in the flickering light, that led into the peak.

"Ahh, now it's all flooding back." The Roc squawked, the call echoing through the spacious chamber. Abdal turned to face the daylight filtering in through the entrance behind them, then heard footsteps begin to descend into the mountain. With a reluctant step, Abdal followed, Zalim close behind, all the while wishing he still had his sword.

Fifteen - Outpost Riders

"What on earth were you thinking!" said Hasdru. "You know how much your father and I worried?" He held Atiya's shoulders, and stared with wild, furious eyes. The sun beat down through the clouds onto the rustling thickets by the mountain slopes as Asad rushed between them, chased by his grandfather. "The two of you think this is some game of hide and seek?" The rest of the party stood under the shade of the pine trees, taking in the scent of the ferns away from the sun.

"No," said Atiya. "I followed Abdal because I did not know where he was going. I thought he might need some help."

"So you thought you'd bring along the boy too?"

"No. He followed me."

"A damned marvellous trait, he's certainly his mother's son," spat Hasdru. He let go of her shoulders. Mahmuud moved forward, and nodded towards Atiya.

"It has been a while," the warrior muttered. "But we do not have all the time in the world to sit and chat when my friend is gallivanting alone in enemy lands. You say he continued north?" Atiya nodded. "Good, then we will be on our way. You are returning to the camp?" Atiya shook her head.

"My father will take Asad back, but I will stay. Abdal travels to Mahabbah, and will need all the help he can get."

"The only place you'll be going is home," said Hasdru, grabbing his wife by the wrist. "By Halludin's beard, I'll drag you back." She slapped him hard and fast on the cheek. Hasdru, shocked, struck her, and knocked her to the grass. Asad and Amro stopped.

"Mother," Asad cried, and rushed over. Amro didn't look happy, but it was custom for men to treat women how they desired. He could not step in. Hasdru waved his hands in the air.

"Have it your way, you always have done. But I'm coming too." Hasdru walked away, towards the shade where Ghalib and Yaq'ub waited. Mahmuud offered Atiya his hand, which she took, and lifted her from the ground.

"I see he's not changed much," said Mahmuud, gesturing Hasdru with a nod of the head. Atiya allowed a smirk as she held her throbbing cheek.

"I shall take Asad back," said Amro, hoisting the child into his arms. Asad laughed happily.

"But I want to stay, and help the General," said Asad.

"He doesn't need the help of a child," said Mahmuud, "though he would appreciate the gesture." The boy pulled a sad face and looked at his mother.

"Be a good boy," she said, ruffling his hair. She kissed him on the forehead, and he held out his arms. They embraced, Amro allowing his daughter to take Asad from him, then carefully lowered him onto the grass.

"You're getting bigger, and heavier," she exclaimed. Asad beamed a smile.

"I am becoming a man," he said. The party laughed. The group split shortly afterwards, Mahmuud eager to push on. Amro held Asad's hand and the pair waved as the other party moved off north. Atiya waved back with a beaming smile, then turned away. She briefly wondered whether she would see her boy again, and prayed to Hamid she would.

Amal coughed, and pointed towards the outpost walls. The sky above was beginning to colour orange with the setting sun as the ball of fire descended behind the peaks. Nejaz brought back cold memories. He had failed to protect royal family here, and survived a massacre that he knew he didn't deserve to have done.

They watched the outpost from the very hills of the battle, the long grass blowing like a green ocean in the wind. The whisper of the rustling grass made Amal feel at ease, despite his heart beating madly from the trek.

He'd kept up, that was the main thing, even though he slowed them down. You're too old, cried his mind, but his heart refused to listen. He'd not abandoned Abdal Rahiim in nine years, and wouldn't let age rob him of his oath.

"The gates are opening," said Amal, as he held the amber spyglass. He passed it towards Mahmuud, but the big warrior shook his head.

"No need, my sight is not ruined with age. I can clearly see them opening."

Amal shrugged his shoulders, and held the ancient iron piece in the air. No one took it from his grasp. Amal shrugged again, and folded the spyglass, sliding the thin end into the wide one. He stashed it back in his pack, then looked towards the mountains.

Black blurred figures pushed away from open gates, figures on horseback, galloping across the road south.

"They've spotted your damned glass," muttered Mahmuud. "I should have broken that thing the last time it got us in trouble."

"It is a gift from the Sultan of Sud himself, how could I let you do such a thing?" said Amal.

"Easy, pass it here." Mahmuud held out his hand.

"No. It's mine."

They turned back their attention towards the riders. The figures were coming close. Atiya strung her bow, pleased her husband had at least had sense enough to bring her weapon and arrows.

"Feels like old times," said Mahmuud. "Still good with the bow?" Atiya winked, and stepped forward, notching an arrow in the rest of her delicate bow. She stood tall on the hill, and pulled back on the string. The strain ran through her fingertips and her arm as she held her poise. The riders withdrew curved swords and swung them from their saddles, showing off their skill.

"At least the buggers don't have lances," said Mahmuud, revealing the decorated halberd blade of his trusted weapon. The group readied themselves, drawing their swords into the dying light of the day.

"Good luck," said Mahmuud. Atiya released the arrow. The missile flew straight and true, and struck the lead rider in the forehead, knocking the man from his saddle. His comrades did not slow. They moved round the faltering horse and shouted challenges as they moved towards the gentle hill slope.

Mahmuud braced the butt of his halberd onto the grass with his boot, and held the weapon poised towards the coming threat. The riders slowed as they hit the slope, but cantered into the line of defenders as the party moved to meet them.

Mahmuud struck at one horse which reared away from the weapon. The rider clung to the reins, but couldn't calm the beast as the large warrior swung his halberd. Mahmuud smashed into the rider with the tip of his blade, cutting through ribs and piercing the right lung with a sickening crunch. The man gurgled blood, and slumped forward as Mahmuud withdrew the bloodied weapon from the torso.

Amal raised his round shield to block an attack, the blow sounding dully on the air. Men screamed and shouted as they struggled against one another. Amal slashed the rider's thigh, and as the rider held his fresh wound, struck the horse in the neck. He slashed through the muscle. The animal screamed and collapsed backwards. It thrashed on the ground, trapping the rider's other leg. The man cried out as he struggled to free himself from the dying steed. Amal stepped forward, and slashed through the man's skull, splattering the earth with brain, bone and blood.

Another arrow whizzed through the air, striking Amal's next opponent in the back of the neck. To Amal's left, the nomads stood their ground, grappling with the riders, parrying and striking like men possessed. Then Ghalib fell, struck in the chest as the old warrior was kicked away from his opponent. Yaq'ub pulled the older man back, Hasdru taking the assault of two riders with quick parries of his sword. Hasdru slashed upwards, catching the hand of one rider and chopping through fingers. The other rider went for Hasdru's shoulder, but the nomad raised his sword in time. Their blades met, ringing as the rider cleaved up and down. Sweat christened his brow as he felt something bite him. The rider scored a hit; a slash through Hasdru's shoulder.

Yaq'ub flew into view. The younger nomad gripped the riders sword arm, and pulled him from the saddle. The pair collapsed to the ground, and rolled on the grass, each man holding onto the wrist of the sword arm of the other.

They stared at each other with murderous intent, relying on strength to win through. The rider was on top, and kneed Yaq'ub in the groin. The nomad loosened his grip, but the rider did not strike. A wave of blood splashed over Yaq'ub as the decapitated body slumped over him. Hasdru grimly nodded, and turned to face the next man, blood dripping down his arm like a crimson waterfall.

The riders retreated. Only four remained on saddles now, and abandoned their wounded and unhorsed colleagues. Mahmuud swung his halberd above his head, and slammed his lead foot onto the ground as he smashed through the last opponent, cleaving through the collarbone at a slant, slamming the cutting edge right into the foe's heart.

The combat was over, and eight men lay still and bloody on the ground. Ghalib had recovered, the pain from the kick to his chest subsiding as he sat upright on the grass. Atiya shot one of the riders in the back, and the party cheered and jeered at the fleeing men.

"Bloody cowards," said Mahmuud, as he wiped the gore from his blade on the grass.

Sixteen - The Third Jewel

The cone of light from Kadar's hand emitted no heat, but lit up the wide passageway in the mountain like a small sun. There was an odd smell on the air which Abdal guessed came from the bird. It was an odd creature, one that would crane its long neck around to watch him every now and again. It walked with a wobbling gait as it stretched one leg forward, then the next. The claws on the ends of its three toes were the size of Abdal's arms, and shone in the magical light.

Zalim stroked the wall carvings as they passed. They were simple constructs marked without great skill. The birds in it, Mieck's ancestors no doubt, were crudely chipped from the stone. Some soared through peaks, wings spread, while others were upright and in the company of others.

"Where are we going?" asked Zalim.

"I haven't a clue," said Abdal. "Ask the sorcerer here, maybe he'll tell you what he won't me." Zalim didn't ask, and looked up to the vaulted ceiling.

They followed the passage into a wide chamber split at the centre by a deep chasm. On the opposite end set against a wall was a round black stone flanked by blue lights flickering like fire. Three holes formed a triangle at the centre. To the right of these indentations sat a ball in a golden dais, swirling with a white cloudy substance. The bird spread its wings, and launched itself from the edge. Mieck glided across the drop, spread its clawed feet and landed on the other side.

The blue light coated Mieck's giant frame as it folded its wings. The bird edged closer to the ball. The cloudy object began to rise from the dais, and floated by the creature's head. There was a blinding flash of white light which forced Abdal's eyes closed. A buzzing sound rang in his ears, blocking out all other noise. Abdal placed his hands on his ears and collapsed to his knees. He felt a hand touch his shoulder a few heartbeats later. The sound had gone, and so had the light.

"We can now cross," said Kadar, gesturing towards the bridge that spanned the abyss.

A cloud spread out across the chasm towards the other side. Wispy tendrils rose like smoke, billowing gently into the air.

"What are we doing here? I've played your game long enough, Kadar. Tell me."

"Cross the bridge and all will be revealed," said Kadar. Abdal turned to face Mieck. The bird gestured Abdal to cross with a sweep of its giant wing. Abdal peered down into the depths of the chasm. Darkness ruled beneath the cloud.

"It is quite safe," said Kadar. "Trust me."

"It's hard to trust a man who wants me to walk on clouds above an abyss." Abdal took a deep breath, and placed his boot onto the cloud. It held firm. The surface rippled beneath his feet like he'd somehow learnt to walk on water.

"That's a good boy," said Kadar. The sorcerer briskly walked past, and quickly covered the length of the bridge to stand besides the bird.

"Come, Zalim," said Abdal. Zalim nodded, and the pair cautiously crossed, both man and boy staring down at their feet at the bizarre bridge. They reached the other side after twenty careful paces.

"Many years ago," began Kadar, "I placed objects into the possession of two men who ruled over separate kingdoms. I could see that their hearts were true and strong, and had no fear of parting with them for I believed in the strength of mankind. It proved to be my biggest mistake."

"What did you give them?" asked Abdal. Kadar's white eyes widened, and the old man smiled.

"Two magical gems. Both knew not the qualities of these items, believing them to be nothing more than precious stones one could find deep in the earth. The gems are ancient, and items I created to one day aid man in his goal for enlightenment. Separately, the gems are very powerful, and if one could sense this power, one could begin to harness it, to create life."

"Change a desert to grassland and rivers," said Abdal. "Jaffar has one of these gems?"

"I fear so," said Kadar. "He must not get his hands on the other two."

"I thought you said there was only two?"

"Patience, my young friend, for I have not finished my tale." Abdal nodded. "I gave the gems to Sultans. One was named Zakariyya and ruled the Kingdom of Tambukta, and one was called Taymullah, Sultan of Lugash. They were both kind, passionate men who placed their kingdom before personal gain. Other kingdoms may have fought over land and property, but these two tried to live in peace. This quality endeared them to me, and so I created the jungles in their realms to aid them prosper."

"Vazam created the jungles. You are not he," said Abdal.

"I once told you I go by many names. Vazam is one of them. Now stop interrupting me, my memory's not as good as it once was, so all this stop-starting is making me lose track." Kadar sucked in his lips, and blew them out with a rasping sound. "Ahh, now I remember. As time went by, and the Sultan's died and were replaced by their offspring, through the centuries, my powers waned. The two gems I'd given them were a part of me, my strength and power. The realm you once visited is the only place my power is at its peak. I cannot be harmed there, not by any magical means, or physically killed. Death does not creep in with age. Weapons pointed at me return to the user. Swing a sword for my head and you'd decapitate yourself.

"We cannot allow Jaffar to find the other gems. Please, put your hand in your pocket and withdraw the Stone of Passing." Abdal raised an eyebrow, and began to feel his face itch. He drew out the stone, and held it in his palm. It began to glow red within the blue surface, like a beating heart. Kadar's eyes opened wide.

"This is the gem you gave my ancestors?" Kadar nodded.

"Yes. Quickly now. Place it into the wall. It goes in the bottom left one." Abdal studied the stone. Did his father know? "Do it now, my young friend."

"Why should I trust you?" said Abdal. Kadar beamed a smile, and stroked his beard. With a sharp movement, he parted his cloak and shirt. There was a red glowing object at the centre of Kadar's chest, the size of Mahmuud's hand. The light shone from his chest and coated the party crimson.

"I am the third jewel. Place your stone into the wall, and it will be better protected. You still aim to save your children, my aim is to save the world from destruction. If you are captured, and the gem finds its way to Jaffar, he could be as powerful as a God." Abdal took a deep breath, stepped towards the wall, and set the object into the stone.

Seventeen - The Black Tower Conversation

"Now what?" Abdal asked, as the jewel sank into the wall. The red swirling mist within the stone faded.

"That is it, my good deed is done," said Kadar.

"I do not understand? You will let Jaffar keep possession of the other one, to make what he wants of this world?" Kadar nodded. Mieck tilted its great big head, and opened its orange beak.

"It is too much of a risk. If I face Jaffar I may die. If he were to succeed in capturing me, the third jewel would come under his possession. If that happened, you'd wish I stayed in the forest of Tambukta." Abdal went to draw his blade, but realised the sword was with Marid.

"So you will let men fend for themselves against someone with power such as you have said? This is your doing, sorcerer. Will thousands more die before you will do anything more?" Kadar shook his head.

"Goodbye, Abdal Rahiim. May Hamid watch over you."

"But-." There was a bright flash, and Abdal and Zalim vanished.

Abdal woke up feeling strangely refreshed. The last thing he remembered was placing the Stone of Passing into the wall inside the Rochadin Mountain. Now he found himself laying on a patch of grass with a camel staring down at him, the bright sun behind its back. The animal was grinding something in its mouth, and drooled; the thin long lines dripped down onto Abdal's face.

"Away," said Abdal. He thrashed his arms about and the camel, clearly not wanted, paced away, still dribbling and chewing. Abdal sat up, and felt the fresh breeze wash over his face. Zalim stirred at his side.

They were sat in a glen, with steep mountains rising on their flanks with densely forested slopes. How they'd gotten there, Abdal didn't know. He felt for the gem in his pocket, but his father's gift was not there. Whatever happened in the last day, it certainly wasn't a dream. Abdal kept it with him at all times as a reminder of where he came from.

"It was all a dream?" said Zalim, as he rose from the grass. He held his throbbing head and looked around. "Where are we, My General?" Abdal stood to his feet.

"I don't know."

"What shall we do, My General?" said Zalim, as he grabbed the camel's reins.

"Vazam knew I was after my sons. Perhaps we are still on course for Mahabbah? We have little choice but to carry on north."

"My General, our weapons." Zalim withdrew Abdal's sword from a pack on the camel, and held it out. Abdal and Zalim moved out shortly afterwards, and headed north.

Amber peered out from the Black Tower, clasping the golden rail of her bedroom balcony. The city of Bahabal, capital of Mahabbah, shimmered with light in the darkness. A thousand flares glittered like stars in the night sky. To the west she heard the chiming of the bell tower calling for midnight prayer, the giant bell swinging to and fro in its black roofed tower at the centre of the city. She could see the sea glimmering beneath the twin moons gaze to the north. There was a gentle breeze that stroked her naked body and made the hairs on her arms rise and tickle. She took a deep breath and turned back to her chambers.

The room was spacious. The black walls glimmered in the moonlight that filtered through the wide windows. Silk curtains fluttered like phantoms in the gentle breeze. She walked over to the bed, her bare feet slapping the cold mosaic floor.

Amber jumped as she saw the ethereal image of Nana glide between the bed posts. Her spirit form was white, with a blue hue that cast turquoise light over the room.

"You made me jump, witch," said Amber, as she regained her composure. Nana stroked her bald head, her smile broad and revealing crooked vile teeth.

"You scare easily," Nana replied, her voice echoing and bouncing off the walls. Amber sat down on the bed and watched the spirit glide over the bed to stop before her.

Nana was repulsive. It was a blessing to have sent her south so Amber could no longer see that wicked face. Amber prized her own beauty, and seeing this old lady reminded her of nothing but her own mortality. One day she would lose her looks, the one item that had kept her alive, out of the streets. She was never going back there.

"What news of my 'husband'?"

"He travels to you as we speak, with Marid as his prisoner." Amber repressed her laughter. Marid had proven such a fool, almost completely useless. How many battles had the man lost to Abdal? How many mistakes had Marid made? Too many.

"Where is Abdal's army?"

"They are camped on the borders of Sud."

"I have a new plan for you, Nana. You must poison the army. Poison the generals. I have sent riders to speed up my armies in Medes. They will arrive in a matter of weeks to crush what's left of Abdal's great force."

"To poison them might endanger myself. It is not an easy task. Barakah is distrustful of me already."

"Hah, he's a superstitious man I'm told. It's only fear of your powers that makes him distrustful." The blue form shivered, and faded from view, then appeared a moment later.

"Someone comes, my Queen," she said. "I must depart." The image of Nana disappeared. Amber lay back on the soft satin sheets, and smiled. Soon, Abdal the fool would come to Mahabbah where the great General would die.

Eighteen - Jumanah

Barakah swept the tent door aside and paced into the room. The soothsayer looked flustered, sweat dripping from her face as though she'd ran a mile. Barakah removed his conical helm, and placed it in the crook of his arm.

"You seem flustered, Soothsayer," said Barakah. The old lady was sat on a high-backed chair laced with golden flowers in its dark wood. She offered a smile, which Barakah failed to return.

"I've had visions," she began, her voice a croak. "Visions of the future,"

"You'd be a poor soothsayer if they were of the past, old woman. Tell me, what did you see?" Barakah helped himself to a stool opposite the woman, and sat. The old lady picked up a plain brown vase, and poured water into a wooden mug. She placed it to her lips, stuck out her long tongue, dipping it into the liquid, then took a swallow.

"I see an army marching from Mahabbah," she said.

"Marching? Marching where. To us?" The old lady nodded. She offered the vase of water to Barakah.

"No thanks, I've wine waiting for me in my tent. Have you seen anything of Abdal, and the others? How do they fare?" The old lady shrugged her shoulders.

"I know nothing. Their journey will only be revealed to me if Hamid wishes." Barakah studied the woman a moment, and stared deep into her eyes. She wasn't telling him something. He knew well when a man was lying to him, holding something back. Barakah nodded and stood.

"Good evening," he said, then withdrew from the tent. He paced out back into the brisk night air and looked to the moons. They were tinted with green as they stared down upon the world from a heavenly distance.

It was a bad sign. Barakah stroked his tired eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't like organising the whole damned army. It was Abdal who'd done so. He commanded respect from the men, but not the love they held for Abdal. If only he could reproduce that, then maybe he'd not be so stressed, and exhausted. How did Abdal manage?

He began to pace through the hastily erected sea of tents, until he noticed a man pushing forward on horseback, the dark silhouette highlighted by the moons. The figure stopped close. He was a young man, dressed in a fine green garment with a pin-broached cloak hanging from his side. He wore many jewelled bands on his fingers, and wore a half-dozen necklaces. His eyes poked out from the darkness like an owl. His long hair blew gently in the wind, and was tied in a pony-tail with a golden band.

"You know the whereabouts of General Abdal Rahiim? I have important news for him," said the young handsome man.

"Unfortunatly not, though you've struck a marvellous coincidence. I am in command here." The young man laughed.

"Do not be foolish, The Great General commands here. I have seen him, and you are not he."

"Allow me to introduce myself, for do you not feel that addressing one without a name to be both impolite and strange? My name is Barakah Hanbal." The young man pulled on the reins and steadied his skittering horse.

"I have heard of you," he said, the arrogant tone in his voice vanishing. "You command the great eagles." Barakah nodded.

"The whole damned army now, unfortunately. Abdal has left us to pursue a personal quest to the north." The young man nodded.

"It is not I you must tell that too." The man turned back and pointed to the mountains. "Princess Jumanah Rahiim approaches. She will request an audience with you then. I shall report to her that she must speak with you." Barakah nodded.

"You have yet to tell me your name?" The young man stretched out his hand.

"My name is Esam, intermediary of Sud, currently attached to the Princess of Ghafsa. Pleased to meet you, sir." Barakah shook Esam's hand, then watched as the horseman turned, and galloped off between the tents.

Princess Jumanah Rahiim was absolutely beautiful. Barakah watched the woman enter the tent in such elegant fashion his heart, usually as calm as the night sky, began to beat wildly. She wore a white dress which dangled to her ankles. A black cloth was draped over her left shoulder, embroidered white flowers etched into the surface. Her long raven coloured hair was braided, and shone with health in the orange torchlight. Her green eyes portrayed no emotion as she looked about the tent then towards Barakah, who stood at the centre of his temporary abode.

"Good evening, Princess Jumanah. How fare you?"

"I am well, Barakah. I've come to see my husband, but am told he is no longer here." Barakah nodded, then gestured for her to sit on a splendid red cushioned chair. She nodded her head courteously, and sat. Barakah did the same, and smiled warmly as he pulled up a stool.

"I am sorry you have come all this way for nothing, but Abdal headed north and left me in command during his absence a few weeks gone now." Jumanah nodded.

"Why did he leave?"

"I believe he thinks he can find the children Marid and his previous wife stole from him. He travels to Mahabbah." Jumanah nodded.

"Then I will most likely not see him again," she said, still composed. Barakah shook his head.

"If there's one thing I know, Princess, that Abdal is quite capable of pulling off the impossible." Jumanah smiled.

"Thank you, Barakah, you have always been kind to me."

"You are My Caliph's daughter, the husband of my General, and the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon, how could I treat you any differently?" Jumanah smiled, and clapped her hands. One of her servants pushed forward, an urn in his hands, another retainer close behind. They kept their faces to the ground, and did not look either Barakah or Jumanah in the eye.

"I know how much you like wine, Barakah. This is the finest Sud red wine, stored for seventy years in the Emir's palace. Please, try some." Barakah watched one servant pour the wine into a glass held by the other man. The red liquid swirled in the glass as the small man passed it towards Barakah. Barakah raised the glass in the air, bowed his head, then tasted the wine.

Nineteen - Bahabal The Sea City

There it was, Bahabal in all its dark and twisted glory. The Sea City stretched out from the shores of northern Araby right into the waving ocean, its black walls shooting many feet into the sky. Large piers made of solid thick stone spanned from the main city, housing more spectacular buildings with red-tiled roofs.

Huge towers rose to the heavens, with stone carved mythical creatures perched on top of domed roofs. He stared at the mighty muscled beast that clung to the wall above the great golden doors. Its mouth was wide open, and revealed many sharp teeth, each one ten times the size of a man. Its marvellous but twisted head was covered with horns. Wings spread out and ran like pillars at the gates flanks. Twisted clawed hands and feet gripped the stone wall.

"By Hamid, it's both extraordinary and terrifying at the same time," whispered Zalim. Abdal nodded. Even the camel stared dumbly at it, eyes wide, chewing a length of long grass.

A long line of soldiers were leaving the city as Abdal and Zalim stared from the rocky slopes to the south, the crimson and black dressed soldiers marching out in their thousands, a hundred banners waving in the air. New levies for the war. Abdal shook his head. His army would be hard pressed, and those forces that were holding the passes into the allied kingdoms sourly tested by the vast numbers Jaffar could turn against them.

First came spearmen; their silver weapon tips flashing in the sun. Next came swordsmen, with round decorated shields and wide scimitars stored in black sheaths. Then it was a sight that made Abdal's blood run cold. There were horsemen with lances. Thousands of them. Drums rattled like the cries of a thousand snakes, keeping the rhythm of the march steady. Then the beasts came. They were tall creatures, green of skin and broad of shoulder.

"Orcs," he whispered, sadly. "The devils have allied with Orcs!" A shiver ran down his spine, and Abdal gripped the hilt of his sword. Zalim had never seen an Orc before, now he had a view of hundreds. They carried banners of bone, where many bearded heads dangled from rope. Hole ridden flags waved with the motion of the march, bearing large grinning skulls.

"Have you fought one of those before?" asked Zalim.

"A small number, yes, long before the war with Jaffar. They were raiding small villages to the north, in the land of Al-Haikk, having travelled across the ocean in great long boats. They are mean and brutal, and can take many blows to kill." Zalim nodded and gripped his crossbow tighter.

"Come, boy, we can enter the city through the east gate," said Abdal, pointing towards the line of civilians entering and exiting through the gate. They left the cover of the mountains, pushing down the great rock strewn slope. The sun above shone with passion, caressing Abdal's skin as he moved.

The city streets were busy, but surprisingly quiet. A melancholic atmosphere filled Bahabal, as though the occupants were trying to remember a better time. Market stores lined the cobbled streets, but people didn't shout out their wares. They simply stared out from behind their goods, waiting for people to trod along and buy something. Abdal stared at the fruit on one stall, and felt his mouth water.

"I'll buy some food," said Zalim. He reached for his small pouch of gold coins, then felt a hand clasp his tightly.

"We'll not buy food from this God-forsaken place, put your purse away." Zalim nodded.

"Yes, My General. They must be tainted." Abdal looked into the face of one man. He looked incredibly sad, like the weight of the world hung on his shoulders. The man's beard was greying, and black rims circled his blank eyes. His cheeks were sunken as though from lack of food.

"I don't like it here," said Zalim, as he stared up at the tall buildings that flanked them, and blocked out the sun. Every street they came to was covered in shade, as though the sun itself refused to shine on Bahabal. No wonder the people were so damned miserable, thought Abdal.

"Alms for the poor?" said a weak voice. A half naked skinny man sat cross-legged on the edge of a street corner, and raised his small, cracked bowl up towards Abdal. The man was old, with a bushy cloud coloured beard, and a broken, flat nose. He smiled and revealed his yellow-stained teeth. Abdal looked down at the old man, but did not reach for his purse.

"Alms for the poor, young man," he asked Zalim. Zalim felt pity, and went for his purse. He tossed a few gold coins into the bowl.

"Thank you," the old man said. "You are most generous. Can this old man aid you in anyway, strangers? You are both not from here, are you?" Abdal felt someone brush past his shoulder, ignored the rude push, and looked at the old man.

"What is the fastest route to the palace?" The old man stroked his beard, and leaned back against the wall. He placed the two gold coins into his ragged dirty loincloth and smiled.

"No one can enter the palace unless called for. Amber rules here during her 'brother's' absence."

"Her brother?" snapped Abdal.

"Why, Sultan Jaffar of course. Though I don't think it's blood related. Probably sexual." Amber was here, his children would be close, surely? Abdal bent down and raised a bag of coins into the air before the beggar's face. The man's eyes widened as he watched Abdal untie the lace that kept it closed. A dozen gold coins glittered like precious life as Abdal opened the bag. The beggar's hand reached out but Abdal slapped it aside.

"You must know of some way into the palace, old man? I will pay you in gold if you can lead us there." The old man nodded. He tucked his bowl into a crevice in the wall behind him, then stood, slowly brushing his wrinkled knees.

"I know someone. He's a murderous bastard mind, but he'll do anything for pay."

"Lead me too him, and some of these will be yours."

"How many?" asked the man.

"Five." The old man nodded.

"Follow me," he said, as he rubbed his hands together.

The old man led them through the streets of the Sea City. They passed into a wide area where the sun finally managed to shine, where dark green trees grew on the flanks of a well cut grass lawn. A river ran close, where an arched stone bridge spanned across the water. The beggar led them over the bridge and onto a wide pier which led across the sea.

Abdal stared into the shimmering blue water splashing against the weathered wall as they crossed. White seabirds sat perched on the sloped lichen covered stone, squawking and flapping their wings as fresh sea spray washed over them. The smell of the ocean was strong. In the distance, on the wooden platforms beneath the pier walls, sat men fishing, and preparing small boats, loading nets and other equipment onto their vessels.

"We're coming close to the Thieves Quarter," said the beggar. "Keep hold of your valuables. Zalim stopped the camel, and checked the position of the bags.

The gates that led to Thieves Quarter were made of iron, and were drawn back to reveal cobbled streets and worn homes with red-tiled roofs. Guards with wicker shields stood watch on the walls above the gate, while several marched in patrol back and forth across the entrance's width, their long cheap spears slung on shoulders.

"Come along," said the old man. "Or I'll lose my prime begging patch."

Twenty - Twilight Pass

Twilight fell, and the heavens turned white as the sun set behind the mountains. The birds that had chirped in the sun began to silence as the heat of the day vanished. Mahmuud, his legs straining with the forced march, stopped, and looked to the sky. Gunbai twirled and danced in the air, the Ferod trailing it. Both magical beings made Mahmuud shiver. The tail of the tracking creature was still white. They weren't close to Abdal.

"We rest here," he said. The party withdrew to the thickets, where shadows fell from the trees. Tamir helped Amal along, holding the old warrior's shield. He supported Amal with an arm as they pushed through the bushes.

"Still with us, old man?" said Mahmuud, as he turned to his companion. Amal nodded.

"Of course I am. It's going to take a lot more than a walk to finish me."

As darkness descended and most fell asleep, Mahmuud noticed Amal was still awake, and standing on top of the slope. The old man leant against his shield, and stared up at the stars in the sky.

Mahmuud moved up the slope. He slammed the butt of his halberd into the ground as he found it tough going, using it to steady himself as he ascended.

"I'm getting too old for this," said Mahmuud, as he reached Amal. Amal laughed. Mahmuud looked up at the stars.

"What are you looking for up there?"

"Nothing," said Amal. "I just like staring at them. It reminds me of when I was young. I used to look up with my mother and father, brother and sisters and watch the stars. We'd talk and laugh and listen. No matter how hard the day had been, no matter how long my father and mother had toiled at work, this time seemed to always be special and full of cheer."

"You're bringing a tear to my eye," said Mahmuud.

"Ahh, mock away, Mahmuud, you'd never understand, being a son of a nobleman." Mahmuud nodded.

"Not my fault though that, you can hardly blame me for it." Amal shook his head.

"What do you see when you look to the stars?"

"I see shining things," said Mahmuud. Amal turned to his companion, still leant against his shield.

"Is that all you see?"

"Yes. Oh wait, the moons too. We can't forgot those. What about yourself, Amal?"

"I see many things, my friend. I see a realm of possibilities. No one really knows what stars are. Some say they are the dead staring down on us, some say they are ancient gods. If we were to travel the world, we'd hear many different thoughts about the stars, and each one showing clearly the mind and spirit of the culture they come from. The stars link the world my friend. They make us think, wonder and dream. Whatever we think of the stars, and the stories that surround them, shows mankind at its truest form." Mahmuud clapped Amal on the back.

"You've had too much time to think about this. I shall tell you what I think. You should have stayed with the army." Amal nodded.

"I've been thinking about that myself. This, I fear, will be my last adventure. As you said coming up the slope, 'I'm getting too old for this'." The pair chuckled, and looked to the stars.

Tamir crept forward, edging through the slope thickets. The smoke rose along the pass in front, billowing wistfully into the air. He stopped and raised his hand. The large form of Mahmuud behind stopped too, and crouched.

Tamir could see men below, soldiers dressed in red wearing black turbans. They sat about three fires, cooking food and talking amongst themselves. He turned around and held up his hands, dropping them then raised them both again. Mahmuud nodded then turned around and skirted the slope, heading back to his comrades.

"How many?" asked Awad, as Mahmuud bounded down into the pass.

"Twenty."

"Good odds," said Amal. Mahmuud beamed a smile.

"Well, I can take a few down. I've faced bigger odds alone and came out."

"Are you sure there's no way around them?" asked Ghalib.

"The walls here are steep without a pass. We must go through them," said Mahmuud, as he clasped the cover of his halberd and pulled it off. The well used blade shone in the sun, its edge sharp and deadly.

"At least we have the element of surprise," said Atiya. Mahmuud nodded.

"That's the spirit, woman." Atiya scowled.

"I have a name."

"Well, good for you."

"I want a group on the other side of the pass. I will lead that one. Awad, you're in command here. Tamir waits, stop where he is." Awad nodded.

"Why not put a nomad in command?" grumbled Hasdru. "I assure you we're just as capable."

"Let's get this over with." The group split. Mahmuud led Amal, Hasdru and Atiya up the opposite slope, while Awad moved up with Yaq'ub and Ghalib close behind. They stopped in position. Tamir nodded from his hiding spot on the opposite bluff as Awad guided his sight that direction. Atiya slipped an arrow in her bow, while the rattle of drawing swords and armour rang quietly in the air.

The soldiers fires crackled and spat out orange glowing embers into the air while the men laughed, completely oblivious of their peril. Mahmuud turned and whispered.

"Loose an arrow, we charge after your second." Mahmuud made a shooting motion with his hands, pulling back on an imaginary string, then held up two fingers. Awad nodded, and crouched, ready to attack.

"Go," Mahmuud said. Atiya nodded, and pulled back on the string. She fired, and watched the arrow thud into a seated man's chest. His comrades shouted, standing up in shock, and drew their swords, and picked up their discarded shields. A second arrow shot into a man's face as he bent down for his shield.

"Now!" shouted Mahmuud. The big warrior leapt from the thickets and bounded down the slope, his halberd held in front like a spear. Amal and Hasdru rushed at his side, and the trio met the enemy with roars and flashing steel. On the opposite side, as more arrows whipped in killing a third and fourth man, Awad, Tamir, Ghalib and Yaq'ub charged, weapons held high in the air. The enemy was in panic, not knowing which way to face.

Mahmuud cleaved through one man and butted another with his head. The man fell and Amal killed the downed soldier with a swift stab into the chest. Hasdru swung his scimitar two-handed, smashing through wicker shields like a knife through butter. He took one man's weapon hand clean off, the amputated wound spilling arterial blood into the air. The man screamed and fell back, tears running down his face as Hasdru moved forward. The nomad cleaved through the youth's chest with a vicious slash, and met the next man with a parry.

Amal moved at his side, shield held out. It took a rain of blows, the vibrations running the length of his arm to his shoulder. Then he pulled it aside and thrust the tip of his trusty blade through his attacker's chest. The soldier cried out in pain as Amal withdrew the sword and stabbed the man again.

Awad and Tamir fought side by side; Awad with his sword and small buckler taking blows, Tamir with his horn and sword smashing left and right. Ghalib and Yaq'ub were slower, but met the enemy with the same spirit and ferocity of hardened fighters.

An arrow flew from the thickets and struck the cheek of another man, dropping him as the soldier moved away from Mahmuud's bloodied halberd. The enemy broke and ran, discarding their shields and swords in favour of faster flight.

Amal's heart pounded. He didn't look at the fleeing men, or feel any elevation at victory, all he wanted to do was rest. He dropped his shield to the rocky ground, and breathed deeply as his comrades gave chase. He watched Atiya pull back on the string, then felt the stabbing pain in his heart. Close your eyes, old man, he thought.

Mahmuud and the others returned to the bloodied ground. Atiya was stood over the sitting form of Amal. A sad look was on her face.

"What's the frown for, woman? We won. The old man sitting down for a rest, is he?" Amal didn't reply. "What the devil's wrong with you two." Mahmuud strode over, and clapped Amal on the shoulder. Amal slid onto his side.

"He's dead," Atiya whispered. Mahmuud's eyes widened.

"No, he can't be dead. Amal, stop playing and get up." Mahmuud fell to his knees and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. He lifted him up; Amal's closed eyes didn't flicker. "Amal?" he shouted. He rested him easily on the ground and began to search for a wound. "He's just unconscious," Mahmuud whispered. "Probably wounded." The others were silent and looked sadly upon the scene. Atiya placed her hand on Mahmuud's shoulder.

"His heart gave way. I saw no wounds." Mahmuud couldn't see any. He raised his friend into his lap, and cradled Amal in his arms. For the first time in twenty years, Mahmuud cried, his soul-wrenching sobs echoing down the pass.

Twenty-One - Thieves Quarter

There would be no such place as an inn in his old Tambukta. Religion allowed for the consumption of wine, but the fatty ales and drinks available here were from a completely different world. There was an assortment of men in the badly lit, stinking place. Some were pale of skin, as white as the snow on mountain peaks, while others were short and stocky; the Dwuegor, Abdal guessed. They were loud and foul, knocking back tankards of ale like the liquid was water, wiping spilt liquor and bubbling froth from their greasy beards with meaty forearms.

There was a group of foreigners and natives huddled around a gaming table, tossing coloured blocks onto a green felt surface. Low-lying clouds hung above their heads as men smoked from long curved pipes.

They stopped before a round bar at the centre of the room. The innkeeper was broad and pot-bellied, with a beard that hung to his chest and piercing dark eyes. The man's large arms were folded before his chest.

"I told you not to come back here, Hadi. You've no money." The old beggar smiled, and raised a finger in the air. He placed his hand into his loins, then withdrew a gold coin.

"Yes I can. This is gold," he said. "Real gold." The barkeep laughed, then narrowed his eyes to study the coin.

"It's real," said Abdal, as he stepped forward.

"What's with the mask, stranger?" asked the barman.

"None of your damned business. Hadi, find this man you spoke of before I lose my patience." The barman shrugged his shoulders, and moved away to serve another customer.

Hadi peered about the room, through the thick smoke and bodies. He moved, pushed past a table whose occupants cast the half-naked man quick curious glances before returning to conversation.

"There," Hadi said, as he nodded towards a figure sat in the corner, beneath a wall lined with animal heads. Abdal couldn't guess the man's height as the figure sat, surrounded by other men around a circular table. He was sleek of shoulder, and thin, but what flesh was exposed; his arms and part of the chest through the sleeveless jacket, were solid and well maintained.

He had eyes that took in the whole room, constantly shifting back and forth like a Sultan paranoid of assassination. The hawk-like eyes stopped on Abdal, but only briefly as the man turned his attention back to his comrades.

"Sariyah," said Hadi. He bowed low, like he was addressing a sultan. The table occupants stared up at Hadi and the two strangers behind. Sariyah smiled.

"What can I do for you, Hadi?"

"Not for me, Sariyah. These strangers require aid." Hadi made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"You still owe me money, Hadi. Two years and I've not seen a coin. If it wasn't for your current predicament, I'd have taken your life by now." He drew a curved, decorated blade from beneath the table. "Perhaps I'll do it now?" Hadi gulped and stepped back. Sariyah laughed with his friends then sheathed the blade.

"Relax, Hadi, I see no profit in it. I'd prefer to see you starving and begging for money." Sariyah's friends laughed at this. Abdal pushed forward and slammed the gold-filled pouch onto the table.

"I hear you know a route into the palace, and I can pay if you take me there," said Abdal. Sariyah looked Abdal in the eyes.

"It's not wise to drop a bag of gold onto a table of thieves. What makes you think I'll not kill you instead and take the gold for myself?" Abdal pulled his mask away. The thieves did not flinch at the ugly, scarred face forced upon them.

"Many have tried, all have failed." Abdal held the hilt of his sword, ready to draw the blade and draw blood. Zalim clutched his crossbow, and aimed directly for Sariyah.

"Ha," said Sariyah. "Relax, stranger, I jest."

"You've a rare sense of humour."

"I know. It has made more enemies than friends, but alas, I am how God made me. Now tell me," said Sariyah, as he placed his elbows onto the table and leant his chin upon his clasped hands, "what is it you wish of me?"

"I need to find a way into the palace."

"Ha, that would be suicide, stranger. Why is it you wish to die?" Abdal grinned.

"It's not my wish. Can you do it?" Sariyah leant back on his chair.

"The sum in that purse may do the trick. I am afraid however, that the magical guardians recently placed will prove your undoing. Perhaps mine. Why should I risk my life for you?" Abdal picked up his purse, retrieved five gold coins and gave them to Hadi.

"If you're afraid I will find my own way inside. Come, Zalim, let's not waste anymore time." Zalim nodded, and lowered his crossbow.

"Wait, stranger, do not be hasty. Please, sit." Sariyah nodded and one of his colleagues withdrew, and offered Abdal his seat. Abdal did not take it up, and fixed the thief with a stare.

"I'll do it, but only if you follow everything I say. I will be in charge. When I say stop you freeze as if your lives depended on it. They will depend on it." Abdal nodded.

"Deal."

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Sariyah. Abdal nodded. Hadi smiled, and went to move away.

"If I recall, Hadi," said Sariyah. "You owe me the sum of those coins." Hadi's shoulders slumped, and he placed the gold onto the table.

Twenty-Two - Midnight Patrol

Sariyah moved so deftly he was part of the environment and as silent as a cat as he leapt walls and stalked the streets. Abdal cringed as he heard Zalim's and his own poor attempts at mimicking the master thief. Their footsteps seemed to echo like a thunderstorm through the dark, and otherwise silent streets and alleyways.

They had waited for night to leave for the palace, hoping the darkness would cover their inability. Sariyah claimed he could move about like a ghost even in the brightest daylight, and it was hard not to believe him.

The monster-topped roofs flashed with light as the sky roared and thundered. Forked lightning shot from the heavens in white threatening streaks. Rain began to fall; a slow trickle at first, then a downpour which drenched their clothes and struck the ground with a constant streaming rhythm.

"At least this will cover your awful skills," said Sariyah, as he appeared from the shadows. He wore a hooded black cloak, with a black shirt and trousers. He carried a stash of throwing knives concealed over his chest on a belt, while a small, curved knife hung at his waist.

"I'm not a man who sneaks about the place," said Abdal, as he wiped his face of water. They looked out of the shelter Zalim had spotted, and listened to the rain strike the cobbles.

"How far are we from the palace?"

"We have a while to go yet. There are a dozen gatehouses, and walls to scale," said Sariyah. He stroked the long grappling hook that was tied to his belt. The iron claw was shaped like a dragon's hand. "I hope you don't mind heights." Sariyah grinned.

They pushed on, Sariyah in the lead, passing tall buildings with iron balconies extending from the brick. Sariyah stopped, and held up his hand. Abdal spotted the patrol; soaked soldiers stomped across a boulevard, their spears dripping with rain.

"There's a curfew," said Sariyah. "We will be executed on the sight of our crime if caught. I never get caught, so you'll be suffering from that."

"A curfew? Jaffar has imposed this on his own people?" Sariyah shrugged.

"Jaffar is far away. It was not like this when he was here. Amber rules like a dark queen."

"I will put an end to it," said Abdal, his words hidden by thunder.

"We only have a brief time to cross the boulevard and scale the wall before the patrol is back," said Sariyah.

The thief rushed out of cover, cutting through the heavy rain with the grappling hook in his hands. Abdal moved, Zalim close behind, and held his hand above his eyes as cover from the rain.

Sariyah stopped at the tall wall, took one look up at the gargoyles perched on the top. They stared down like silent spectators. He wound up the rope, and started spinning it in his right hand. It picked up speed and Sariyah launched it upwards. The dragon claw clutched the leg of a statue. Sariyah pulled the rope taught, once-twice, then nodded. The thief placed his hands on the rope and pulled himself up like an agile monkey, pushing his feet onto the wall as he ran up. Sariyah gripped hold of the wet gargoyle wing, almost slipped on the slippery surface, then hoisted himself upon the broad wall top. He crouched by the statue as lightning flashed overhead. The image of the thief checking the other side of the wall like a gargoyle burned into Abdal's eyelids.

"Go," said Abdal, as Zalim wiped his forehead of rain. The rain slanted down in heavy lines, and turned the street into a dancing, shimmering path as puddles formed like lakes on the stone.

Zalim struggled up the rope, ascending painfully slow. Abdal checked the street, sure that the rushing sound of water was actually thumping footsteps of the guards. He studied the dark alleyways that exited the boulevard and tried to shield his face from the downpour.

"Who'd of thought that it would rain on such a night as this?" remarked Sariyah, as he held his hands out to the rain. He turned his hands palm up and made little cups with them that quickly filled with rain. "It's a bad omen. The walls are slippery." Zalim reached out for the wing, gripped it and slipped. Sariyah's arm flashed out like a striking snake. The thief grabbed Zalim just as the boy was about to plunge to his doom, and hauled him one handed onto the ledge. "Careful, boy," said Sariyah. The thief flashed a smile. "Next time I might not catch you."

"Thank you," gasped Zalim. He shook. That was the closest to death he'd been in a while. The hairs on his arms would have risen if not for the water that gleamed on his dark skin.

Footsteps echoed off the walls. A large body of men quickly emerged into the street, stomping the ground with their boots. The rain and shadow from the wall masked Abdal as he went for the rope. Sariyah waited patiently as Abdal climbed up, not keeping his eyes off the marching patrol heading for the gate to their left. Abdal slipped as the rope became even more wet. He wiped one hand on his already wet trousers.

"Hamid's Eyes," spat Abdal. He tried to move up quickly and placed his feet on the wall, facing his back to the ground. As soon as he made a step, it echoed. Abdal froze as the guards came closer. Had they seen him? Was it all over? Abdal closed his eyes, and felt the rope jerk in his hands.

"Move it, Mask," said Sariyah. The master thief's nickname for Abdal handed out now a dozen times. Abdal shook his head and ascended. His arms began to burn with fire and strain, but as soon as he neared the top, Sariyah and Zalim grabbed hold of his arms and helped him up. Lightning flashed, and struck a silver tower in the distance. Orange sparks flew in the air like oddly coloured froth on a wave.

Abdal breathed deeply as they stared down at the advancing soldiers. The rope still dangled there, but Sariyah was doing his best to pull it up. The length shivered and swung gently as it slid up the wall. If the guards had risen their heads towards the wall, they'd of seen the wavering rope, and the three figures perched like flesh gargoyles on the top.

"Now," whispered Sariyah. "We've got another five walls to scale like that. Then it's the hard part." The thief flashed a wide smile, and winked, before dropping the rope the other side, and descending below, onto a bed of grass.

Twenty-Three - Magical Guardians

The rain relented. A quiet, almost calming dripping noise filled the otherwise silent night air as Abdal took in the intimidating tower in front. It rose like a coiled snake, with many small pin-pointed towers spaning out from the trunk like the branches of a tree. White mist played around the black brickwork, gently rising and twisting up its length.

The twin moons sat behind the tower. The smell of the sea wafted on the air, and they could hear water slapping against stone in the distance. For all the daemons on the city walls, Bahabal felt incredibly peaceful at night. Abdal almost envied the view of the ocean the occupants of the tower had.

They stood crouched by a white brick path beneath the cover of a copse of redwood trees. Leaves dripped and sparkled like precious stars as moonlight hit the falling liquid. An iron-wrought gate lay ahead, that bore the large head of a screeching dragon. The iron gates were shaped liked scales. There were two ominous black stone statues of tigers that flanked the gates, paws in front on the ground, with closed mouths like obedient wildcats.

"I am not sure how much further I can take you," said Sariyah. He pointed towards the statues. "Ghost-cats," he said, a touch of fear on his voice. "Not even my throwing knives work against them." Abdal drew his blade silently.

"I'll kill them with this if I have too."

Sariyah smiled.

"I hoped you had some kind of magical ward. Are you here to assassinate the Dark Queen of Bahabal?" Abdal nodded.

"She was once my wife. She has a lot to answer for, a lot to pay back. If only her death would make up for the pain she has caused." Sariyah nodded.

"Death's a good start," said Sariyah. Abdal chuckled.

"Yes, Sariyah. It will have to do." Sariyah clapped Abdal on the shoulder.

"Well, my friend, without a magical ward, or a way to stop those beasties, we might be killed ourselves. This is the last wall. On the other side there are a hundred of those things stalking the Dark Queen's gardens. I will aid you inside, but that is as far as I will go." Abdal nodded.

"My thanks, Thief, now lead the way."

Sariyah weaved through the trees, darting between the thick red trunks with blinding speed. In moments he set himself by the wall and swung the hook in his hands. The rope and claw cut through the air, making a whizzing noise before Sariyah launched it into the sky. It thumped into the wall, and the thief pulled it taught to test the grip. He held up his hand, thumb up, and Abdal and Zalim emerged from the dripping trees. Abdal stared at the statues as they closed.

"Might as well put that away before you stab someone in the eye," said Sariyah, as he began to climb up the rope. "It won't do much good against these things anyhow." Abdal sheathed the blade, but kept his hand on the hilt as he watched Sariyah climb the rope.

Zalim went next without a murmur of complaint. The boy's arms were sore from all the climbing, but on he went. Abdal took hold of the rope, and heard the growl. The creature moved like mist, and appeared before him as a half solid, half gas object.

The cat emerged from the black cloud like a daemon from the gates of the Under-realm. Its eyes glowed red while its black skin looked like marble. It growled a ghostly wail. Thunder roared in the heavens, and lightning flashed, striking the redwoods close by. A blaze engulfed the bark and leaves, licking the redwood and thickets with orange flickering tongues. Zalim went to shout but Sariyah covered the boy's mouth with his hand. Sariyah shook his head and placed a finger to his lips.

Abdal went for his blade, but the beast shot forward as fast as an arrow. It crashed into him and knocked Abdal to the ground. The General felt the grass tickle his burnt skin, then quickly drew out his cold steel. The beast shimmered with blue light as its cloudy form moved away. Zalim struggled out of Sariyah's grasp, and retrieved his crossbow previously slung on his back. He dipped his hand into the quiver on his waist, and withdrew a short projectile. With one swift movement, Zalim placed the bolt into the groove, and wound the firing mechanism back. Zalim took aim and fired at the mist-monster, and watched in horror as the bolt flashed through the cloudy body and thudded into the earth.

The cat growled. Abdal gripped the handle of his blade, placed one foot in front of the other, forming an arch between his legs, placed one hand on his waist and guided the tip of his blade towards the monster.

"Come then, beast," said Abdal. "Come and die." The cat leapt and Abdal side-stepped. He slashed at the passing creature, but his sword cut through nothing but purple fog. The cat landed on the ground, and whipped around quickly. Its claws were solid, and struck the flat of Abdal's sword with a swipe. Abdal tried to regain his balance but stumbled into the wall.

"My General," shouted Zalim. "I'm coming." Zalim went for the rope, but Sariyah had vanished and taken it with him. Zalim spat on the stone. "Damned thief," he muttered, placing another bolt into the pistol-crossbow. The cat began to pace back and forth in a half-circle. Abdal's back pressed against the cold wall as he watched the cat's red eyes glint in the darkness. Abdal heard the click of Zalim's crossbow, and saw the ripple in the mist as the bolt passed through.

Abdal stepped forward and sliced through the beast's face. The head disappeared in mist and the sword struck thin air. Then a claw came out from nowhere and struck Abdal in the face. His world spun as he collapsed to the ground. He spat blood from his mouth, and swung again with his blade. It passed through the body to no avail.

"How do we kill it?" piped Zalim as he placed another bolt into his weapon.

"You don't." It was a feminine voice, and seemed to drift on the very air. The metal gates creaked open, and a body of troops marched out from with the tower gardens.

They wore purple hoods and black suits, and carried broad two-handed scimitars that gleamed in the moonlight. They separated, and allowed a petite, slender figure through. It was Amber.

"Greetings, Husband," she said. She flashed a seductive smile. "Having troubles with my pets?"

"Witch," Abdal spat. "I am here for my children, nothing else." Amber shook her head.

"You are here to die, Abdal. That's all." She motioned with her head and the hooded guards formed a circle around Abdal. The ghost-cat vanished into thin air, its red eyes still glimmering where it once stood. She turned her back, took one step then stopped.

"I wouldn't pull the trigger if I were you," said Amber. "My cat eats children too." Zalim felt breath on his cheek, and turned to the open maw and red eyes of the tiger. Zalim lowered his crossbow, and tossed it onto the ground.

Twenty-Four - Queen of the West

Abdal couldn't move his arms, though they were already finely stretched. Cold iron was strapped to his wrists and ankles, and spread him like a star on the clean stone floor. Zalim was above, by the window, locked into a small cage raised into the air.

"At least you've got a window view," said Abdal. "All I've got is the bottom of your cage."

"What shall we do, My General?" said Zalim, as he stared out to the stars and night sky. A fresh breeze blew coolly over Zalim's skin. Abdal tried to pull on his bonds, but the iron posts the chains were connected too did not shudder.

"I'm sorry, Zalim. I have led you to your death."

"Death… but My General, you can't be killed. You're a legend!" Abdal snorted.

"Nonsense, boy. I'm flesh and blood, mortal like the rest of us." Zalim gripped the iron bars of his cage, and shook them with all his strength. The chain above Zalim's head rattled as the cage rocked with his efforts.

"Relax, boy," said Abdal. "There is nothing that can be done. Sit back and enjoy the view from up there." Zalim stared out of the window. The sea glittered in the moonlight, and a gull called as it soared over the spray of the ocean.

The door silently folded inwards. Slow footsteps rang, then a finely dressed man walked into the room. He wore a tall, serpent hat, and a black robe. His forehead was unusually large, emphasised by the hat, while he sported a thick, stomach length greying beard. His fingertips glittered with jewelled bands. In one hand he carried a tall, golden staff, which he struck the ground with its butt. A sharp crack echoed through the room.

"Come to end me, scum?" said Abdal.

"My name is Wizwan, Vizier to The Queen of the West. She desires your presence." He nodded and four tall, broad black-skinned men rushed into the room. They had scimitars sheathed swinging at their waists.

They each moved to a chain, crouched then grabbed a post. The chains rattled as the large men removed Abdal's bonds. Two men grabbed Abdal by the arms and hoisted him to his feet.

"Pawns of evil," spat Abdal as he struggled in their grasp. "Come to finish me off, have you? The bitch Queen couldn't come herself?" Wizwan's lips curled into a snarl.

"Do not speak of The Queen in that fashion." The men forced Abdal to his knees as Wizwan stepped forward. He held up his hand before Abdal's face, then slapped the General hard across the cheek. The stinging blow clapped across the room as Abdal felt its force. Abdal smiled.

"You hit like a woman," he said. Wizwan turned his hand to a fist. It smashed into Abdal's left eye, one of the bands cutting into Abdal's skin. Blood gushed down Abdal's face and onto the floor.

"Now look what you've done," said Wizwan. "Clean him up." Wizwan clapped his hands and the other two men left the room. They returned a moment later, one with a bucket and towel, the other with clean clothes. "You will wear these, disposed Sultan, it is Her will." A soaked cloth brushed his face roughly, as one of the men began to clean the blood, and stem the bleeding.

The passageway beneath his plain camel-skin shoes felt remarkably warm, but the air that ran through the windows whisked in coldly. Abdal, forced to move at times by scimitar points and steely threats, felt ridiculous. He was wearing a white bubble-hat with a similar coloured, broad fluffy feather. His pink shirt was of the finest silk, and seemed to shine like water. His white trousers were baggy, and wavered with his strides. She'd dressed him up like a fool.

Wizwan led them left at the end of the passage, through an arched doorway, into a glittering golden room. Statues of ancient gods worshipped by the Pharaohs stood guard at the walls. At the centre of the room were slender golden figures of female dancers. One was waving her hands in the air, a distinct hip-movement to accompany them. Small pools sat at random spots in the room, the water still as the blue sky that could be seen through tall windows in the cupola.

There were three black doors; one directly opposite, one to the right, and one to the left. Wizwan did not hesitate and guided them left. The doors here were fancier. The handles were leaping silver panthers, paws outstretched. Two men flanked the doors, each one dressed in red. They carried oval, chest height shields and tall spears. The doors opened by themselves, and folded inwards to reveal an even grander room. There were many crystal chandeliers hanging above, glittering, casting shimmering reflections onto the white marble floor. A round glass table sat at the centre, covered with many bowls and platters of food. Amber was already seated. She stood and cast Abdal a warm smile. Amber wore a black dress that revealed one of her slender legs. Her hair shone, and was tied into a pony-tail.

"Welcome, Abdal," she said. "Please sit down." She gestured towards a high-backed seat around the table. The guards forced him onto the cushion, and stepped back, swords drawn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Abdal demanded, his voice as cold as iron. Amber raised her thin eyebrows, and picked up a glass.

"Is it odd a wife wants to eat with her husband?" Abdal grunted a laugh, then stared Amber in the eyes. She was as beautiful as ever. He pictured the many years he'd spent with her, making love to her, living life with her.

"You're not my wife, Witch. Tell me, what have you done with my sons?"

"I have done nothing with them, but they are not here. You were tricked, Abdal."

"The soothsayer? I might've guessed. Filling my dreams with hope. Where are they?" Amber swirled the liquid in the glass, then raised it and consumed the liquid.

"Many miles away. You will never find them." Abdal stood up quickly, but he felt the tip of a scimitar in the small of his back.

"I should've killed you the day we met," said Abdal. "If you plan to kill me, do it now." Abdal spun around the tip of the blade at his back, and grabbed the man's hand. He snapped the arm with a swift, solid motion and caught the falling weapon. The guards rushed in, swords raised. Abdal parried the first attack, and slapped the opponents blade aside. The man carried passed, and Abdal lashed out with his foot. The sole of Abdal's foot crashed into the large man's knee. There was a sickening crunch as the man's leg gave way. He screamed and fell to the floor. Abdal met the next man quickly, and knocked the blade deftly aside before he lanced forward. The blade smashed into a throat. There was a gurgling sound as the guard dropped his scimitar and struggled for life. Abdal withdrew the blade and slashed through the dying man's neck. The head fell backwards, a fountain of blood shooting from the open neck. The body slumped, then collapsed sickly to the ground.

Then Abdal froze. He couldn't move. Amber stood, and slowly walked forwards. She bent down to the headless body at Abdal's feet, and ran her finger through the crimson puddle.

"Look at this mess," she said, then tutted. She stood up, and wiped the blood on Abdal's shirt. She smiled as she ran one hand on Abdal's thigh, then closed her hand around his groin. Abdal couldn't tell her to stop, couldn't throw her aside as she played with him. Her hands rose to his chest, and clasped his pectorals like she was clinging onto a wild horse.

"You've still got a wonderfully shaped body," she whispered. "Though your face lets you down. You were so dashing, so heroic… ultimately foolish, but I admired those qualities in you. Tomorrow you will meet Que'lash. Tomorrow you will die." She stroked his cheek, and raised herself up on her toes to speak into Abdal's ear.

"You were so much better in bed than Marid." Amber began to laugh, then walked away. "Take him back to the cells. Make sure he doesn't get any sleep." Abdal still couldn't voluntarily move as more guards grabbed him, and dragged him away like a statue. His eyes were fixed on Amber's mad orbs, and he burned with fury.

"Goodnight, dear," Amber called. "Sweet dreams."

Twenty-Five - Alms for the Poor

"Damn," said Mahmuud. "They've caught him."

Everyone peered at the neatly scribed piece of paper hanging on the large notice board in a courtyard at Bahabal. A crowd had gathered around the notice, and whispered amongst themselves. Some pointed towards the life-like image of the scarred Prince.

"By order of The Queen of the West, in accordance with Sultan Jaffar's wishes, Abdal Rahiim, the General of the Allied Forces opposed to our most holy crusade will be executed during the Twilight Hour at Black Rock on the morrow. All are welcome to attend and watch the end of our most hated enemy," read Tamir, aloud. "It's dated yesterday. The execution is today," he finished.

"What happened?" Atiya whispered, as she ran her finger over Abdal's face.

"It is not for me to say," said Mahmuud.

"Someone became ugly these past few years," declared Hasdru. The Ferod squeezed its watery form out from Atiya's cloak, and seemed to peer at the picture. Atiya watched Jawhar form Abdal's face depicted in the poster. Then it slunk back inside, afraid of the bustle and noise.

"There-there, Jawhar. You're quite safe," said Atiya, as she patted its form beneath the grey cloak. Hasdru grunted.

"You've shown that… thing more affection in a week than you've shown me in seven years of marriage," Hasdru muttered.

"What shall we do?" said Awad. Mahmuud shrugged, and tore the poster from the board. Protests flared but Mahmuud shot them angry glances, and held his sheathed halberd up. The crowd grew fearful; their protests drowned out and were replaced by footfalls on the stone as they rushed away.

"Find out where they're keeping him. I doubt we will be able to break in and rescue him there, but maybe we might stand a chance if we can find this Black Rock, and the route through the city they must take him to get there," said Mahmuud. He rubbed his chin, and looked about the street. "We'll split up into teams, and scour Bahabal. Find the answers. We'll meet back here in two hours." Everyone nodded.

"That will leave us only a further two to save him," said Tamir. Mahmuud nodded.

"It's better than nothing," said Awad. Mahmuud looked up at the blue sky, and craned his neck towards the large black tower to the east.

"My guess he's there," said Mahmuud. "In that twisted tower of evil."

"What are the teams?" asked Atiya.

"Hasdru, you and myself are one. Everyone else with Awad," said Mahmuud. He nodded to emphasis the teams, and make sure everyone agreed with them.

"We have names," said Yaq'ub. He'd seen many years of hardship since last they'd met. Yaq'ub was no longer frightened of the hardened fighter. Mahmuud stepped forward, a hard look on his face.

"You nomads seem to enjoy moaning. Amal did not mutter a complaint. It is a pity he is dead and you are not." Yaq'ub flashed a snarl, and went for the hilt of his sword. Mahmuud smashed the younger man in the face with the butt of the halberd with blinding speed. Yaq'ub's world spun as he was lifted off the ground. He collapsed in a pile on the floor. "I do not wish to strike you again, so give me no reason too," said Mahmuud, standing over the prone man. Mahmuud offered Yaq'ub his hand, which the nomad hesitated to take. Yaq'ub shook his head, held his chin, and laughed.

"You're right." Yaq-ub clasped the big man's forearm tightly. Mahmuud hoisted the nomad to his feet, and nodded. "Let's get on with this," said Yaq'ub, as he dusted himself down.

"Alms for the poor?" Mahmuud looked into a shadowy corner of the street, and peered at the shape in the gloom. It was a seated old man, naked save for a modest loincloth that thankfully covered his 'crown jewels'. "Alms for the poor, good sir?" The voice was weak, but the man's eyes watched Mahmuud with an un-nerving stare that was both distant yet piercing.

The sun did not peek down into the wide street; the shadows of tall, flawed homes cast themselves like blankets onto the floor. It felt cold, thought Mahmuud. The sea breeze drifted gently into his nostrils, and if he tried really hard, he could hear the sloshing water breaking against the walls, and the cries of gulls as they lazed on the rafters above.

"Do you know a way inside the Black Tower over yonder?" said Mahmuud, as he pointed east. The old beggar chuckled, and spun his bowl between his thin, hairless legs.

"What's so amusing, old man?" The beggar tried to stop laughing, and placed one hand over his mouth. He rocked back and forth for a moment, and Mahmuud decided the beggar was mad. Mahmuud turned to move away.

"Wait," said the old man. "Sorry for the impromptu laughter, but you must forgive me. It is just that someone else asked me that this very week. Gave me a few gold coins too… though I lost them to pay my… debts."

"What did he look like?" said Mahmuud, as he narrowed his eyes and looked down at the small man. The beggar rose to Mahmuud's stomach at full height, and raised one eyebrow in thought. He rubbed at his chin, and scratched then wrinkled his nose. Then his eyes lit up.

"I don't know. He wore a scarf around his face. All I can remember are his eyes and the young boy with him. Nifty with a crossbow, the lad told me." Mahmuud looked to Atiya, eyes wide.

"That's him."

"Aye," said Hadi. "The bugger was caught sneaking into the Black Tower. Those ghost-cats must have stopped him. Execution's today, if you're interested in watching it?" Mahmuud grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled him close.

"If you had anything to do with this, I'll end you here," said Mahmuud. Atiya placed her soft, gentle hand onto Mahmuud's arm, and nodded to the street. Passers-by looked fearfully at Mahmuud.

"What do they care about a beggar?" said Mahmuud. "One less will most likely make them feel better." Hadi winced.

"Please don't harm me," cried Hadi. Mahmuud let go and watched the man drop to his knees on the pavement. "I do not know what happened. I can take you to a man that does." Mahmuud nodded. "My name is Hadi," said Hadi. He stretched out a hand to greet everyone. Only Atiya returned it. "Pleased to meet you," he said, and bowed. "Please follow me."

They'd been waiting longer than expected. Awad tapped his foot on the ground and stared at the fluttering flaps of paper from the poster Mahmuud had torn from the notice board.

"Marching about in enemy lands makes me nervous," said Tamir, as the soldier paced towards Awad. Awad nodded, and looked at the two seated nomads who sat cross-legged on the ground and taken up a game of dice. Awad listened to the bone pieces rattle in the small container, and watched blankly as Ghalib poured them onto the dust-covered courtyard ground.

"Thank Hamid we haven't been properly searched by any guards. I'm still wearing the markings of Ghafsa under this shirt," Tamir continued, pacing back and forth. Awad held out his arm, and stopped Tamir moving.

"Relax, we must wait. Mahmuud will come." Tamir shook free from the grasp and stroked the horn on his waist. He looked about at the falling sun.

"Twilight approaches soon. Abdal's life rests in our hands. Maybe Mahmuud was caught, maybe he's dead?" Awad stood more alert, then beamed a great smile.

"Well, if he's dead, that's a mighty solid ghost." Tamir whipped his head around, and smiled with relief as Mahmuud led his party through the narrow alley towards the courtyard.

There were two figures in the group Awad did not recognise. The first was tall and slender, and strode with an arrogant step. He was dressed in black. The other was short, thin and half-naked. Who were they?

"Good to see no one got you," said Mahmuud as he approached. "Now tell me, did you find Black Rock?" Awad nodded, and cast a sad look to Tamir, then turned back to Mahmuud.

"Yes, but you're not going to like it one bit."

Twenty-Six - Black Rock

Abdal did not need to be woken. He'd not slept, and did not feel fatigued as the sun began to fade outside. The cell grew cold with the departing daylight, and Abdal shivered in his bounds.

"Are you awake, boy?" said Abdal. Zalim stirred in his cage.

"Yes, My General," he said quickly. Abdal smiled. Zalim was growing on him. When Abdal had found him stealing food from his tent six months gone, Zalim seemed to be nothing but a troublemaker, and a poor thief. He was skinny but not afraid. It was that determination in Zalim that Abdal was beginning to respect. How old was he? Ten… twelve… a little bit older than what his own sons would be now. Were they anything like Zalim? Growing up independent and brave?

"Where are your family?" said Abdal.

"Dead," Zalim replied.

"I am sorry for your loss."

"Do not worry," said Zalim. "My mother died giving birth to me. My father, from what I was told, was a drunk. He traded me to men he owed gold too. I was a slave. This war released me from my bonds." Zalim looked about then tapped the metal cage. "Though it has brought me here… so I'm not sure which was best."

"My mother died when I was young. I cannot remember her much, only her long black hair and smile. She was happy, I think. My older brother and seven sisters would run her ragged. They're all dead too, murdered," said Abdal. Zalim coughed, and looked outside.

The door bolt slid across with a metallic ring. Wizwan stepped through the doorway dressed in the same attire as the previous night. His staff banged the ground as Wizwan moved. He stroked his long greying beard playfully, and roughly prodded Abdal's ribs with the butt of the staff.

"Time to meet Que'lash." Four heavy-set guards with their chests exposed walked through and moved to each post like they did the night before. Abdal relaxed his arms as he felt the chains slack, then was hoisted roughly to his feet and pushed face-first into the wall.

One of the men with broad shoulders and gleaming skin moved towards the far wall, and gripped the cage wheel mechanism with large hands. He moved the device round which started Zalim's descent. The cage chains rattled as the prison was lowered to the floor. The guard moved to the cage and withdrew a ring of keys from his belt. Zalim waited patiently as the guard thumbed his way for the correct key. The guard stared coldly at Zalim, then opened the door. He reached in and grabbed Zalim with one meaty hand, and withdrew the boy, dropping him to the ground.

Zalim stamped on the man's toe, then felt the blow as the guard hit him on the cheek with a back-handed strike. Zalim collapsed to the floor with a groan. Blood fell from his shattered nose.

"Like to beat children, do you, cowards!" shouted Abdal.

"Men too," said Wizwan, as he lashed Abdal's back with his staff as two men held him against the wall. Abdal grunted, gritted his teeth and took the pain.

"You still hit like a girl," said Abdal. A fist smashed into the back of his head, crashing him against the wall. Abdal fell unconscious to the tiles.

When Abdal woke he found he was inside a caged cart with bars for walls and a ceiling. The white cloud-covered sky hurt his darkness attuned sight. He found it hard to make out figures, but he could see dark shapes sat in the cart too.

"My General," said Zalim. The sound of cheering, boos and jeers met Abdal's ears, and almost drowned Zalim's words. Abdal peered at the civilians being held back by a line of black-dressed soldiers with white feathered plumed helmets, long spears and broad shields.

"This is it," Abdal heard someone mutter. Abdal sat upright, and studied the ill-looking man sat cross-legged by Zalim.

"Where are they taking us?" said Abdal. The man looked fearful, and leant towards Abdal's scarred face.

"I hope you've made your peace with Hamid for we'll be lining Que'lash's stomach this evening."

"Que'lash? Who is it?" asked Abdal. The man chuckled.

"You'll see, Scar-face, you'll see." Abdal looked at the seated travellers. All of them were Arabs save for one large figure sat on his own at the front. The man was broad and muscled, as tall as Mahmuud Abdal guessed. He had curly brown hair that was cut short.

"My name is Ajid," said the Arab who'd spoken before. "What are you in here for?"

"For spending the last eleven years opposed to Jaffar." Ajid nodded.
"You must be 'The General'. I've heard of you. You have won many great victories I hear… well, for all the good that's done you." A vegetable exploded on one of the bars, and showered them with green particles. Abdal peered out the back. A long line of black-clad soldiers marched in step and tune with rattling drums carved from human bone. Amber was behind these, seated on a golden throne borne forward by a dozen sweating slaves whose arched backs were whipped by masked handlers at their sides. Abdal watched as one whip flew upwards, the barbed ends flailing like stripped curtains in the wind, then flashed down again, cutting into the large slave's back.

"Surely that's not a way to travel," said Zalim. "What if they get whipped and collapse?"

"There are reserves, most likely behind the throne," said Abdal. Abdal studied the figure of Amber. She wore a blue dress with white flowered embroidery winding its way across the surface. She sat with her legs crossed; the split in her skirt revealing the thigh of her right leg. Jewels sparkled on her fingertips, including the gemmed band Abdal had given her as a wedding gift all those years ago.

Her hair was tied back, and she wore a purple scarf that covered all but her eyes. She stared directly at Abdal. The General felt a shiver run down his spine, and he turned away. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

The cart drove forward, the crack of whips and the rhythm of the drums beating out a haunting song as they moved. The city was alive with noise as thousands of people gathered to watch the spectacle. Most were children, or old men and women. Most of the able-bodied men had joined the Sultan's armies, Abdal feared. Despite the excitement of the crowd, he knew they had little to look forward too, and most were probably sad. Maybe they were glad that Abdal had been caught? He was no longer a dangerous threat, the war for Araby could almost be over; their husbands, sons, fathers and brothers returning home out of harms way. Was that what they all wished for, an end to the bloodshed? A giant gate emerged from around a tight corner. Its great iron doors were already opening, and revealed the glistening, waving ocean. White and grey gulls cried out on the parapet, some idly standing on the stone, others flapping wings or grooming themselves with orange beaks.

The tall gate archway cast a flashing shadow as they passed, out onto the concrete pier that ran into the sea. People were standing out here too, though their shouts were more subdued. Abdal crawled forward to the front of the cart, and pushed through the seated doomed men as he did. Zalim followed close behind, excitement and fear filling his heart.

The big pale man turned his black-bearded face to Abdal, and shifted his weight over slightly to allow the General room. Abdal peered out. Great white ship sails fluttered in the wind as the great galleys pushed out into the open ocean towards the world beyond. What interested Abdal more was the solid black outline of the building that lay at the end of the pier. Hundreds of wide ancient steps led up to a rocky domed platform suspended above the water. The rock was coloured black as night, and golden torches and braziers burned in the many visible wide-arched windows.

As they neared, Abdal noticed the ramp for the cart at the left of the steps. He could smell the sea strongly, and the scent of fish and took in a deep breath as the cart began the gentle ascent.

"Black Rock," muttered Ajid, as he pushed through the prisoners. "We're doomed." A sense of dread filled Abdal's bosom as he looked at the carved features of sea creatures in the rock.

Mahmuud had tracked them all the way to the pier. He'd shivered his own pole-arm to conceal the weapon from the enemy, hiding it in the lengths of a stolen robe. It was an act that had made him wince, but little else. It was a loved weapon, but Mahmuud loved Abdal more. He could find stout ashwood to rebuild the full length of his halberd, but he could not find another Abdal. Sariyah, the lithe thief, touched him on the arm and pointed to the procession that followed the cart.

"We can't do anything," said the thief. "It pains me to say this, but my employer and your friend is finished. How can we possibly beat all that?" Mahmuud beamed a grim smile.

"With guts and metal," said Mahmuud.

"Guts and metal got your friend here in the first place." An ear-piercing screech filled the air as the shadow of half-a-dozen Mu'ayyad flying above cast itself onto the crowd. People began to mutter prayers, some screamed, while others jabbered manically.

"The Black Rock is an arena," said Mahmuud. "If we can get inside, maybe we can be of more use to Abdal?" Sariyah shrugged his shoulders, and felt Hadi bump into his back.

"Watch it," said the thief. Hadi nodded, and turned his gaze to the creatures in the sky.

The rattle of drums and the stomp of marching feet flanked them as Mahmuud pushed through the crowd towards the steps of Black Rock. He looked up, and noticed Abdal at the front of the cart. Abdal didn't cast a glance his way, and simply stared dead ahead.

"Hamid be with us all," muttered Mahmuud. He began to climb the steps as the crowd shuffled slowly towards the arena.

Twenty-Seven - Que'lash

Abdal looked down the orange flickering tunnel. Its slope was gentle, and led towards beaten stairs. Light filtered down in dozens of beams through a square mesh grid in the ceiling above the steps. Abdal could hear the crowd of people above, shuffling into seats for the coming execution. It sickened Abdal how people would happily turn up en-masse to such an event. Abdal felt someone tug at the rope that connected everyone together.

"My General… what is that smell?" Abdal had noticed it since they reached Black Rock. It was a slightly fishy smell, but there was something that spoke of death and decay.

"How do I know, boy?"

"It's Que'lash," whispered Ajid.

"Silence," a squat guard shouted. The man walked towards them and lashed out at Ajid with a thin vine cane. His cheeks went red with the exertion. The guard captain finally ceased when Ajid stopped moaning. The bloodied battered form of Ajid didn't stir. Abdal crouched to his knees, and felt for a pulse with his tied hands behind his back.

"He's dead," Abdal whispered, sadly.

"At least he won't face Que'lash." It was the foreigner who spoke. His accent was thick, and tricky to understand but Abdal caught the gist. Abdal was anxious to see Que'lash. No-one had said anything but the name. Something told him it was even more frightening than anything he'd faced before.

The deep rumble of a horn vibrated the shadowy corridor, and filled Abdal's ears. There were a few murmurs as men prayed and cried. Someone sobbed.

"At least we're near the back," said Zalim. "Maybe it will give us a chance to escape?" Or a longer view of the horror that awaited them, thought Abdal. The guards began to prod the long line of doomed men towards the staircase. Abdal felt the sting of a vine cane on his arm.

"You'll have to drag that one to the platform. He might be dead, but Que'lash won't care," said the guard, as he pointed towards Ajid. Abdal began to march.

The arena was packed. Mahmuud had only seen so many people on the field of battle, now twenty-thousand-or-so souls sat and stood waiting for the spectacle. The horn roared loudly. It was a huge piece of ivory that sat on a platform to the south. A giant grey beast was strapped to the mouthpiece, with frog-like cheeks and a bloated, wart-covered stomach. Half-naked slaves pressed its chest in with long padded poles. Its bloated form squeezed, and another horn-blast echoed through the arena.

Mahmuud looked around. Large blue globes rimmed the guarded lower platform closest to the wide hole that revealed the rolling sea beneath the arena. Then he turned his eyes towards Amber. The evil witch sat on a high throne on the northern platform, above the crowd. She looked down at the water but Mahmuud could not see her expression.

He felt a tug on his arm. Atiya pointed towards the platform to the west. A trapdoor was opened. Every set of eyes in the audience turned towards the men being led up out into the dying light that filtered through the open-roofed arena.

"Can you see him?" said Awad, as he leant forward.

"No," said Mahmuud.

Then Abdal emerged onto the platform, dragging a prone body behind him. He looked the worse for wear; his scarred face was revealed and looked more strained than usual, blood and bruises covered his topless torso and arms. His hands were bound behind him. The horn stopped rumbling, and the beast looked relieved as the slaves ceased their prodding.

A man dressed in black and carrying a staff that crackled with power at its bulb-tip stepped forward. He stood on the same platform as the prisoners, and stamped the butt of his staff onto the floor. It rang and silence followed.

"Welcome, people of Araby. Tonight's spectacle has long been awaited by Jaffar and the Queen herself." The sorcerer waved his hand across the silent prisoners. "Tonight you will witness the feeding of Que-lash. But these are not just simple thieves and rule-breakers here, but disposed Sultans, and Generals of our enemies." He pointed the glowing tip of his staff towards Abdal's chest. "Abdal Rahiim, The General, scourge of our most Holy Armies, has finally been caught. This is he. This scarred, wretched form of a man. Look at his face, how it has been burned and twisted like his evil soul." A series of boos and scornful words were directed at Abdal. Abdal looked defiantly up at them.

"Sheep," muttered Tamir with disgust.

"They'd boo anything right about now," said Awad. "Death is too good for them."

A small jet of flame shot from the sorcerer's index-fingertip and burnt through the rope, separating the prisoners into two lines. He raised his staff and looked up at Amber. The Queen of the West stood, and waved her hand.

Abdal watched Wizwan turn from Amber, and back towards the beast-horn slaves. Wizwan raised his staff, and the blue crackling light shot from the tip and lanced down towards the water. It sliced through the green surface, throwing up waves and white froth. The slaves prodded the beast and the horn rumbled.

Abdal peered through the mesh-grid steel floor into the murky depths below. The blue light from Wizwan's staff struck an object in the water. The flat shield object flashed to life, and glowed a blinding white. Abdal could see jagged rock in the water, but little else. The horn blasted again, loud and long. Still nothing emerged. Another horn blast echoed, then there was silence. Even the crowd held their breath.

A massive blacked out form emerged below and Abdal's blood ran cold. The creature swam forward with a giant bulb shaped body, flailing arms or tentacles - Abdal could not guess which, trailed behind.

His eyes opened wide with fear as the creature stopped swimming, tilted its balloon head to the sky, and raised a few arms out of the water. Que'lash was a giant octopus. Its arms were purple, with white suction cups coating one side. Que'lash stared up at the platform with cold black eyes.

"Push the first lot in!" Wizwan shouted. Guards emerged from the back, and prodded the first line of prisoners towards the platform edge. There were screams as the reality of the prisoners fate hit them. Some dropped to their knees and refused to move but were kicked and dragged towards the edge. Abdal closed his eyes as they were dropped over, each one connected to the next by a length of rope. Abdal could close his eyes to the scene, but his ears were wide open.

"Hamid have mercy on us," whispered Zalim.

"Hamid's Balls," Mahmuud shouted as the beast's arms rose out of the water. He watched the men fall like discarded timber into the depths and waiting arms of the beast. He watched as one thick arm plucked them out of the water, joined by another swinging suction-cupped arm that rose gently out of the murky sea, a white sheen of water dripping from oily looking skin.

"What are we going to do?" Awad said, as he gripped the rock wall of the tiered arena. Mahmuud watched as one arm went close to a blue globe, withdrawing quickly on contact.

"It doesn't like the globes," Mahmuud muttered.

"They are magical barriers which hold Que'lash away from the audience and platforms," said Sariyah, as he watched wide-eyed in horror. The audience around them cheered, thumping the air with clenched fists.

"We must break them," said Mahmuud. Sariyah turned to the large man and shook his head.

"We cannot. If Que'lash is freed, he could tear this whole place down." Mahmuud's eyebrows raised as his eyes widened with interest. He slapped the thief on the back.

"That's what must be done. Quickly now. We must split up and destroy the globes," Mahmuud declared. Awad, Tamir and the nomads nodded. "Split up into pairs." Mahmuud felt a gentle tap on his forearm.

"What about me?" said Hadi. "I can help."

"Very well, go with Awad. Hurry!"

"Hamid have mercy, they're pushing Abdal in!" cried Tamir, pointing towards the platform.

"We've got little time, move yourselves," shouted Mahmuud as he flung his cloak back, tossing it to the stone seats. He withdrew his halved halberd from his back and grinned wickedly as the crowd began to panic. "Out of the way, dogs," he cried, "madman coming through!"

Abdal was prodded towards the edge, and felt the sharp strike play haywire with his nerves. He looked at the thrashing men in the water, trying to keep their heads up for air, while others were being picked up and dragged under by the long, thick snake-like arms of the giant octopus. Blood rose in thick, flowering patterns to the surface, while arms and legs began to float like driftwood.

"Farewell, Abdal Rahiim," said Wizwan, as he struck Abdal over the edge. He began to fall, the body of Ajid above him. Zalim wailed as he went over next. Then the line halted. Abdal dangled, his boots touching the water. He squirmed, shaking the rope and people above.

"For Bretonnia," he heard someone shout. The large form of the foreigner was poised at the edge, his weight and strength holding Abdal, Ajid and Zalim from the water. He was struck solidly again and again by the guards, but still he did not budge. Only when a dozen spears entered his torso did the foreigner's strength fade. He collapsed to his knees, wrapped his muscled legs around one of the guards ankles, and pitched over the platform with a long cry of anguish. Abdal entered the warm waters where Que'lash waited with open arms.

Twenty-Eight - Resilient Globes Aren't a Problem for Hadi

Atiya's heart sank as she watched Abdal crash into the murky water. The audience cheered as the deposed sultan sank into the sea, and as Que'lash feasted. Atiya placed the butt of her hollow staff that concealed her bow onto the stone seating, and leapt up like an agile panther. Hasdru went to grab Atiya's hand but she stepped quickly towards the edge, flashed Hasdru a glance, then dived.

"Atiya!" cried Hasdru, as he watched her go.

Atiya felt the emptiness of the fall. Her blood began to rush to her head, her heart began to beat faster and wildly. She formed an arch with her arms as she fell, still holding the staff-bow in her hand.

She could hear the audience shouting, and closed her eyes as she neared the water. Atiya smashed into the water like a lead weight, cutting through the slopping surface right into the cold depths. She opened her eyes beneath. In the mire she could see the bloated, purple form of Que'lash feasting on the still prisoners as it dragged the tied, dead men towards its chomping beak. Dark clouds of red swirled upwards like smoke from a campfire, highlighted by a white glowing orb as the blood twirled upwards to the surface. It made her want to vomit, but she pushed through the water, desperately searching for Abdal.

Her lungs began to scream, but she refused to surface. There he was, struggling, thrashing his legs to reach the surface. The young boy Zalim was there too, little bubbles raising from his scared and opening mouth.

She swam awkwardly, her only experience of swimming coming from the rare desert pools the nomads would happen upon and camp around for a few months before moving on. Her soaked clothes stuck to her body as she kicked her legs and moved her arms. She glided through the water towards the column of bubbles surrounding Abdal.

Abdal had his eyes open and his cheeks puffed out as he held desperately to breath, and watched Atiya swim close. She nodded, and withdrew a blade from her boot, the silvered surface flashing in the water as the white light struck it.

Atiya gripped the rope, and sliced through with ease, releasing Abdal from the dead man. Abdal's lungs were screaming, but he quickly took the knife out of Atiya's hand, and moved towards Zalim. The boy was still alive, though looked terrified. Zalim's eyes were closed, and small bubbles rose out of his nose as the boy breathed outwards.

Blood rose around them like a crimson fog, rising from the dead body of the large foreigner below, who seemed to drag them down as though he were a weighted stone. Abdal sliced through the boy's bonds, grabbed him around the torso and sped towards the surface, thrashing the water with his legs like a crippled shark using its tail. Abdal could see the surface, shimmering and rocking above. Almost there. He broke the surface and gulped desperately at the air, mouth open, his hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks. Zalim coughed out water, his eyes bloodshot and wide.

"Who'd of thought a desert girl could swim?" said Abdal, his scarred face and shame forgotten in the heat of the moment as soon as Atiya rose out of the murky depths. Her raven hair clung to her shoulders, while her skin shined and glistened. The night in Eagle City returned to him; the image of her naked body clasping his, the curve of her hips, the feel of her skin. He wanted her. No matter how much he'd tried to forsake Atiya for leaving him the morning after, for breaking what was left of his heart, he couldn't deny what he felt. Then Que'lash's bulbous body rose from the depths, its arms like poised cobras ready to strike, and all thoughts of Atiya left his mind.

"Come," shouted Mahmuud as he pushed his way through the crowd. Sariyah looked agitated and angry. He wasn't the type for such overt operations. He felt like all the eyes of the world were staring at him. The half-naked figure of the beggar followed behind, gingerly stepping over men knocked down by Mahmuud.

"Excuse me," he said as he brushed the arm of one, "sorry," to another as he stepped on a hand.

Mahmuud felt a tug on his sleeve.

"There," said Sariyah, pointing his curved dagger towards a set of descending steps. "We can reach the lower platforms there." Mahmuud grunted.

"Good work, thief," the big man said, as he veered towards the stairs. The guards noticed them coming, and took a step back, linking their golden shields together to form a wall of metal.

Mahmuud met the wall with speed and strength, sending two of the four guards crashing down the rock steps, their shields and spears clashing as the guards tumbled. Mahmuud quickly drew his halved-halberd across, and cleaved through the tip of one shield. The guard thrust his spear-point for Mahmuud's gut, but the grizzled warrior caught the shaft, and snapped it with a roar. With the guard's broken spear-head in one hand, and halberd-sword in the other, Mahmuud dealt a flurry of blows that knocked one back to his knees, spear-point in throat. Then the other guard cried out and fell. Sariyah moved quickly forwards, and withdrew the throwing knife out of the guards temple. He wiped the blade of blood, and grinned like a madman as he pointed towards the main gates. More guards were rushing through.

"They're not happy," said Sariyah.
"I bet they're not," replied Mahmuud as he moved down the stairs, gutting the wounded soldiers who'd fallen down and stumbled around in panic below.

The stairs were steep but short, and led onto cold grey stone. The horrible stench that clung to Black Rock smelt even worse down here, the closer they were to the beast in the water. Mahmuud met another pair of guards, and roared as he slashed a vertical cut through the helm and face of one, before removing the guard's colleague's arm with a flashing slice through the elbow joint. Blood shot out and coated the grey stone floor and Mahmuud's leggings.

He looked around the lower circular platform. In the distance Hasdru emerged, Awad, Tamir and the other nomads close behind, and began fighting their way through the guards towards the globes.

"I'll hold them," said Mahmuud calmly, as he rushed to meet the next enemy clamouring along the wide open ground tier. "Break the globes." Sariyah nodded, and turned to the closest one, just before the stairs. The blue colour lit the ground and tiered walls and ceiling, bathing it in a mysterious magical light.

Sariyah stepped forwards, and took a lunging thrust at the cloud-swirling ball. The tip slid and Sariyah almost crashed into the ball with his momentum. He narrowed his eyes. There wasn't even a scratch. He struck again, twice, his movements swift and accurate. Still nothing.

"Mahmuud," shouted Sariyah. "We might have a problem." A short distance away Mahmuud smashed left and right, his tall, broad figure a giant amongst his foes. Sariyah felt a hand softly squeeze his arm. Hadi stared at the globe and grinned.

"I might be able to help with this." Hadi stuck his tongue out, and rolled back the sleeves of his imaginary robe. Then he began to mutter.

"You shouldn't be doing this," said Sariyah. "You know what happened last time."

"Nonsense," said Hadi. "How else are you going to break those damned things." A sensation of a soft breeze blew past, despite the lack of actual wind. Hadi's eyes began to glow white, while thin tongues of yellow flame began to rise from out of Hadi's clenched hands.

"Azeroao conjectino," he shouted, and guided his glowing hands towards the ball. Immense heat seemed to stifle Sariyah as he watched Hadi launch a large golden ball from his hands towards the globe. The golden ball struck and shattered the blue-globe with a flash of orange, blinding light. Below, in the watery depths, Que'lash roared as the powers that had held her prisoner for six-centuries waned.

Twenty-Nine - The Wrath of Que'lash

A fiery inferno enfolded above; billows of white cloud flashed orange and blue as dust and mortar shot through the air. The audience roar turned to panic. Que'lash screeched like nothing Abdal had heard before, shaking the very water with its vibration.

"This your doing?" Abdal said, as he kicked at the water, holding Zalim's head above the surface. Atiya nodded.

"Yes, partly. Mahmuud is in command." Abdal shook his head and smiled wickedly.

"I should've guessed." Rocks began to tumble into the water with violent splashes.

"We must make it to the sides," Abdal shouted. "Quickly now!" Abdal moved towards the craggy wall, slicing the water with one arm as he held onto the boy with the other. Atiya moved at his side, and spat a load of water from her mouth which entered un-invited. Que'lash pushed herself forward, gripping the barrier-less broken tier above with her giant suction-cupped arms. They rose up out of the surface, much to everyone's horror, flapping like blind insects feeling their way forward with antennas. Black algae covered its arms, and almost looked like strands of hair. Then they stopped moving and pulled at the ancient structure. The arms tensed like the audience frozen in their seats.

"Move yourselves," cried Mahmuud as he watched the octopus arms tense on the tier. The guards completely ignored the gore-coated warrior now, and watched wide-eyed in horror as Que'lash rose from the depths of the water. Some dropped their weapons to the ground, and fell to their knees in prayer to Hamid.

"The beast will pull us down, we must depart," insisted Sariyah, as he looked towards the edge. He pointed towards the stairs with his dagger-hand. Mahmuud shook his head and gestured towards the other globes.

"No," said Mahmuud. "We're breaking them all. Fetch the sorcerer." Sariyah sheathed his blade.

"I am not yours to command. Go with Hamid." Mahmuud reached for the man but Sariyah ducked and spun, rushed past the nervous form of Hadi, and pushed up the stairs.

"Bloody cowardly thieves," spat Mahmuud. "You're coming with me," he said as he pushed towards Hadi.

"Who… me?" said Hadi, pointing a finger at his own chest. Mahmuud nodded, scooped the man up over his shoulder and ran past the dripping wet arms clinging to the wall.

What on earth was happening? Amber couldn't believe her eyes. After all her planning, Abdal's sacrifice was turning into a disaster. She stood from her golden throne, and, wrapping her purple robe about her figure, moved towards the edge of her platform. She placed her hands on the rune-inscribed tier wall, and watched as Que'lash began to rock the arena.

"Archers," she shouted loudly to her aids. One man, an officer with a thick black beard and dressed in fine blue silk nodded, and pushed away, holding the handle of his scimitar to force the blade away from his moving legs. Amber watched him go and turned her attention towards the swimmers. Abdal was moving away from Que'lash.

"Archers," she cried again. "Hurry, or I shall have your hides and that of your families displayed on my walls." This was all Marid's fault, she decided. If only she hadn't sent orders for him to meet up with the marching army instead of returning to the city, at least she could vent her rage upon him. "Curse you, Abdal," she said. "Forever the thorn in my side."

Abdal stretched his arm out for the wall, and heard another explosion above. The vibration shivered the wall as Abdal touched it. Debris showered down like heavy rain as dust blossomed like clouds above. The stadium shuddered, and Que'lash called out again from beneath the depths as more of its arms began to stretch out onto Black Rock.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Atiya shouted as she searched for an exit. There didn't appear to be anyway out of the pool.

"Here," said Abdal as he held Zalim and pushed the spluttering child over to Atiya. "Hold him."

"I can't swim," spat Zalim as he trashed his arms and legs in panic.

"Relax boy, I won't let you drown," said Abdal. "Maybe there is a way out where they cage the beast? I will search a way, stay here out of harms reach." Abdal went to move away, but felt a hand grab his wrist.

"Be careful," said Atiya.

"What do you care what happens to me?" said Abdal. He grabbed her hand and removed it from his, then dived below. The view beneath the water was dominated by the large form of Que'lash. Its bulbous head pulsated, and seemed to change colour. The arms remaining below the surface held the octopus poised above the ground, like fleshy chair-legs. One dark eye, almost like an ebon mirror, stared at Abdal and made the General's blood run cold. It possessed un-comprehensible intelligence, he was sure. He could see the wide passage near the beast where Que'lash had emerged. The tunnel was dark and foreboding.

Abdal pushed towards the surface for another deep breath of air, but he felt something catch him. It sucked at his leg, and wrapped around Abdal's knee with force. Abdal looked down. Que'lash had him. Abdal tried to pull away but the beast wouldn't have it. Que'lash dragged Abdal deeper and closer to its chomping maw.

His breath was shortening. Perhaps he'd drown before being eaten, thought Abdal. As he moved through thick dark blood that seemed to swirl about him like tornadoes, he caught sight of a body waving beneath the depths. It was the foreigner. He was dead, and pale, arms held out and waving gently in the water. The man's bounds were caught on the rocky seabed, and held him in place.

Abdal reached out and grabbed hold of the body. The foreigner did not protest, long gone were his struggles for life. The motion of the pull did not hold the foreigner pinned for long, and the man was lifted up along with Abdal.

Que'lash was close now. Abdal could study its ancient beak opening and closing with malicious intent. Abdal tried to calm his heart, and wondered just what in the world he was going to do.

Que'lash still held onto the arena with some of its arms. He could see the tensing flesh beneath the surface, and the shaking bulbous body of Que'lash as it tugged at the walls. There was a shudder which Abdal felt in the water, and Que'lash disappeared beneath a wave of froth as the beast pulled Black Rock apart.

Once the wave rushed past him, Abdal opened his eyes. Que'lash was alive and well and moved towards Abdal, murderous intent in its dark, alien orbs. For the first time in many years, Abdal sent a prayer to Hamid.

Thirty - Escape from Black Rock and a New Prisoner

Que'lash pushed forward, feeling the seabed with its suction-cupped arms. Abdal thrust the body of the foreigner in front of his own, and held the knife out with his other hand. The thick arm that gripped his leg could easily crush him, but held him forcefully enough not to break his body, merely keep it below the surface. Abdal could feel his lungs ache for air, like some screaming kettle ready to explode with noise.

The surface above rocked and shivered as large blocks of black stone and screaming people hit the water.

A frenzy began above where the audience, now in total panic and very aware of the danger of Que'lash, grabbed a hold of one another. Those that could swim were held by those that couldn't. Men, women and children drowned in numbers. Que'lash began to lash out above, shooting its long arms high and sending them crashing down onto the people splashing and screaming in the water, casting tall, cascading waves over the crowds.

Abdal quickly plunged the dagger into the thick arm that held him, but Que'lash tightened its grip. Abdal wanted to shout out with pain, but held his mouth closed, and stabbed again with a flurry of mad strikes.

Que'lash drew its arm towards its great, chomping beak, and pulled Abdal with it. Bubbles rushed at Abdal's vision. He held the foreigner tightly before him, knife poised to strike. If this was his time to die, he'd get one more cut in. Black blood began to swirl around him with the bubbles, as though Abdal had become trapped in a tempestuous wine glass. Bodies floated in the mire; their eyes were wide open or closed, their hair loosely flowing like plant-life in the corals.

There was a great scream, and Que'lash thrashed its arms. More stone fell into the water. Abdal could hear subdued screams above as people beneath the tumbling blocks looked up with horror.

Abdal became desperate and struck the arm again. The grip tightened. It felt like his leg had been crushed, but it still throbbed and he could wiggle his toes. The giant beak opened wide, and Abdal could see the darkness within. Abdal thrust the body of the dead man into the beast's maw, and stabbed at Que'lash's wounded arm again.

The beak closed down onto the body of the Bretonnian and crushed the corpse with sickening ease, decapitating the man and slicing off his feet with the first bite. Dark blood released from the body and drifted outwards, expanding into the arena pool along with the bodies and blood of the crowd and prisoners.

The beast screeched again, the very water vibrating with its sound, then it released Abdal, shooting him upwards out of the water. Abdal breathed like he spent a lifetime without air.

Screams and splashing, roars and shouts filled the arena, bouncing off the black rock walls and resonating into the skies.

"Abdal!" Abdal watched as the Ferod skimmed across the water with speed, Atiya and Zalim sitting on its surface like Jawhar was a magic carpet. Atiya was waving her arms, while Zalim held onto the Ferod for dear life as the magical being weaved between the giant arms of Que'lash.

The Ferod extended a part of its body, like a giant scoop, and plucked Abdal from the water, flinging him high into the air and onto its body between Atiya and Zalim.

"My General," Zalim said, and offered a quick salute; hand turned to a fist and thumped against his chest.

"I thought you drowned," Atiya said, grasping Abdal's scarred cheeks. Abdal stared at her a moment, then quickly turned away.

"Jawhar, take me up there," said Abdal, as he pointed towards the platform where Amber stood bellowing orders at her men. Arrows flashed past from the balcony, sinking into the water and the flesh of the rampaging beast. Jawhar came to a stop, then whipped around to face the platform. It formed a broad back - much like a sofa, and rose with alarming velocity upwards.

"They will aim for us," Atiya said with fear as she noticed the flashing silver points of many arrows rimming the platform above. Atiya closed her eyes, and threw her arms up in a feeble effort to shield herself, but felt no stinging pain. She peeked out with one eye, surprised, and noticed Jawhar had formed a dome before his passengers, a shield which soaked up the arrows like a sponge.

"Thank you, Jawhar," she whispered, stroking the rippling form beneath. There was an ear-shattering screech in the air, and Abdal noticed giant red birds hung in the darkening skies.

"Rocs," Abdal whispered.

"We're saved," muttered Zalim.

"Saved, what beasts are these?" said Atiya, her heart racing as the Ferod continued to climb. Abdal took her trembling hand.

"They are the Rocs, mountain dwellers. They are not our enemies." Amber came into view and Abdal released Atiya's hand. Her guards backed away from the strange floating beast, their weapons completely useless against its magical form. The Ferod swiftly flew above them, then dropped his cargo on the stone floor, before lashing out at the archers, knocking them from the platform to the depths below.

Amber stepped back, afraid, towards the protection of her armed guards by the throne. The fastest guard carried a broad shining rectangular shield, and flashed a wide scimitar from out of his scabbard. Knife in hand, Abdal stepped forward. The man was taller and broader than Abdal, and wore a pointed cap with golden cheek-guards, which revealed his bearded face and his emerald coloured eyes. They met with a clash, and barred teeth, then quickly parted.

"Ha," called Amber. "You still cannot win." She looked more comfortable now as her last resort - four bruisers armed and armoured in fine fashion, stood between Abdal and herself.

"Do not be so quick to laugh, Witch," Abdal shouted. He launched himself forward, took the guard's scimitar on the edge of his knife, then swept the man's legs away with a practiced kick. The guard collapsed, but Abdal moved before the man could stand. Abdal plunged the dagger into the forehead, and picked up the dead guard's scimitar. Abdal cast a wicked smile towards Amber, and twirled the sword in a mocking, confident gesture.

The next guard stepped forward, similarly dressed to the previous, now dead guard. His shield bore the head of Amber, while his scimitar snaked forward. Abdal turned the blade aside with one move, and thrust into the man's unprotected armpit. There was a gurgling noise as blood began to fall from the guard's mouth. There was a clatter as the shield and sword dropped to the floor. Abdal removed the blade and watched the dead man fall.

"Only two to go," he said, with a smile, as he noticed Amber's disposition change. She began to get more nervous, and looked to the stairs. She made to move for the exit, but a giant red bird swooped down before her.

"How fortune turns," Abdal said. "There's no escape for you now." The two guards threw down their weapons, and backed slowly away, towards the edge, and willingly threw themselves into the water below, preferring their chances with Que'lash than Abdal and the bird.

Thirty-One - Sad News and the Enemy in their Midst

"A damned fine mess you got yourself into," said Mahmuud, as he paced behind Abdal. "Look at the bloody state of you." Abdal shook his head, and continued to scrub at the blood on his arms in the stream. "But do you really know what gets my goat? It's not the fact that you didn't take me with you, it's the fact that you gave command of the Army to Barakah!"

Abdal stopped scrubbing his arms and turned to Mahmuud with a smile.

"Perhaps I knew you'd come looking for me, so what would be the point?" Mahmuud broke into a smile, and the pair embraced like brothers. Mahmuud gripped him in a bear hug and lifted Abdal from the ground.

"Easy now," said Abdal, as Mahmuud shook him from side to side. "You've the strength to match Que'lash."

"Bah, I'd have torn its arm apart." Mahmuud dropped Abdal, and his smile sadly faded.

"What are you going to do to her?" said Mahmuud. Abdal turned to face the makeshift pen that held Amber. She was sat cross-legged on the ground after another tantrum, hair hanging loose covering her face. All the better, thought Abdal.

"I'm going to kill her of course," said Abdal. Mahmuud shook his head.

"Amal is dead," said Mahmuud. "We buried him beneath a mountain. It is in quite a peaceful spot." Abdal nodded his head.

"I wondered why I hadn't seen him," said Abdal, as he turned to stare at the women in the cage.

"He died in battle. Perhaps you'd wish to see the grave?" Abdal nodded his head.

"Of course. I owe him my life. I guess that is a debt I can not pay in this life." Abdal looked up to the heavens. The sky had darkened and the stars glittered in their thousands. The river whispered past as he stared up at the moons, and the trees swayed with the gentle wind on the surface of the mountains.

The group stood and lay resting along the river bank, amongst the thick, knee-high grass. Tamir stood guard while the Rocs clung to the cliff walls high in the darkness above, their sharp calls chilling in the night. The Ferod drifted across the river surface, its form gleaming silver.

"Almost like old times," said Abdal as he watched Jawhar dive into the water. A moment later Jawhar leapt out of the depths in the shape of a giant fish, twisting its body like a dolphin.

"I recall the night before Amal perished. He talked about many things, particularly the stars. He told me they were a link for all life. You think he is up there somewhere, staring down at us?" Abdal shook his head.

"I think he'd have better things to do in the afterlife than that," said Abdal. He turned from the water, and caught Atiya's gaze as she settled onto the grass next to her husband. Hasdru cast Abdal a wicked smile, and settled back, taking Atiya in his large arms.

"Now," said Abdal, sternly, "it's time to find out where that witch has taken my children."

The morning sun crept high above the peaks that flanked the Army. Already, men moved quickly, striking the tents for the march west. The day was particularly hot, and Barakah could feel the sweat dripping down his ribcage from his armpits as he stared out towards the rolling plains to the east.

His steed whinnied, and shook its head as another rider rushed towards him. The figure slowed, his long, trailing green cloak settling with the slowing beast between his thighs.

"They are but a couple of days march from us," the rider said. "Their armies have met up and are camped on the Plains of Yahyah. Almost one-hundred thousand men strong." Barakah nodded his head.

"We are less than sixteen-thousand, it does not bode well."

"We need more men," said the soldier.

"Yes, Basit, we do."

"We could always poison their water supply," said Basit. Barakah shook his head.

"That's the only river near our army too, Basit. We take that away from ourselves if we choose to poison it. No, when the time comes, it will be a clash of sword-on-sword." Basit nodded.

"Ride to the camp, Basit, and bring me the Soothsayer. Do it quickly," Basit nodded and went to move away. "And Basit, if she refuses, tell her that is not an option." Basit nodded, and kicked the flanks of his horse.

She was stooped forward across the horses' neck, and led up the slope by Basit pulling at the steed's reins. The army had already begun to filter out of the broad mountain pass westward. A long line of armoured soldiers led the column, with thin lines of cavalry flanking wounded men, supply carts, and livestock.

"You called?" She said, with a croak as they came to stop by Barakah. Barakah nodded, and patted the flank of his horse as the presence of the soothsayer unsettled it.

"Yes, Soothsayer. I have important work for you to do." The Soothsayer nodded.

"I might have guessed. You wish me to ride to our enemies and tell them lies? What makes you think they have not scouted your army already?"

"Our scouts are better than theirs," he said with confidence. The soothsayer sat upright on the saddle, and smiled. She pointed to a mountain slope, and Barakah followed her gaze. Up high, perched into a crevice covered in shadow, was a Mu'ayyad. It stretched its wings and launched itself from its hiding place.

"By Hamid, it was so close," exclaimed Basit. Barakah nodded, and watched it glide away towards the white clouds.

"Now tell me, Soothsayer, why is it you knew it was there yet said nothing until now?" The old lady smiled.

"It is not always my place to say," she said. Barakah nodded.

"Hamid tells you when, does he?"

"Of course," said the Soothsayer.

"Then does he also know why lots of our men are sick and dying? Why I have lost three hundred to disease when we have all drank from the same water, eaten the same food?" The Soothsayer looked Barakah up and down.

"He does not show me everything."

Barakah went for his sword, but the Soothsayer slid from the saddle before the blade flashed out of its sheath. She held her left arm up. In her winkled, long fingers was one of her small vials with a blue liquid inside. Barakah hesitated, not sure what she was about to do, but slid from his saddle and began to walk slowly towards her, sword pointed at her throat. The Soothsayer tossed the vial at her feet. A cloud of blue smoke drifted quickly from the broken vial, and encompassed the Soothsayer.

"General?" Basit said, shocked, as he listened to the old woman's laughter. Barakah cautiously neared the pillar of fog, and thrust his blade into it. It met nothing but air. The wicked hag's laughter remained in the air as the cloud dissipated, revealing nothing of the woman behind.

"She consorts with the enemy," said Barakah. "Come Basit, there is nothing else we can do but move to the Pass of the Pharaohs, and pray that the confines of the cliff walls will save us. The future of the Alliance hangs in a delicate balance, my old friend, and it seems even Hamid is against us."

Thirty-Two - A Dangerous Relationship and the Flight of the Mu'ayyad

Marid blew his nose into the white cloth, and rubbed at his watering eyes while he screwed up the used material into a ball. Despite the heat and fine weather, he'd somehow come down with a cold, and could place it down to the moment Abdal had escaped him. It was all Abdal's fault. Instead of taking him back to be executed, he'd lost him and had a vision from Jaffar to wait for an army. Now he had arrived and it was all Abdal's fault.

"They know," said Marid, as he dropped the cloth onto the grass. Marid watched the old woman nod, and shuffle uneasily as she peered back outside the tent doorway.

"I told her it was too risky, that I would be caught," said the soothsayer. Marid nodded.

"She's terribly difficult, that woman. Wouldn't trust her with a bag of coins, let alone decisions like that," said Marid. "What Jaffar sees in that woman is beyond me."

"They are related." Marid nodded.

"I've got relations too, wouldn't see me handing over armies to many of them, Badriyah." Badriyah laughed, and she seated herself on a stool.

"They are a small army, tired, their spirit all but deserted with their foolish leader," said Badriyah. "We must strike camp and follow them. Harass them, slow them down with your Mu'ayyad and cavalry. They will not stand." Marid nodded as he listened to the old lady. He stood up, and walked forward awkwardly.

"Jaffar should give you command of one of his armies. Have you heard much of his campaigns to the east? I have heard no word of success. The officers from Medes have no idea. You, who consort with the dark gods, must have some inkling?"

"I do. The war goes slowly. The land of the dead is a barrier, one that will stand for a time longer, but will fall like Araby." Marid nodded.

"There is still a barrier left in Araby," he said.

"Only a hole in the ground, all we have to do is fill it up with a shovel-load of earth," said Badriyah.

"I will get the cavalry ready, and the Mu'ayyad. Captain."

A broad shouldered officer dressed in fine blue silk, wearing a black turban and much jewellery on his fingertips and around his neck, his nose, ears and lips. "Prepare the army to move - continuous march. We will not stop moving this day." The man nodded, and moved out of the tent. A few moments later, a loud rumbling noise filled the plains as the Captain ordered the musicians to blow their instruments, and make ready for march.

"Let's fill that hole, Badriyah," said Marid.

When he kissed her, his hatred for Jaffar vanished. He was content, happy even. But when he kissed her, he also felt guilt, for she was another man's wife, and the daughter of his own Caliph. The guilt surfaced now, and Barakah pulled away from his love.

"What bothers my love?" Jumanah said, placing her soft, warm hand upon Barakah's forearm. "The prospect of battle?" Barakah removed her hand, and looked around the rocky slopes.

"The army is almost ready to march again. I cannot keep halting us to come sneaking away with you. You should not be here. You are a distraction. You should go back to Ghafsa and await your husband's return." Jumanah's face flashed red with anger, and she slapped Barakah across the cheek.

"I am not a whore," she said. "My husband has never loved me. He married out of convenience. The men of Ghasfa were eager to follow royalty, and it was his only way of carrying on his war of hatred and vengeance against his enemies."

"Abdal is a great man," said Barakah. "He has saved my life many times over these past seven years. He asks for only loyalty in return. I am betraying him."

Jumanah stroked the red cheek, and ran her fingers through Barakah's thick beard.

"You would be betraying yourself, and me, if you deny you feel nothing for me."

"Your father would never allow us to be married. Abdal will return, and regardless of how I feel, I should - I must, do nothing." He pushed her away, and looked her up and down, stoically. "My Lady, you must return home. Only death and heartbreak will be found here."

"Barakah!" A voice shouted. Esam bounded down the rocky slope in urgent fashion. He arrived out of breath, panting and stooped, resting his hands on his knees. His words came out in staggered fashion.

"Barakah, the enemy - they come in the skies. Hundreds of them." Esam pointed to the sky. In the distance, highlighted by white cloud and a blue sky, were Mu'ayyad. A cold shiver ran the length of Barakah's spine.

"By Hamid," he muttered, and quickly cast his eyes to Jumanah. "You must leave now. Esam, take her home." Jumanah made to protest, but hung her head, and crossed her arms. "Farewell, Jumanah," he said. She watched him go.

"Be careful, my love," she whispered. "Hamid watch over you."

Thirty-Three - Lords of the Skies and a New Heading

The eagles soared high through the clouds. Thin wisps of white smothered Barakah like smoke. Jumanah had not left his thoughts, but there was little time for retrospection now, not with the enemy gliding towards him.

It had been far too long since his men had seen combat in the skies. Upon the eagle he was home. His light long lance rested horizontally across the animal, through the saddle-mount, flashing tip facing the enemy. His white ivory bow remained fastened in the harness, a quiver of dangerous, barbed arrows at its side. Below his feet lay the Banan mountain range, their formidable peaks stretching out like giant fingers, while in the horizon, the grass fields of Yahyah and the great river that ran through it could be seen.

The sun was in full glare, but the layer of ash-glass that each rider had fixed to the eye piece of his helmet protected their precious orbs.

The enemy rode heavy, larger brutes; beasts, Barakah called them, not like the noble eagle beneath him. Mu'ayyad were bred for nothing other than the evil intentions of their masters. The Mu'ayyad glided, and flapped their wings, calling to one another in sharp, drawn-out cries which made Barakah's hair stand on end. Their mouths were wide open, revealing yellowing teeth as long as swords, and flickering, forked tongues like those of their ground-dwelling cousins.

The men that rode them were dressed in bone-coloured armour as thick as heavy shields, sculptured to look like skulls, with dark pits for eyes and open, screaming mouths. Their helmets covered all but sturdy, solid bottom jaws. They carried longer lances than the ones the Eagle Riders possessed, with matt black points and a larger shield shaped like a crescent moon protecting the rider.

A series of horns blew and the Mu'ayyad extended the front of their line, the beasts at the back shooting forward, screeching as their masters guided them into a battle formation.

Barakah moved quickly to the ivory tusk horn on his belt, and lifted the cold piece to his drying lips. He blew a sharp note, and dropped the horn, claiming the sturdy, wooden handle of his lance. A dozen eagles began to squawk as the riders readjusted their formation from a thin line to a wedge. Barakah found himself directly at the tip of the wedge.

His heart began to beat faster as the two forces grew closer. He thought of Jumanah, then all of Araby. They were depending on him. Abdal was depending on him.

"Eagle Riders of Ghasfa, ready yourselves," he shouted, "show that old bugger Ridwan we're the lords of the skies." A hearty series of shouts met Barakah's words, and the two forces clashed.

Barakah braced himself, and raised his small round shield. The Mu'ayyad lance snaked forward, but Barakah took the brunt of the force on the boss of his shield. A metallic clash rang across the heavens. The impact almost knocked Barakah from his saddle, but he gripped the flanks of the eagle tightly between his legs, and guided the shorter lance for the Mu'ayyad itself, instead of the rider. The tip of his weapon lanced off the Mu'ayyad's armoured form, but cut a deep gash. A spray of blood and a squeal met this short victory, and the two opponents veered off, carrying on deeper into opposing lines.

All around, riders and beasts shouted and screamed as they fought in the skies. Great eagles launched themselves clawed feet first at the wiggling, thick Mu'ayyad forms, tearing deep wounds into their foes bodies.

Barakah felt the wind on his face, forced towards him by the wings of a great Mu'ayyad above. The flapping wings sounded like giant curtains thrashed in the wind. The Mu'ayyad was highlighted by the pale, white clouds that drifted like balls of cotton across the ocean-coloured sky. One long, bulky shape that looked like a snake with dragon wings went for him, mouth extended to swallow Barakah and the eagle whole.

"Dive," he cried, and the eagle, linked to his thoughts by ancient magical powers, dived. Barakah reached for his bow, and took one glinting arrow from the quiver. He rested it in the window-rest, and half turned his body towards the chasing Mu'ayyad. With the wind soaring past him, Barakah took aim, and pulled back on the string. He took a slow, calming breath, and released the arrow the moment he breathed out. Barakah watched the arrow spiral right into the rider's eye socket. The foe slumped forward, pulling the long reins to one side, and the Mu'ayyad changed direction, screeching at the heavens as it moved away.

A shadow passed over Barakah, and he watched as an eagle and a Mu'ayyad tumbled towards the earth, bodies locked together in vicious battle, their rider's exchanging blows with flashing steel. Under the hot sun, and above the rocky slopes, the Eagle Riders fought for themselves, and for Araby.

Amber sipped at the bowel of water like a defeated princess, but Abdal could no longer see the beauty in her he once did. Amber pushed her hand through her matted hair, and stared blankly at him. Black circles were visible around her cold emerald eyes. A smile broke across her full lips as she stared at her shimmering reflection in the stream.

"I don't suppose you'd let me have a towel to wash my face? It's frightfully dirty," she said. Atiya crouched besides Abdal. She didn't cast Amber a glance, and instead, offered Abdal a red apple.

"I just picked it. They're very juicy," she said. Abdal felt his face itch as he took the apple. He dipped it into the gentle stream and ran his other hand wistfully through the clear water. He ducked close to the stream, and washed his burning skin. He felt the coolness of the liquid refresh him, and sooth the itching.

"You can't trust her," whispered Atiya as she knelt by Abdal's side. She looked at his scarred face. His good looks had gone, replaced by misshapen skin, lumps and scars.

"I do not trust her, but what choice do I have?"

"Where is this 'Horde's Tower'?" said Atiya. Abdal took a bite of the apple, felt the juice and tang of the fruit, then turned to Atiya.

"It is to the west, north of Ghasfa. I have only seen the tower once, many years ago, and that was at night. They say it was where they locked up mad unfortunate souls, and carried out many foul experiments."

"Sounds like a cheerful place then," said Atiya. Abdal nodded.

"Yes it does," he said. Abdal looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. A breeze drifted down from the mountain slopes, and shot through the gully. There was movement behind him; a rustle of clothes and the sound of clinking iron. Mahmuud hoisted Amber to her feet by her hair. She clawed at his forearms, and dug her nails into Mahmuud's skin.

"You dog," she shouted. "Always the lackey." Amber spat thick phlegm into Mahmuud's eye. The big man smiled.

"Now, woman, is that any way to treat someone?" He grabbed a flowing part of her garment, and wiped away the spit with Amber's clothes.

"Jump off a cliff," she said. "Look," Amber indicated a mountain peak with a nod of her head, "there's one."

"Perhaps I will throw you off it instead, when we get back?"

Thirty-Four - The Long Road to Kufra

The rain fell from the heavens as a constant downpour. Everyone was soaked through to the skin. The slope beneath Abdal's boots ran with water, grit and mud, and sank slightly with each step he took. In the dark it was even more hazardous. Awad led the way up, his broad shoulders heaving with the exertion. His breath came out as clouds of vapour.

Mahmuud and Tamir came next, Amber dragging her feet at their heels. Mahmuud handed the young warrior a length of rope connected to Amber's wrists, and looked up at the dark, overcast sky. He opened his mouth and tasted the sweet rain.

"There is a plateau ahead," shouted Awad. The wind carried his voice down the slope, and it echoed from the dark mountain walls that flanked the travellers.

"Good, some flat land at last," muttered Mahmuud.

They continued up the slope. Abdal's legs were strained and tired, and the need to eat and drink urged him to stop and settle. The thunderstorm roared like an angry god, and lightning lit up the night with forked lines of energy as white as snow.

"You're friends didn't hang about," complained Mahmuud as he strode at Abdal's side. Abdal nodded.

"I guess they had more important things to do," said Abdal.

"You're not going to tell me about what happened?"

"Maybe one day," said Abdal. "Right now, I've got better things to do than tell stories." They continued up the slope, the nomads taking up the rear. Zalim struggled up the slope, pulling on the camel's reins. His knees were covered in mud and grit from where he'd fallen a dozen times.

As soon as they filed out onto the broad plateau, Abdal noticed Awad stop, and peer into the distance. Abdal followed his gaze. A streak of lightning lit up the sky, and a dome shaped clump of rocks to the right could be seen.

"Maybe there is cover?" Awad called out. "I'll take a look." The officer took a hold of his metal, bowl-shaped helm, and hurried off.

Abdal followed, slowly. His clothes seemed to hug his body, while his dark hair stuck to his back.

"Tell me again why he's here?" Mahmuud muttered. Mahmuud indicated the skinny mess that was Hadi with a thumb over his shoulder. "Should have left him in Bahabal."

"You tell me? It is too late to send him back. From what you told me, he may come in handy where we are going."

Mahmuud nodded.

"Ah, this infamous tower. Abdal, I'd voice concerns about Amber's lies, but I guess there is no point."

"None, old friend," said Abdal.

"Thought so."

Awad emerged from the darkness close by, his chain mail shirt ringing with his steps. The man was out of breath, and rested his hands on his knees. His words came out in staggered fashion.

"There's a crevice that leads down into a shielded lower platform."

"Cover, good, I'm getting sick of all this water," said Hasdru. The large nomad stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Let's get there quickly before we all drown standing up."

Hasdru led the way, stomping towards the dome of rock. Awad straightened himself up, took a look at Abdal, then quickly charged after the nomad. Atiya moved past Abdal, a down-trodden look on her face.

"What's wrong, desert-girl," said Amber, "too many men to choose from, whore?" Atiya ignored the comment, and carried on moving.

"Careful," said Awad. "It's slippery here." Awad held up his hand to help Hasdru down into the crevice, but the nomad shook it away like it was some bothersome insect.

"Do I look like some feeble woman? Away with you," said Hasdru.

"You know, you remind me much of Mahmuud," replied Awad. "Both pig-headed," he finished. Hasdru gripped a smooth, jutting rock with one hand, and lowered his feet to the ground. The crevice was wide enough for him to squeeze through without much effort.

"What am I to do with the camel?" piped Zalim. "He can't get down there."

"There is adequate cover for the beast here," said Mahmuud.

"It might walk away," complained Zalim. Mahmuud slapped Zalim on the back, almost knocking the boy into the crevice.

"It's okay, it knows Arabyan, don't you, camel?" said Mahmuud. He looked the animal right in the face. "Stay." The camel looked dumbly at Mahmuud, then turned its attention away, spitting a thick goblet of phlegm onto the ground by the warrior's feet.

Climbing down took no lengthy time, and before long, Tamir had started laying out dry kindling from his own leather bag, and removed a small flint and sheet of steel. The sparks he made were small and unimpressive at first, but soon an orange flame spread across the dry grass and twigs, and created a rather cosy atmosphere. The storm could still be heard raging, but the rock above their heads sheltered them well enough.

Abdal listened to the cackle of the flames, and removed his wet shirt. His body was just as scarred as his face. Everyone noticed this, only Mahmuud and Hadi, who'd already fallen asleep and had begun to snore in the corner, was not curious as to how the General got his scars.

"Pretty now, isn't he?" whispered Hasdru, as he sat besides his wife. Atiya looked across the orange, flickering flames at the man she had come to love, even through seven years of absence. Abdal had changed, but he was still there, deep down. She knew he was still brave and honest, a man who took no pleasure in mocking others.

"Do you think Hamid was angry at him? He's had the worst luck," Hasdru continued, nudging Atiya's elbow with his own. She looked at Hasdru, her cheeks flashing red with anger.

"Don't be so foolish."

"Oh, I forgot, you've a soft spot for that one," said Hasdru. Atiya tried to ignore Hasdru, and settled onto the dusty ground by the fire. The warmth washed over her, and the cackling kindling drowned out Hasdru's voice.

"Right," Abdal declared. "I'm going to sleep. Keep an eye on this one," he said, gesturing to Amber with a nod of his head. Amber looked up, and raised her bound hands.

"Don't worry," she said, "I won't be any trouble."

Abdal knelt low, and gripped her chin with thumb and index-finger. He roughly tilted her head his way.

"You better not, or I won't think twice about killing you."

"I'll keep my eyes on her," said Zalim, taking up a cross-legged seated position before the prisoner.

"We'll take it in turns. I want us all to be fresh for tomorrow," said Abdal. "Mahmuud, you're after Zalim." Mahmuud nodded.

"Don't think I can sleep anyhow, not with that witch in the same cave as me," said Mahmuud.

Thirty-Five - Chasm

The morning air was refreshing but cold. Their damp clothes had not dried, and everyone, even the camel, looked exhausted. Only the Ferod seemed to be in high spirit, and whizzed about in the skies like some rogue blue and silver cloud.

"Why didn't that thing cover us from the storm last night?" Mahmuud muttered.

"Because he's not our slave," said Atiya. Atiya raised her slender hand to the sky. The Ferod stopped circling, and glided back to earth by Atiya's feet. She crouched and patted the blue, shimmering form of the magical creature, and offered Jawhar a smile.

"Where did you get to then, huh?" The Ferod didn't reply. It appeared to shiver, then rose steadily into the sky once more to continue its circles.

They had left the plateau, and found themselves pushed up along a thin, rocky trail that led west. The path was a mere three to four feet wide, with the drop to their left, and the mountain wall to the right.

"I wouldn't like to fall," muttered Ghalib as the nomad glanced from the path to the ground two hundred feet below. He shivered, and thought about falling, and what it would be like to hit the bottom.

"Don't worry, I hear you'll pass out before you reach the ground," said Hasdru. The man smiled wickedly. "Don't hold us up, old man." Ghalib nodded, and edged forward, hugging the wall.

"I hate heights," Ghalib whispered.

"I'm not a fan of them either," said Yaq'ub. His beige tunic was soaked with sweat.

Abdal led from the front and stopped as the path ended at a drop. There was a level below their point and a gap between the distances of more than a three or four metres.

"You think it's passable?" asked Atiya as she stared down at the platform.

"Of course," said Abdal. He looked to the sky for the Ferod, but the magical creature could not be seen. "We'll have to think of something else." He turned around. "Right, we'll have to jump here."

"I can't jump that," said Atiya quickly. "I haven't the legs of a Spring-box."

"What about the camel?" asked Zalim.

"Up to you, you can try and ride it across, but we are not stopping," said Abdal. "We have rope, and cams?" Mahmuud nodded, and placed his rucksack to the dusty ground. He un-strapped the golden buckles, and began to dig within the bag. A moment later he withdrew a length of thick rope, coiled like a snake, and passed it to Abdal.

"Right," said Abdal, "I want you to step back and give me some room." The line slowly filed backwards. The camel groaned loudly in protest.

Abdal took a deep breath, and scanned the distance to the ledge. His sharp eyes picked out the grit and algae on the rock.

"Maybe I should do it?" said Mahmuud. Abdal didn't respond in words. He ran, his boots thudding against the rock. His footfalls echoed loudly against the rock walls, and everyone held their breath as Abdal neared the edge.

Abdal pushed from the ledge - he sensed the emptiness beneath him, felt himself fall towards the lower platform and path with the wind stroking his face. Abdal smashed into the edge with force, and scrambled for a hold, ribs throbbing, wind knocked out of him. He slid; his fingertips searched for a hold, found a crack in the rock. Abdal held on, one handed, for dear life. The rope fell away from his other hand, and swung out of reach.

"Abdal," cried Atiya. "Hold on!"

"Damn it," said Mahmuud.

Abdal felt the strain on his hand and arm, and looked down as he hung from the edge. His heart raced; the fall would kill him. The rope was now no longer in reach, and Mahmuud was desperately hoisting it back up to toss out again.

"Jawhar!" Abdal shouted. "Where, by the bloody gates of Hanaduin, are you?" Abdal felt his strength wan. Sheer will kept him on the edge a moment longer than most, but he fell, and tumbled.

"Abdal!" Atiya called. The only thing she could do was watch him fall.

"There's no sign of him," shouted Tamir, as he clung to the rock face, digging his fingers into any crack and hole he could find. The cold wind blew his long black hair about him, and ruffled his clothes. Dusty clouds of debris blew into his mouth and eyes and forced him to cough. A rope was tied to his waist, and was held above by the strong arms of Mahmuud and Hasdru. Mahmuud frowned and a moment of dejection and pain passed his features.

Atiya placed her hand on Mahmuud's forearm, and shook her head.

"No man could survive such a fall, not even Abdal."

Mahmuud nodded.

"This was not the end I had expected," said Mahmuud.

"And you saw a happy one?" said Hasdru.

"If I were not holding this blasted rope, I'd strangle you with it," replied Mahmuud, his temper short, his voice echoing across the heavens, bouncing from cliff face to cliff face like Hamid's own anguish filled cry.

"A shame," said Hasdru. "Now what?"

"We must look for his body," said Mahmuud.

"Be my guest… if you can get down," said Hasdru. Mahmuud snarled at the nomad, and launched himself like an ageing lion at Hasdru's throat. Hasdru, alarmed, dropped the rope, and gripped the attacker's arm with both hands. He squeezed for all his worth but Mahmuud would not let go. Amber, restrained by Awad, laughed like the wicked soul she was.

"Stop it!" Atiya cried. "Tamir is still on the end of that," she shouted, indicating the rope held in one meaty hand by the large warrior. Mahmuud had seemingly forgotten, and looked at the rope for a moment, then directed a stern gaze back at Hasdru.

"I'd appreciate you two fighting once you've pulled me to safety," Tamir called up.

"One of these days, Nomad, you and I will have a disagreement, and there won't be anything to stop me from breaking your neck." Mahmuud let Hasdru go, and the two men grabbed hold of the rope.

"Wait!" cried Tamir. "I see something, marks, like some sort of trap set in the mountainside. The snow is broken. Lower me further." Mahmuud looked at the coiled end of the rope on the ground.

"We've only got about twelve more feet, how much further down is it?"

"A bit further than that. I'd say about thirty," said Tamir.

"Hamid's Balls," muttered Mahmuud. "Where the devil is that Ferod when you need it?"

Abdal's vision was blurred and dark. His body felt shattered, the pain running his arms and legs. When he breathed it felt as though his ribs were stabbing his lungs like ice cold spear points. He was moving involuntarily… that much he could tell, smothered by a net.

"Hakun strol," said a voice.

Abdal couldn't recognise the language. The figures became clearer as Abdal's eyes adjusted to the dark. They looked short but stocky, with broad shoulders and large heads. They smelled worse than an army of unwashed soldiers on the march.

"Haguz, Bjori, az-toz," said the one keeping in step at the back.

The party stopped, and the one called Bjori kicked Abdal hard in the side. Abdal grunted with pain, but could do nothing with his restraint. He was caught up in some kind of net, that much he could tell. What happened? He tried to think, though his thoughts were jumbled. The last thing Abdal remembered was the chasm, and tumbling earthwards from the heavens. The mere thought of the fall made his heart jump. Was he in some sort of afterlife… being dragged to the depths by evil creatures?

"Where are you taking me?" Abdal demanded, reaching to the reserves of his iron soul to make it sound threatening.

"Al runk, Urjni?"

"Ay, Fjori, ba-katalhyk skarrenruff?" The creatures laughed, and left Abdal in the dark.

The tunnels looked arched, but could not of been taller than an average sized man. The walls were dark and grey, while the ground was tiled using broad, well cut stone. Every few metres, at the height of the creatures heads, were markings of anvils and hammers, shields and masked heads. The designs were very similar to those his father would give him on tiles as a boy that he said came from the Dwuegor of the mountains. Abdal stared up at the fist of the Dwuegor, before he slipped back into the realm of unconsciousness.

They descended the cliffs the way they'd come, back along the narrow precipice, shuffling snow and ice with weathered boots. The camel spat and farted every few minutes, and shivered as the hard wind blew through the mountains.

Tamir led the way, keeping the marker; a long length of blue cloth attached to a metal rod, he'd left above so that he could recall the exact spot of the track he'd seen whilst dangling from the edge of the sheer wall of rock.

They stepped onto a plateau marked by snow, where the wind drove up into the clefts above. The wind sounded like a giant blew upon them, and began to grate all of their nerves. Tamir looked up, through the driving wind and falling snow, and saw his marker fluttering like a flag above.

"We're here," he shouted. The wind was so loud now that the only way they could talk was by yelling.

The group filtered out through the funneled rock path onto the even ground. There was a series of metal pins stuck in the ground, just by the edge. There were small bootprints in the snow, along with a thick line where something large had been dragged across the rock.

"You think this was Abdal?" asked Mahmuud, as he stooped low to check out the contraption.

"Let's follow the tracks before the snow covers them," said Atiya, hope in her voice.

"Good thinking, woman," said Mahmuud. He gave her a firm pat on the thigh that echoed and caused her to scream, then paced off, eyes to the ground and the tracks.

Thirty-Six - The Dwuegor & the Ferod

Abdal woke to find that his life wasn't just a bad dream. Nightmares had become reality for too long, longer than he cared to think about. Abdal couldn't tell where he was so he remained on the ground, peering into a void, as empty, it seemed, as his own cold heart. Was this death? Had he passed into the next life?

A candle flickered on a small table close to where Abdal lay. The straw mattress prickled his skin. He tried to move but a giant iron chain around his right ankle restricted his freedom.

"Why am I not surprised," muttered Abdal.

Abdal took in the room. It was a dark, cold place with sparse furniture; other than the small round table, a few cracked barrels and some white bulging bags leaning against the rock walls. There was an iron door to the north. Echoes bounced around outside, faint and ghostly.

There was a whistling sound. Metal clinked and the door opened outwards. Abdal looked up and saw a stout, broad shouldered figure approach through the doorway. There was a laugh which sounded like a hacking dying Caliph, then a rough hand gripped Abdal by the arm.

"Drink."

The voice was gruff, the language awkward, but Abdal understood. A small cold flask exchanged hands, and Abdal took a sniff.

"Water," said Abdal, pleased to discover it was drinkable.

"I know, would a' given ya flask of ale, but my brothers thought it be a waste."

"Where am I? Are you Dwuegor?"

The Dwuegor chuckled a laugh that made his bushy white beard dance like a tree shuffling in the wind.

"You are in Kahad-Dak, my home."

Abdal drank the water, and almost had to gasp for air once he had finished.

"How long have I been here?"

"Just a day," replied the Dwuegor.

"Why am I tied like some prisoner?"

The Dwuegor smiled, and rubbed his balding head.

"To judge whether you are a danger or not."

"And have you come to a conclusion?"

The dwarf shrugged, and stood up.

"The jury is still out on that one. Brighten up lad, at least ya're still alive. It was a good job our nets caught ya, and when we were passing to see if any food had fallen into our traps, ya fell from the sky. An ill omen to the rest of my brothers. Now, me, I took ya for an extravagant mountain climber, and possible circus freak?"

Abdal laughed.

"I am no danger to you or your people, Dwuegor. I must not be kept from my friends, and my task."

"What might that be?" asked the Dwuegor. "Nothing to do with our home, I hope?"

"No, but has everything to do with mine. I seek my sons."

"Not easy things to lose," said the Dwuegor.

The Dwuegor raised one white eyebrow, and studied Abdal with interest.

"They were taken from me many years ago, along with my country. They are west of here, holed up in a great and evil structure called the Horde's Tower. Prisoners to a mad woman's whim."

"Sounds like ya're on a quest. Our people know enough of the outside world. The winds blow, the desert becomes life, the world changes. I will tell my brothers that I think we should release you."

The Dwuegor nodded, and left, shuffling his bulky figure along to the door with no grace whatsoever. The door slammed behind him, and all Abdal could hear was heavy boot steps and a merry whistling song.

It was hours before the Dwuegor returned. He came back with a group of Dwuegor, each broad of shoulder and girth, with long beards, rosy red cheeks and broken noses. They smelt of ale; dry foam caked their beards. They seemed to regard Abdal like he was some wild animal, pointing out his facial scars with looks of disgust.

The Dwuegor chatted amongst themselves in short heated exchanges, until the one who had spoken to him earlier turned from the group.

"We have agreed that you are not a threat to us, which is good news for you because it means my friend's axe remains un-bloodied."

Abdal noticed a Dwuegor cross his arms and look sternly at him. The Dwuegor had a single-bladed axe dangling from his belt.

"That's a relief," said Abdal.

"My name is Bjori, manling. Bjori Handlehammer." Bjori dipped his hand into his red tunic, and withdrew a black length of cloth. "I'm afraid ya'll be escorted out of here blindfolded. Ya're not afraid of the dark, are ya?"

Abdal shook his head.

"I didn't think ya were," said Bjori.

Abdal took one last look at the gathered Dwuegor before Bjori covered his eyes.

The brisk mountain chill and whirring wind alerted Abdal that they had made it to the outside world. The firm hand of Bjori let go of Abdal's forearm. Bjori had constantly conversed with Abdal along the length of the entire journey. It was mostly one way traffic concerning Bjori's fear of anything magical, his love for 'proper Dwarf ale' and crafting tools from the very mountain rock itself. Abdal had never heard another being talk as much as the Dwuegor.

"You don't say much, do ya?"

"Ya?" queried Abdal with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, ya," said Bjori, with a nod.

"You mean 'you', don't' you?"

"That's what I said," said Bjori.

The Dwuegor took in a breath of the mountain air, and thumped his chain mail chest.

"So then, manling, what is the plan?"

Abdal studied the Dwuegor for a moment, and noticed a sturdy leather pack on his back, along with a circular iron shield with a gold boss, and an axe dangling at the Dwuegor's side.

"I must continue north-west. Kufra is my destination."

"Aye, that tower ya spoke of. Well then, lad, chop-chop. We've got a long trip ahead of us. It's been…" the Dwuegor seemed to ponder something for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. "It's been almost seventy years since I last headed that way. Ya know, when I was much younger, I was Head Hold Merchant, selling the wares my home produced - weapons and the like, to the outside world. A glorious job. Now I'm here to escort you safely through the mountains, so you don't fall and kill ya self."

The Dwuegor slapped Abdal on the thigh, and withdrew Abdal's blade from his pack.

"Here. You'll be needing this, no doubt."

They came to rest in a cavern only the Dwuegor had spotted, camouflaged by snow and rock. The relentless wind broke itself against the walls, but did not harass the pair for the remainder of the night.

Stalactites hung from the ceiling in knobbly shapes. Elongated, cylindrical shaped Soda Straws littered the ceiling like rocky vines, while cloth-like draperies seemed frozen mid twirl. Clumps of damp flowstones formed bulbous seats and walls. Water dripped methodically from some of the stalactites, coating towers of stalagmites below, and falling into a small, quaint pool near where Bjori stopped.

Bjori got a fire going, and cracked out some food. When Abdal inspected the package, he found salted meat wrapped in a thin metal film that felt soft.

"Metal cloth. Very rare and extremely valuable," said Bjori.

At one time an offer of meat would have been met with outrage, but now Abdal had no care for the restrictions of his religion, and hadn't for quite some time. Hamid no longer existed, and if he did, did not care about the world, nor Abdal He.

Bjori had become more silent the longer the day drew on, until the most he would utter was grunts. His last sentence was the longest thing he'd said since the journey grew colder.

Abdal nodded his thanks and bit into the meat. It tasted dry and horrible, but it would sustain him. He listened to the soft plops from the pool, and stared at the reflection in the water. It shimmered a flash of silver which made Abdal look above.

There, amongst the stalactites, was the Ferod.

"Jawhar!" exclaimed Abdal.

"Jaw-what?" mumbled Bjori, irritably as he spilt his ale over his lap.

Then Bjori looked up, and saw the floating shape of the Ferod, shimmering in the darkness.

Bjori rolled over for his axe laying against a flowstone, cursing in his own ancient tongue as he gripped it in his weathered iron fingers.

"Relax," said Abdal. "He's a friend."

Thirty-Seven – A Curious Meeting and a Fond Farewell

The tracks stopped at a steep rock wall. At least the driving wind had begun to weaken, and the sun squeezed through the clouds, shining light onto the mountainside.

"Great. Whatever we were following has gone in there," ejaculated Mahmuud. The large warrior placed his big hands against the rock, and pushed. The sinews in his body bulged as he strained, until he could push no more. He let go, and turned from the wall muttering an inaudible curse.

"There's got to be a way through," said Awad, as the old captain studied the wall. It looked like every other part of the mountain they'd ever seen. There was no visible lines that suggested it could be opened. No handle or even a knocker to suggest a door.

"Great," said Hasdru. "We've been following ghosts for the past hour. Did any of you ever think that it could have been Hamid's Hunari claiming Abdal's body and soul?" Hasdru's comment was ignored, though Ghalib and Yaq'ub sent a quiet prayer to Hamid out of respect. It didn't do well to anger God. The Hunari were ghostly spirits that rode chariots, and collected dead souls to take to Hamid for judgment.

Tamir used his index fingertip on his right hand, and dragged it around the base of the wall. He could detect nothing there, and stood and shrugged. Mahmuud raised a meaty fist to the sky.

"Of all the lousy tricks you've played on me, Hamid, this has got to be the baboons arse of the lot," he said, shaking the fist powerfully.

"Why don't we just knock?" suggested Hadi. The thin sorcerer stepped forward, and rapped on the rock with his knuckles. The party paused, anxious to discover whether it would work.

Hadi knocked again.

"Silly fool," muttered Hasdru. "We're wasting time. I'm up for heading home."

A giant hiss echoed throughout the mountainside and startled everyone. The ground began to rumble and shake as though the mountains were suffering the effects of a quake. The camel began to make funny sounds Mahmuud was certain only cows could make.

The cave wall slid backwards into darkness. Three Dwuegor stood in a broad, dimly lit passageway into the mountains. They were each heavily armed and armoured, wearing thick chainmail shirts with solid interlinked rings, and plate mail bowl helms, boots and greaves.

"Oh great," muttered one of them in his own tongue. "There's more of them."

Mahmuud stepped forward, broken halberd in one hand.

"Miniature devils," he said. Ghalib and Yaq'ub were sure this was punishment for keeping company with a blasphemer who'd shake a fist at God.

"Wait," said Atiya. "We must not fight them. They might know where Abdal is."

The Dwuegor kept their distance, and weapons in the direction of the party. Each group stared at each a moment, and wondered what would happen. Then Atiya stepped forward, slowly.

"Please, we are looking for a friend," she said. "Can you help us?"

"What did the ugly one say?" muttered Florin, a Dwuegor with little patience who ached to use his axe.

"I think she wants to know where the scarred manling has gone," said Glori in his deep voice.

"What are they saying?" whispered Mahmuud, as he clutched his weapon.

"I don't know," said Atiya. "I've never come across this language before."

"They're Dwuegor," said Awad. "I recall seeing them as a boy. Never forget their faces. Skin like the colour of earth."

Atiya recalled the secret passage they had used years ago when they sneaked into Amjad Palace. The stonework of the Dweuger had impressed her. Now she was viewing the great rock workers in the flesh. They were a broad and sturdy looking race, like small versions of the mountain, hard as rock.

"Should we tell them?" said Florin, stroking the end of his axe haft, a trait he'd picked up over the years.

Glori lowered his weapon, and took a step forward.

"You are searching for man with face scars?" Glori said in broken Arabian.

"Yes," Atiya exclaimed. "He's alive?"

"Aye," said the Dwuegor. "That he is."

Bjori couldn't take his eyes off the Ferod. He kept his hand firmly on the haft of his axe, ready to swing at the magical thing at any given moment. The Dwuegor really were fearful of magic. Abdal guessed it was like any man. He had seen its possibilities, and its extreme dangers.

"So, Dwuegor, tell me again, why are you so interested in what I'm doing?"

"Curiosity only killed the cat, not the dwarf."

"Dwarf?"

"Yes, that is another name for us, more commonly used by us and the folk up north. Funny things are names. They can speak volumes about someone or something, or completely the opposite."

The Dwuegor shrugged as he made his way across the rock strewn plateau that overlooked a barren field. The land stretched towards the Western Sea. Bush and the odd clump of trees proved the only life down below, and even they looked like skeletons as they stretched from the mountain path and basin, and out onto the wastes.

Abdal caught a shimmer in the corner of his eye of Serpent River as it flowed through the land like a giant vein.

"We are almost out of the mountains, lad," said Bjori. He nodded satisfied with his efforts. "I told ya I'd get you out of the mountains, and I've never broken an oath."

The Dwuegor silenced as he noticed some large holes in the rock. The very rock had been torn asunder like it had been drilled with thunderbolts. A dark resin caked the rim, and upon further inspection, the rest of the hole as it disappeared into darkness.

Abdal drew his knife, and dipped the tip into the liquid. There was a faint hiss, and smoke rose from the weapon.

"Rock Wyrmms," muttered Bjori.

" I thought they were hunted to extinction?" said Abdal, as he wiped the tip of his knife on a bushy plant.

"Obviously not," said Bjori. "They have not invaded our tunnel system for more than forty years."

There was a splash, and they both jumped as the Ferod crashed against the rocky ground as though someone had dropped a water bucket. It was happening again, Abdal noted.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Bjori.

The Dwuegor watched Jawhar slowly piece itself together. The main bulk pulsated, while random droplets began to glide over the surface of the rock. In a few heartbeats, Jawhar rose from the ground as a mini spinning discus.

There was a rumble, and Bjori instantly went to ground. He pushed his bowl helm further up his head, and pressed an ear to the ground. Abdal studied the Dwuegor, then turned his attention to the hole.

There was a sound coming from down in the darkness. It sounded like water being slapped by the palm of a giant hand. It was constant, and drew closer with each heartbeat. Bjori cursed in his own tongue, and stood up. He slid his shield off his back, and took out his axe. Beneath the sun glare, his armour shone. The wind whipped Bjori's beard about him.

"Back away from the hole, lad," he muttered.

Abdal didn't need to be told twice. He sheathed his knife and took out his wide and trusted scimitar. Abdal caught his own reflection in the blade but didn't stop to admire his scars.

The ground began to shake. Loose rock began to dance and jump about madly like crickets. Then the Rock Wyrmm emerged.

It's head was very much like any smaller worm Abdal had seen, but then it opened its mouth and revealed a nightmare. Rows of jagged teeth lined the quartered sections of its mouth, bleached bone and dripping with rotting flesh from a not-so-recent meal.

"Watch it!" cried Bjori.

The Dwuegor moved faster than Abdal thought possible. The shield shot into Abdal's view then a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him low. The Wyrmm made a clicking sound, then shot out corrosive acid from glands above the teeth. The shield took the impact, and began to sizzle like fried flesh. Abdal recalled the sound when his own skin had met the fire. It sent a shiver down his hardened spine.

"You shall not touch me again!" cried Abdal.

As Bjori stepped backwards, casting the ruined slag of a shield onto the rocky ground with a clatter, Abdal charged the Wyrmm as it continued to slide out of the hole.

Its body was thick and slimy, winkled like old skin, covered in light, small hairs like the back of a hand. Abdal roared, and met the beast with steel. The blade cut deep, and a roar he thought impossible to sound from such a beast reverberated throughout the mountainside. It sounded like a hundred babies screaming for their mothers milk.

Dark green blood splattered his arms as he withdrew the blade, but the Wyrmm was far from dead. It continued to squeeze through the hole, mouth open wide, jaw flaps of thick muscled skin wiggling like mutant fingertips.

"Have it before it gets out!" shouted Bjori. The Dwuegor shouted a war cry that thundered beneath the peaks. Before he could connect the Wyrmm flicked its massive head and clattered Bjori in the chest. The Dwuegor went sprawling in the air, and crashed to the ground with a groan. Bjori tried to get up, but had struck his head on the ground as he fell.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Bjori mumbled in his own tongue as he fumbled for his dropped weapon.

Abdal slashed the beast again and was met by the same scream that set his hairs on end. He gritted his teeth, and plunged the scimitar deep into the creature's body. Abdal gripped the handle with both hands, and began to cleave downwards as the Wyrmm tried to move round to attack him. It couldn't move fast enough. Not as fast as Abdal's work cleaving through its body.

With a great heave, his muscles burning, and a roar that could tear through the heavens, Abdal hacked the beast into two. The Wyrmm fell apart; the rear end slid back down the hole, the front end flapped on the rocky mountainside, its banshee scream on the air.

Corrosive acid drooled from its severed glands, and the Wyrmm proceeded to burn its own mouth. In moments the Rock Wyrmm lay still in a pool of gore.

"I don't know where ya get yar strength, but that sure was a fine cleaving."

Bjori kicked the downed beast and raised his axe to the sky with a mighty roar.

"First time I've seen a manling kill one of these beasties. Wait till the lads at home hear about this!"

Abdal collapsed to the ground, his body shaking, his energy spent. Adrenaline still kicked, but he began to relax, and held out his shaking hand.

"Remind me never to listen to old wives tales," he said.

Bjori began to chuckle, until that was all that could be heard bouncing from the mountain peaks.

Once they had cleaned themselves after the fight, Bjori led Abdal to the path down the mountain slope. It was hard going, but the wind had vanished, and the sun hid behind an army of white clouds.

They reached the bottom, and Abdal looked out at the land of Kufra. It was famous for wild animals, and its bog swamps. He knew the journey was far from over. The Ferod spun close to the ground, occasionally rising higher only to sink to an inch above the dusty ground.

"Thank you," said Abdal.

He offered out a hand, which Bjori studied for a moment before accepting. The handshake was firm, confident.

"A pleasure," said Bjori. "It was worth it just to see you kill that Wyrmm. I hope you find what you are searching for, Abdal. May your gods bring you fortune."

"My gods have brought me anything but fortune. I thought I would never see a Dwuegor in all my life."

"Then the gods have at least granted you one wish," said Bjori.

"Yes, Dwuegor, they have. Farewell, Bjori."

Abdal laughed, gave Bjori a nod, and turned.

"Come Jawhar. We've got a long way to go to get to the coast."

Thirty-Eight – Kufra Nightmares and the Dream Wraith

Abdal followed Serpent Lake for much of the day. Burdened by wearying legs and a heavy pack full of what provisions Bjori could spare, Abdal made slow progress across the sunbaked fields of Kufra. Trudging the Kufra Plains was almost as unforgiving as the desert. The only saving grace was the river, and the life that clung to its banks.

The Ferod followed him. Right now it was shaped as a pair of human male legs accompanied by a waist, and strode at his stride like a stalking phantom. Jawhar would skip every now and then, or begin to float.

"I see you like having legs," said Abdal.

He stopped to pick the fruit of the bank tree Alayhi. It was a good source of nutrition, and only grew in western Araby, so Abdal had heard. He pulled the pink round fruits off the skinny, black furred trees with a relived smile, and tucked a few in his bag before settling on the dry bank and taking a bite of one.

The sunlight began to fade, and Abdal closed his eyes. There was little wind, and noise, other than the fruit crunching in his mouth, and the gentle whisper of the river. The Ferod settled on the patchy grass by Abdal's knee.

Abdal stared out at the surrounding countryside. What had happened to his companions? Had they turned back? Had they managed to find a route through the mountains? All these questions had an answer, but Abdal didn't know which one it was, all he hoped was that they were safe.

Abdal lay back on the ground, and stared up at the stars. The constellations were visible, and the twin moons looked like the eyes of Hamid peering down and judging him. He stared at them and began to feel sleepy. His mind grew foggy. He tried to shake the feeling but he let himself sink into sleep.

It had seen him, a wandering soul that it could savor. It had been a while since it'd last ate anything that had a mind like a man's. The animals had dreams, but not like a human one. The Dream Wraith tingled at the prospect of the meal to come as it followed the human along the River Serpent.

After almost an entire day's journey, the human had stopped to pick food from an Alayhi tree. The Dream Wraith's misty body glided out of the water of the river, and drifted like a fog. It settled above the man as he stared up at the stars. Perfect, it thought.

Sequence One

The pebble splashed into the pool and caused a giant ripple to fan out. The rings crashed against the banks, and Anadin laughed. Anadin had cast an almost perfect throw. The pebble had struck near enough center, and sank to the bed with a lazy grace.

"You're throw can't beat that," he said.

Abdal looked at his older brother, and shrugged.

"So, it is just a game," said Abdal, as he picked up his stone.

He threw it up in the air, and caught it with the same hand, and smiled.

"Nice stone," he said.

He wound back his arm, and lobbed the white pebble. It arched towards the pool, but struck the ceramic basin instead. Anadin laughed.

"You will never be as good as me at anything, little brother."

He was dreaming, and knew it. The sequence from a long time ago when his older brother had stung him with mere words. Why was he dreaming of this? Abdal looked at his brother. Anadin laughed in slow motion; mouth and eyes wide open, mocking Abdal. His voice sounded blurred, but every detail was correct. He was in the garden, back home. A young Mamba lay cuddled in the corner, head in his paws. The tall flanking walls where plants grew and smothered the white stonework as though nature was reclaiming it as his.

Then it all went white, fading like ghosts. Abdal fell in the void.

The Dream Wraith sensed the humans pain. It would get a lot of nourishment from this one.

Sequence Two

When vision and sound returned, he was greeted by a great and thunderous noise. The clash of metal and the sound of renting flesh could mean he was only in a battle. He was dressed ready for combat, wearing golden greaves, a golden cuirass with a leaping lion molded into the armour.

Abdal looked up, and could see Anadin dressed much the same. His brother was covered in gore, and bellowed out orders.

"Form a circle! Repel, repel!" Anadin shouted.

Abdal was certain this was Nejaz. The mountain range could be seen beneath the raging sun, and the fluttering banners of the enemy as they surrounded Anadin's army.

"Brother!" Abdal shouted.

Then Abdal noticed the arrow. Strange how he could pick out one from a flock of arrows arching downwards towards them. One arrow had a strange yellow glow. Abdal's eyes followed it. The arrow was aimed for Anadin, he was certain.

"Look out, brother!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

He pushed his way through the multitude of troops, but he couldn't move them fast enough. He couldn't get there in time to save his brother. Tears fell as he watched the arrow tip strike his brother in the neck. Anadin collapsed amongst the clutter of armour and the cries of men.

"Out of my way," shouted Abdal, as he dragged a frightened young man to the ground.

Abdal collapsed to his knees as he reached his brother. Anadin's eyes were open, and full of shock. He coughed up blood while his neck bled crimson like a devil fountain.

"Hold on," said Abdal.

He pressed his hands against the wound until all Abdal could feel was his brother's blood. Anadin went limp and died in Abdal's arms.

"No," said Abdal. "Not again."

The Dream Wraith squirmed with delight.

Sequence Three

When Abdal looked up and wiped his tears he was no longer on a battlefield. The noise had faded to a quiet chatter and he noticed he was sat in an empty courtyard surrounded by people. It was the Communal Square at Amjad. He could see the palace in the background, and the golden domes. A sense of relief rushed through him, and trepidation.

He was back home again.

The people didn't say anything, or even look at him. They seemed to be more interested in the wooden platform that had been set up just before him. The wood was the colour of blood.

Abdal stood and looked at his hands. Anadin's blood was no longer on them, or any sign that he had been in Nejaz at all. Then he noticed the armed gaurds in the crowd. They carried brass shields and tall spears with silver flashing tips. They wore the colours of his enemy.

Abdal reached for his sword but there wasn't one.

Trumpets blasted, and the crowd grew louder with a combined voice of disdain. Then he saw them, being led through black doors by men with spears.

"Father!" he called.

Abdul-Aliyy was at the front of a line that encompassed the whole of Abdal's close family and friends. The disposed Sultan was no longer dressed in his finery. He wore dirty ragged trousers and was stripped of a shirt so that his lashed and bleeding chest and back was revealed. When he fell the guards laughed and watched him struggle to his feet.

"Father!" Abdal called.

There was no response. No one seemed to notice Abdal at all. He tried to move, but found he could not. He looked at his ankles to find chains, but they were not connected to anything solid. He pushed with all his might but could not move his legs.

Abdul-Aliyy was led up the platform, his head forced roughly onto a solid rock block. Then a masked axeman came into view, pot-bellied and anonymous.

The axeman readied himself, and hoisted the savage twin bladed axe in the air. Abdal tried to close his eyes but couldn't.

"Curse you!" Abdal shouted, at the top of his voice as he was forced to watch.

Much despair in this one, the Dream Wraith thought.

Jawhar noticed the misty, yellowish outline of a thing that clung to Abdal's head, and wondered what it was. He moved to investigate, and formed little arms and hands. Jawhar tried to pull the thing off Abdal's head, but each time the Ferod tried, its mock hands touched nothing but air.

Jawhar began to worry.

Sequences Four, Five and Six

Abdal's vision turned to darkness as though his head had just been cut off. His head swam. He must be dreaming but they felt so real. Like all his nightmares had combined and somehow created their own reality where Abdal now presided.

The next sequence of dreams had him tearing his eyes out and crying as he witnessed the death of his mother during child birth, the kidnap of his sons by black robed men and the death of Amal. They were all so graphic it felt as though he was there at the time of these events, even though that was impossible.

Sequence Seven

The stairs went on for what seemed like an eternity. They spiraled up to the heavens. Abdal heard his own steps echo and when he reached a door he stopped. The door was made of fine oak, and bore many golden delicate designs around the handle and hinges. He'd seen it somewhere before, but couldn't place it.

Abdal opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the gold rimmed oblong mirror set up just inside the entrance. He studied his reflection and ran a hand over his handsome face.

"Stop it," muttered Mahmuud. "We all know you're a handsome devil. We've got work to do."

"Yes," said Abdal, as he watched Mahmuud and Amal push deep into the room. "You're right."

They had spent three weeks following the wicked lovers, Marid and Amber, through the torturous mountains of Nejaz. Mamba's keen sense of smell did not falter. They stalked them silently, until they watched them stop at a guarded tower.

The tower was tall and broad, made from large white stone and topped with a black metal domed roof. There were many wide windows that overlooked a bowl shaped valley.

Mamba growled his own entrance, and began sniffing the ground. Abdal stroked its muscled back.

"This way, Mamba?" asked Abdal.

The large cat growled, and moved forward, patting the marble floor with four paws.

"I hope the camel doesn't make a nuisance of itself," said Amal, in a whisper.

"It's always making a nuisance of itself," said Mahmuud. "I think that is its goal in life."

Abdal silenced them both with a stern glare, then continued after the cat.

They traveled a long corridor that seemed impossible to be in a tower, but Abdal realised that it could quite easily be a path into the mountain itself. Mamba led them onwards into the bowels of the mountain. Blue, magical fire burned on the flanking walls, and cast an eerie light upon the intruders.

They eventually came upon a wide, round room with a ceiling that rose into darkness. At the center, around a thick round marble table, sat Marid and Amber. They were in deep discussion with a group of men Abdal guessed were officers.

The heated debate couldn't be made out, but the echoes covered their own footfalls as Abdal and his companions stalked into the room. They didn't need any orders, all three seemed to know each others moves instinctively. Even Mamba moved forwards with the element of speed and stealth.

Abdal couldn't quite place why he had the unnerving suspicion that he had done this before. A scene from his past a long time ago somehow reliving itself as a vivid dream of some kind.

"For the glory of Tambukta," shouted Abdal.

They had surprised the gathered foe who jumped like scared children up to naughty games their parents wouldn't approve. As Abdal attacked, he noticed the room become misty. White tendrils rose from the floor and swirled up above.

Time seemed to slow once again, and Abdal felt a shiver down his spine. This wasn't now. He had been here. Things were a little out of place. The camel Amal was so fond of walked about, and spat goblets of phlegm onto the floor.

"What is this?" muttered the camel, with a stupid look on its face.

Then the fireball that had burnt Abdal came into view as an orange spark. It spawned from out of Marid's hand and outstretched arm, and glowed like a miniature sun. Abdal knew what came next but couldn't move. Once again he'd become trapped by some unseen force. Mamba leapt high and took the brunt of the fireball. It burnt the proud tiger to a crisp. The flames encompassed Abdal's face, and once again he could feel the intense heat and bite of the fire.

Abdal screamed with pain.

Thirty-Nine – A Rude Awakening

The Dream Wraith encompassed the whole of Abdal's head, leaving room only for Abdal to breath from his mouth. The screams Abdal made told Jawhar that something must be done, and done quickly.

But what could the Ferod do? Jawhar had already used up most of its ideas. It had tried to pull the thing off, to no avail. Jawhar had tried to shake Abdal awake, but the man had remained asleep.

What would Kadar have done?

Sequence Eight

Abdal felt his face while kneeling in the dark. He could feel lumps of burnt and twisted flesh where once smooth skin had been. He could hear only his own anxious breathing, and could see absolutely nothing. It was as though the fireball had burnt out his eyes.

Then a white spark illuminated the gloom. It started as a speck of light, then expanded to encompass his whole body. Abdal looked up and could see a hundred faces staring back from out of a swirling green mist. The faces were pale and distorted visages of people he'd once known and had died, and some he didn't recognise at all.

One ghostly figure descended from the mist, mouth agape, staring at him with hollowed out eyes.

"Your fault!" the voice cried with a terrible screech.

"All yours!" cried another.

"My fault?" said Abdal, confused.

The swirling mist above his head spun faster, and a thousand voices wailed.

"I'm dead because of you!" accused a distraught figure dressed in armour. "Dead, dead, dead!"

"You will be charged with the most grevious crimes, disposed sultan of Tambukta."

The last sentence had come from the mouth of his brother. Anadin was dressed for battle, and bled from a gash in his neck. A broken arrow point, the tip covered in crimson, clattered onto the floor by Abdal's feet.

"What crimes?" demanded Abdal.

"Crimes against Araby!" the ghostly voices cried in unison.

"I have done my all for Araby," said Abdal.

Amal drifted from the mist, a turban in his hands.

"Where were you when I died?" asked Amal. "Where were you when I died?" he said again, sternly.

"I was... looking for my sons," said Abdal.

"Your sons?" said Amal. The ghost laughed. The laugh was joined by its ghastly allies in the mist. "You have an army to save Araby, yet you choose to throw it away for your own selfish desires!" shouted Amal. The voice was strong, and a wind escaped from out of it that blew Abdal's hair about him.

"I have fought for Araby!" Abdal shouted. "No one can say otherwise or I'll cut him down, be it man, ghost or demon!" Abdal went for his sword, but found he was unarmed.

The mist began to lower itself, cold tendrils of smoke streaking out like curious snakes. Abdal tried to escape the icy touch of the fog, but his own protests were drowned out by the wails of the dead.

Jawhar felt the river, and knew what it would do. Jawhar was going to rescue Abdal if it were the last thing it'd do. After all, Kadar had asked it to keep an eye on Abdal.

Sequence Nine

Abdal felt a slap strike his cheek. It was a stinging blow that seemed to reverberate in his very soul. What manner of devilry was this? Thrown from one nightmare to another.

It was Atiya who slapped him. She looked accusingly at him, and slapped him again.

"Why didn't you force me to stay with you!"

"I asked, but you said no," was all Abdal could manage to say.

Then it hit him. These dreams, or whatever they were, were his worst nightmares. All his doubts and fears being played in a twisted fashion and presented to him. Unvoiced, they had been left to fester in the depths of his mind while steely courage and an iron heart took over.

He had been alive, but he hadn't.

"I wanted you to stay," said Abdal, taking Atiya by the hand.

She wiggled out of his grasp, her hair falling over her face. When she brushed it back, it was Amber. Amber gave a wicked smile, and slapped him hard too.

"If you were more of a man, I'd have stuck by you, you pathetic child. Give up your resistance and I might take you back in my arms, 'lover.'"

"I would sooner stick a length of iron through your heart than settle for a bitch like you," boomed Abdal.

The figure of Amber laughed, and began to fade. Abdal lashed out with a fist to strike the apparition, but she had all but disappeared. The only trace of her was her mocking laughter, echoing in the void like whistling wind.

Sequence Ten

Abdal felt the heat as it invaded the darkness. It caused him to sweat, and he wiped his brow with a dirty forearm. The rocky passage shimmered with an evil red light that captured tall, twisted shadows on the surface of the walls.

"What are you standing there for? Work!"

A hard biting slap stung his back, and Abdal discovered that he was bare-chested. A huge creature with red skin, cloven feet and horns on its head, spat out a forked tongue from thin lips and between needle sharp teeth.

"Work!" he shouted in a voice that carried along the corridor.

The passage opened up, and a vision of the darkest hell was before him. Fire flanked naked workers who dragged bundles of head-sized rocks in their hands as more of the hellish creatures whipped them. There was a deep black hole in the centre of the room where the slaves deposited the rocks, and then jumped in themselves.

"Father, help us."

Two voices cried, sweet and desperate. Two young boys, only around seven, pleaded to him. They were twins, and bore a striking resemblance to Abdal.

"Father, help us," they said again. A giant horned beast shoved one of the twins to the rocky ground and the boy cried. Other naked prisoners walked past the scene in silence, heads down.

The beast raised a long barbed whip in one taloned hand, and smiled at Abdal.

"Daemon!" shouted Abdal. "Can't fight men so you pick on boys?"

The beast laughed at Abdal's words, and thrashed the downed child with the whip. Abdal tried to move, but felt strong arms grip his legs and arms. Taloned hands clawed at his naked chest, and held him steady as he struggled in their grasp.

Jawhar pulled with all its might. The Ferod's floating body stretched as it held onto Abdal's ankles, and began to break apart, spilling droplets of its form onto the bank. It knew why it was like this. It had been away from Kadar's magical realm for far too long. Kadar warned Jawhar to return immediately once it began to suffer from Shatter Syndrome, as the old sorcerer called it. There was more important work to be done however, and besides, Jawhar liked this one.

Abdal didn't moan a complaint as he was dragged across the grass, only when he rolled into the rushing river.

Abdal awoke to find he was smothered by something yellow and misty. He remembered childhood stories of yellow mist creatures that hunted along Serpent River that fed off peoples dreams. A cursed dream wraith! How the devil had he allowed himself to fall asleep by the river! The dream wraith, unable to continue to feast off Abdal's fears and dreams, detached itself and floated upwards like dissipating smoke.

It shot off quickly, skimming the water as it went.

Abdal shook his head, still dazed from his ventures under the dream wraith's spell, but noticed Jawhar whizzing in circles by his head.

"Is this your doing, Jawhar?"

The flying Ferod stopped, began to hover, and formed a faceless head from the centre of its body. The head gave a solid nod. Abdal smiled.

"Thank you once again, Jawhar. I fear I owe you my life more times than I can repay."

Abdal clambered up the bank, grasping the firm plant life and tree branches that draped gracefully across the bank with his wet hands. He pushed his boots into the wet mud, felt them sink into the earth, and hoisted himself with steady movements.

Once he reached the top, he studied the western horizon, and took a deep breath.

"We've wasted enough time here, Jawhar. Lets go."

Forty – Bloody Fields

It had come to this. All his life had led to this moment. Nothing he had achieved in the past would echo in history like the deeds today.

The wind blew wildly, and roared through the ranks as the sky turned the colour of ash. Dense black clouds blocked the sun. The grass swayed savagely in the wind, along with cloth and every banner in both armies.

He studied Marid's force that lined up in thick columns as far as the eye could see. Black and red banners flapped above the ranks of men. Giant Ushabti the colour of night, with the heads of wicked dogs and wild animals prowled the front ranks, carrying wicked scythes and spears. Huge war elephants blew their trunks like trumpets, and stamped the floor impatiently as their handlers, sat on the napes of the beasts broad necks, whipped them with long, stinging canes. In the skies, like flocks of giant birds, were the devil Mu'ayyad. There were also creatures he had not seen before though knew through illustrations what they were; Orcs. Hundreds and hundreds of tall, broad shouldered, green skinned warriors bearing banners of bone. Barakah shuddered at the very sight of them.

His tactics were simple for his outnumbered army. Stand, fight, and cause as much death and destruction as to make the enemy tremble in fear of them. Barakah knew this would be risky. He had after all, essentially trapped his army against the solid walls of mountains to his back and flanks, and the enemy to the fore.

At least the army camp followers, the woman and children, had departed, taking the narrow roads back towards Ghasfa, Jumanah amongst them.

There was a series of horns blown that reverberated along the lines of troops and off the mountain walls. The familiar sound of the Eagles taking flight. Barakah's steed had sustained a mortal injury in the last fight, an injury Barakah was thankful hadn't taken his own life as well. It seemed like fate. Today he was not an Eagle Rider, but the General. Today he would prove Abdal's equal in command, or not. He wasn't mounted. He would fight on the ground, and hope that the well-versed and battle-hardened soldiers of Abdal's army would hold their own.

Every muscle in Barakah's body was tensed and felt like rock. His mind raced with possibilities. Would he survive? He certainly hoped so, and if not, he would give a good account of himself before death.

Barakah grimaced, and began to pace across the ranks of his own men lined up on the hill. They were all nervous despite being veterans of many battles. There were few amongst the sixteen thousand soldiers who had not seen battle under Abdal's command, had not seen the Ushabti demons, or taken on ranks of trumpeting elephants. Orc, on the other hand, were a new foe. Rumour spread along the files of their prowess in battle, and of the beasts difficulty to kill.

"Steady men, steady," Barakah said, as he walked along the line.

There were a few horns blown from the enemy ranks, and five riders under a white flag rode out of the foes midst.

"Sire, a horse?"

"No," said Barakah to his aid, Handral. "Let them come to us so that we may all hear the proposal."

Barakah watched the enemy riders approach across the grass. The clouds above seemed an evil portent, and spoke of night, and the dark void of death.

They each rode tall black steeds that sped across the ground and distance between the armies with powerful strides, hooves sounding like thunder as they thrashed the earth. The riders stopped a few yards away from the line where Barakah stood, hauling on their reins to steady the giant steeds.

"Who is in command here?" demanded a tall figure with a curling black moustache. He wore a red shirt and black baggy trousers that shook with the infernal wind. He wore no hat, and was bald as a baby.

Barakah stepped forward through a line made by his own troops.

"I am," said Barakah. "What do you want?"

"To offer you one last chance to surrender. Your men do not stand a chance against such a force amassed against you. Give up, and you may keep your lives."

"And what of honour?" demanded Barakah. "You'd have us throw that away like yourselves?"

The tall figure controlled his shuffling horse, and stared Barakah in the eyes.

"Your army will not be put to death. Jaffar wishes it to join his armies. You will get a chance to fight other enemies for him."

"I think there's a problem with your logic," said Barakah. He stepped closer to the riders. "What makes you think we'll just give in when we've smashed your armies in the past? You think we are mercenaries, who'd fight for anyone, essentially believing us to be savage murderers?"

Barakah turned to his line of troops with a hearty smile spread across his features.

"Come men, lets share our wine and food with these fine gentlemen. Anyone fancy a game of chess?" His men laughed. Barakah closed with the horseman, so that he stood next to him.

"Give your general a message."

"Yes?" said the negotiator. "What is it?"

Barakah withdrew a blade from the inside of his sleeve so fast that the rider didn't have time to react at all. Barakah drew the man down in the saddle and thrust the blade into the foe's forehead. There was a crunch, a gurgle, and the man was dead.

The other riders panicked, and tried to ride off, but four well placed arrows shot into them a moment later, throwing bodies off saddles and onto the dark grass.

The enemy horns blew, and their horde advanced.

"Archers!" shouted Barakah, as he ventured back into his own line, cleaning his bloodied blade with a small white cloth.

He heard the sharp quick call of his own trumpets. There was a brief pause before he heard the thrum of several thousand bowstrings, and looked to the sky as the arrows arched over the infantry, and towards the marching enemy. The arrows dropped into the massed ranks with deadly accuracy and the enemy died in droves. Another series of arrows shot into the air, and again they landed on the foe.

The eagles squawked in the skies as they closed in on the Mu'ayyad, who in turn, roared.

Another volley of a thousand arrows arched across the sky, and struck the closing enemy with vicious results. Enemy dead began to pile up, and littered the field where they fell. It was clear to Barakah and every man on his side that it would not be enough. They would have to meet the enemy up close and personal.

"Ready yourselves men," shouted Barakah. "For the glory of a free Araby!"

The enemy line crashed into the Barakah's army with a terrible clash, and beneath the dark sky, men died in their hundreds, and thousands.

Forty-One – Horde's Tower

"I already told you twice, it won't work," said Hasdru. He held firmly onto the golden pendant around his neck.

"But if you give it to me, it might do," said Atiya, angrily. She crossed her arms and stared into the fire.

Hasdru listened to the crackling kindling, and shook his head. The others had fallen asleep, or withdrawn to private thought and sat or lay around the fire, or by the bank. Mahmuud snored loudly, tucked up in a thin blanket by the bank, broken halberd pieces on the ground.

"Man sounds like a pig," Hasdru complained. "Perhaps I ought to roll him in the river?"

Atiya didn't respond. Her arms were still crossed, her eyes staring into the flames. It was a good reflection of her mood, she thought.

"Gunbai can't find what you are looking for," said Hasdru. "Not unless I give him to you. He is linked with my heart, Atiya. Only when that stops beating will he need a new owner." He stared at Atiya, and watched her expression soften. She was beautiful, and he loved her more than anything in the whole world. "I know you do not love me," he said, quietly, placing a hand on his knee. "How could you love me? I am crude, and seemingly uncaring." Hasdru stopped a moment, and stared into the fire. "Your heart is with Abdal, and will always be so. However, think on this, my wife. I will always love you, and will protect you to the end of my life. Where you go, I will follow."

Atiya turned to Hasdru, and studied him for a brief moment. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever said to her.

"I do love you," she whispered. "Like my own brother."

"How much longer are you going to lie to everyone? Asad is Abdal's child. Perhaps you should let Mahmuud know?"

"How did you know?"

Hasdru laughed briefly.

"You only have to look at him. I'm an ugly man. He shares none of my features, but bares a striking resemblance to Abdal. I have stayed quiet, out of respect for you. No one but us knows the truth, and it will stay like that if you so desire."

"Thank you," she said. Atiya leant forward, and kissed Hasdru softly on the cheek.

Hasdru smiled, and stood up. The pendant glowed amber at his touch, and Gunbai emerged, peering about with wide eyes. He shot into the sky in an eastern direction, springing from the the pendant, trailing golden dust in his wake.

"If finding Abdal is what will make you happy, then it will make me happy," said Hasdru, awkwardly. He couldn't look her in the eye as he said it, and sat back down.

"Get some sleep, Atiya. I shall wake you when Gunbai returns."

The smell of the ocean reminded Abdal of better times when he visited the coasts of any country by the sea. He could stretch his memory to a time when even the smallest rock pool was an adventure, fishing for crab and whatever lurked beneath the rocks and sand.

The wind blew against the cliffs, and waves broke in white, frothy sprays against the rock. The clouds above pushed quickly east, and traveled across the blue sky like swimmers in an ocean.

Abdal stared across the bumpy plateau and at the dark, wide structure that nestled into the cliffs. Crenelations ran the broad wall that the tower majestically stood behind. The walls were dark and worn, weathered by the spray of the sea, and the wind and rain. Huge gargoyles with wings and clawed hands and feet wrapped around crenelations, and stared down at Abdal like silent sentries.

Armed soldiers patrolled the battlements, wearing red robes, black turbans with wide white feathers blowing in the wind. Abdal stroked his scimitar blade at his side, and moved slowly across the ground. It was tricky work. The plateau wasn't particularity flat, marked with many holes and small rocky hills.

The road that led to the black gates would be watched, so Abdal stayed well clear. Instead, he kept to the dangerous cliff edge, where eyes would be less concerned. He stepped across the un-steady ground on all fours, hands continuously searching for holes on the wet slick surface.

A tall wave broke against the cliffs, and a white, bubbly spray rose like a watery hand. Abdal watched the majesty of the ocean for a brief moment, and considered its beauty and its dangers. Que'lash had come from the sea. That wretched monster had almost been the end of him. What else lurked in the depths beneath the calm surface?

He heard the cry of seagulls, and noticed a few nestled onto the cliffs, while other birds soared in the sky. It was almost peaceful, save the view of the black tower. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up at the architecture. The tower itself was designed to look like a daemon arm spearing the sky, with a hand at the top, clawed fingertips as crenelations.

The roar of the wind against the cliffs seemed never-ending, nor the surf. Abdal reached the wall in good time, his hands bleeding from a series of small cuts from the jagged, uneven rock. He wiped them on his trousers, and looked up. The height made it impossible to climb, but there would be no other way through. He briefly teased with the idea of knocking on the gates and demanding entrance, but that could end quickly, and fatally with a bolt or arrow tip lodged into his head.

"Jawhar, I know this is a lot to ask considering your current... state. I need you to take me up there, onto the battlements. Inside, Jawhar. Can you do it?"

The silver flecks inside Jawhar's body sparkled, and glowed like stars. Jawhar spun, and whizzed up and down, before extending his body into a wider surface.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Abdal.

Jawhar descended to an inch above the ground, and Abdal stepped onto the thin surface. The body was more solid than Abdal could recall. He didn't sink into the being at all.

"I'm ready, Jawhar, but slowly does it, I don't want you to raise me up all at once. Let me get a peek over the wall first."

Jawhar made his climb, and Abdal felt uneasy as he ascended.

"You're going too fast," said Abdal. He looked down at his feet. Jawhar was loosing bits of its body against the wall while other pieces fell to the ground like rain drops. Abdal felt his right foot sink slightly. Jawhar rose speedily, and Abdal guessed it was all that the Ferod could do. It reached the crenelation wall, and collapsed. Abdal felt himself fall, but reached out and grabbed the body of a gargoyle wrapped around one crenelation.

The stone grotesque stared down at him with blank eyes, a wide toothy grin on its face. Abdal looked down and watched the Ferod explode on the rocks below in a shower of blue goo and misty white cloud.

Abdal strained against his own weight, but pulled himself up, hands tight against stonework, muscles taught. He rolled through the crenelated wall, and landed on his back on the battlements. He breathed, heart racing, and opened his eyes. A guard approached, long spear point dipped as he charged.

"Hamid's balls," muttered Abdal. He had time to roll as the spear point flashed at him. The tip struck the stone, and Abdal lashed out with a leg. He connected with shin, and the guard pitched sideways into a crenelation. Abdal quickly rose to his feet, grabbed the man's head with both hands, and dashed the guards face against the wall. Blood splashed the walls as he crushed the man's nose, then caved in the skull on a third strike. He pushed the dead body off the wall, and heard the sickening crunch below.

Abdal's hands were covered in gore; blood, bone and bits of brain matter which he wiped on his trousers. It saddened him, the monster he'd become. Abdal had ended a man's life in a horrible fashion without much thought, and had done so in the past without consideration.

Abdal had no time to ponder his continued bloody existence. He needed to get off the wide circular wall before being spotted by any guards on the raised corner watchtowers. He ran down a flight of broad steps, boots echoing, that led to a stone courtyard that stretched out around the wide central structure. There were small buildings beneath the battlements made with shoddy wooden walls. The smell of horse and shit met his nostrils. He heard men chatter amongst themselves from beneath a wide entry that led to a solid open door that led into the tower. Voices sprang up behind, and two guards approached, talking to one another, eyes focused elsewhere rather than the line ahead. Abdal ducked and pushed a shoddy door open by the stairs to his left. The door hinges squeaked as the door opened inwards.

He found himself in an empty stable, hay strewn across the stone floor. A bucket of water was by his feet. There was a saddle slung across a long bench that also contained a conveniently placed black turban and a folded red shirt. Abdal pushed himself against the wall, beneath the open window, and listened to the pair of guards pass, idly chattering, unaware of the intruder.

Gunbai descended from the blue sky, and landed on Hasdru's shoulder. An amber glow lit the nomad's face.

"What have we got?" said Hasdru, as he stroked the magical being's chin. Gunbai delighted in the affection, and pointed a taloned finger north-west.

"He's in the structure," said Gunbai.

"How the devil did he scale the walls?" said Mahmuud, as he studied the great structure.

"The Ferod," said Gunbai. "Sadly, it died."

Atiya shook her head softly.

"Oh no," she whispered. "Poor Jawhar."

"The Ferod's death is tragic," said Mahmuud, "but we need to think of a way to get in there fast. I doubt Abdal can take it on by himself."

"He won't be," said Amber. "There are a lot of men inside those walls. A garrison of three hundred, I believe."

The party was spread out amongst the dips of the plateau, chests against the warm rock, the sun rolling high above them in the cloudless sky, and watched the tower anxiously.

Mahmuud thanked Hamid they'd arrived hot on Abdal's tracks. He'd thought his friend lost forever, like Amal. The news of his survival from the mouths of the Dwuegor had spurred him on, perhaps all of them. The pursuit had been relentless, stopping only for brief rests to eat and recuperate.

Everyone was exhausted. Each face was more pale, eyes rimmed with shadow, cheeks sunken. Stubble had turned to fully-fledged beards. Atiya had even allowed her armpit hair to grow, and felt the itch and irritation upon her smooth skin.

"We have rope, correct? All we need do is fashion a hook, and we can scale the walls," offered Ghalib. The old nomad pointed to the rope dangling from the camel's open packs. The camel blankly stared at them all as eyes turned to it. It spat a goblet of phlegm on the ground, and farted.

"I think it needs a better diet," said Yaq'ub.

"Might be a way, but its slow. Broad daylight too," said Tamir.

"What about her? Maybe we could use the sorceress?" said Zalim, gesturing Amber with his crossbow. "I can think of a plan or two that might get us in."

Amber chuckled.

"You think I'm going to help you? Not a chance."

Mahmuud rose from the ground, and grabbed Amber by her hair, roughly pulling her towards him. She screamed, and thrashed at his chest with her arms.

"Let go of me, beast!" she yelled. A slap stung her cheek.

"Quiet. You are no longer any use to us," said Mahmuud. He forced her head upon the rocky ground with one meaty hand so that her cheeks began to bleed and withdrew his halberd blade from his belt. The silver shone in the sunlight. Mahmuud raised it to the sky. "May as well kill you now?"

"Wait," she pleaded, "I can help you get inside, please, just spare my life!"

Mahmuud went to swing the weapon anyhow, but Atiya grabbed the big man's wrist.

"We need her," said Atiya.

"No we don't," said Mahmuud. "The moment we trust her, the moment she'll betray us."

"That's a chance we must be willing to take to get inside," said Atiya. She turned to Amber, and grabbed her by the arm. She violently hoisted the sorceress to her feet.

"What did you have in mind, Zalim?"

Forty-Two – The Miraculous and Quite Dangerous Entrances

The metal fashioned hook, made from Mahmuud's broken halberd shaft, clanged against the stone crenelation, and plummeted back to earth. Mahmuud, Tamir and Awad backed away from its descent, and cringed at it struck rock.

"At least the rope is long enough," said Tamir, hopefully. They had increased its length, fashioning an extra twenty feet from every piece of material they could spare; from what they wore, so now they walked bare-chest exposed, to most of the packs on the camel.

"Third time lucky," said Mahmuud, determination on his face and in his words. He picked up the hook, and began to spin it from his side. He moved the hook faster, until the rope and the haft blurred, then cast it upwards with a snarl.

It flew straight and true, over the wall. Mahmuud tugged at the rope; once, twice – then a third hard pull to make sure it was secure. He breathed a sigh of relief as the hook had found purchase.

"Right, I'll go first," said Mahmuud. "If I plummet to my death, I guess we were wrong for taking this route. Then again, they could be too, and we all die trying to break in."

He tugged a final time, and, hand over hand, ascended. It was hard work, and made him breath with struggled breaths as he reached the crenelations. He stared about, head revealed, saw that it was clear and heaved himself over.

Mahmuud noticed the gate was opening, and quickly peered over the wall. He made a thumbs up sign, and Tamir grabbed hold of the rope.

"Good luck," said Awad. "I hope he hasn't loosened it." Awad gave Tamir a firm rap on the shoulder, and offered a wink.

"Very amusing," said Tamir, as he began to climb.

Amber walked the road to the main gate, Zalim and his crossbow close behind, the weapon hidden by robes. Hadi led the camel covering his face from the sun with his free hand. Atiya, Hasdru, Ghalib and Yaq'ub flanked the animal, and stared towards the ominous fort tower in front, pulses racing at the prospect of battle.

"Remember, one false move and you get a bolt in your back," said Zalim. "Stick to the plan and you might well live."

Amber smiled. They were falling for her own goal also. To get inside the tower was what she most desired.

"Relax, boy. I don't want that bolt in my back any more than you want to fail your precious Abdal."

They continued straight on course, along the road, past the flanking black statues of feline animals set upon marble plinths. The stone mason who worked on the statues was talented, but the monsters he'd created were evil, and sent a shiver down Atiya's spine as she studied their cruel, toothy snarls and black, blank eyes.

The giant walls cast shadows on them as they took Amber's lead and stopped by the great, green gates. Two twisted, screaming faces of unidentifiable daemons were cast onto each door, giant bat wings stretching up into the arches.

"Who goes there?" demanded a rough voice from the crenelated wall above.

"I am the Queen of the West," said Amber. She raised her signet ring to the sky. The ring flashed red with magical energy. "I have had a long and laborious journey. Open the gates, Captain."

There was no hesitation. Whatever the ring signified cast no doubt in the Captain's mind that she was who she claimed to be.

"Open the gates!" shouted the Captain.

There was a brief silence, then the gates creaked inwards, the sound of iron chains rattling as the gate mechanism worked. Amber waited until both doors had fully opened, then entered the fort.

A detail of armed soldiers emerged from the gatehouse, twenty pairs of boots stamping the courtyard stone. They were armed with sheathed scimitars and round silver shields. The Captain emerged last, adjusting his turban, and tucking his shirt into his belt.

"Welcome to Horde's Tower, My Queen, it is an honour," said the Captain. He was a broad shouldered man a little under average height. He wore a fine moustache pruned to spear tip sharpness as it extended far across his upper lip. "How may we be of service?"

"Just stay out of my way, Captain, and all will be fine."

Atiya's heart beat twice as fast as normal. She could feel her palms begin to sweat as she stared at the guards. Hasdru appeared uneasy too, but tried to cast an assuring wink to his wife. She didn't feel that it improved the situation at all. Though she loved Abdal dearly, she found she was always in danger around him. A quiet life would be great about now, she thought. Especially now.

"My Queen, I'd just like to report that the Quilem have been uneasy of late. They howl at night li-."

"Do not bother me with such trivial matters. I will check on them myself."

The Captain bowed.

"Back to your places men," he called in a deep voice. "You two, attend the camel."

Two soldiers, young men just past twenty, with smooth, clean-shaven skin, moved from the dismissing line, and relieved Hadi of the camel.

"Please be careful with him," said Hadi. "He's an old bugger who's been through a lot."

Amber led them forwards, towards the darkness beneath a wide arch that led to the entrance to the tower.

"Come," she said. "If Abdal seeks a way in, this will be his only means."

Abdal watched them open the gates from the darkness of the stable. His heart leapt with anger and surprise as Amber walked though first. How had she escaped? Then he saw Zalim, and the others. The nomads and the mad sorcerer came through out onto the courtyard, but not Mahmuud, Awad and Tamir. Abdal couldn't guess what was going on, and remained crouched.

The guards that flooded out from the gatehouse doors retreated whence they came to the sound of thunderous stamps. When Amber led them towards the tower, Abdal stood and left the stable, closing the door silently behind him. He stalked past the guards that led the camel towards the stable he had just occupied himself, and prayed his disguise would hold out. The camel grunted at Abdal – a possible 'hello', he thought, but doubtful. The guards paid him little attention, missing the blood on Abdal's trousers.

He walked brazenly across the ground, and fell in step with Hadi at the back. Hadi faced the newcomer, was about to say, 'alms for the very poor,' then recognised the scarred face Abdal tried to hide with part of his turban. Abdal placed a finger to his lips, and Hadi remained silent, though couldn't wipe the large grin off his face.

They walked beneath the long dark arch, met a short flight of white steps, and entered the tower through a gaping mouth shaped doorway. The two guards flanking the entrance straightened up as soon as they saw Amber and the party approach, bearing their spears and shields as though they were on parade before Sultan Jaffar himself. They dared not look upon her face as she passed, and continued to stare directly ahead, at some point in the distance.

Ghalib and Yaq'ub were the next to notice Abdal as he paced past. Another finger to his lips silenced them.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he whispered to Hasdru. The large nomad looked at Abdal and almost smiled. Instead, horrified by his almost act of happiness, he grimaced.

The passageway was broad, and lit by torches mounted on the large stone block walls. The ceiling rose only a foot above Hasdru's own lofty height. There was an odd smell that seemed to escape from the very walls.

Abdal moved forward, past Atiya, past Zalim, scimitar in hand. He placed the point of the weapon into the small of Amber's back, and leaned in close to her ear.

"Miss me?" he whispered.

"Abdal," Atiya said. She restrained herself from running and hugging him, but beamed a smile and touched his shoulder.

"Ah, the stoic hero returns," said Amber. "Please do be careful. This place is like a maze, filled with soldiers. You wouldn't want to have to work harder to find our children."

"I should plunge this blade into your spine, sorceress. Take me to my children now, or, Hamid be my witness, I'll end you here."

"Really Abdal, where are your manners?" said Amber, moving away from Abdal's sword. "I remember when you were so much gentler."

"Lead the way," Abdal said. "Now."

Mahmuud stared at the tower and shuddered. Something told him Abdal was in there, probably alone, and his heart sunk. He cast his eyes at the stone walkway spanning from the battlements to the tower.

"Lets go," said Mahmuud.

The big warrior led the way, his broken halberd blade out in one hand catching the sunlight. Tamir and Awad followed close behind, eyes out to the surrounding battlements, fearful of their footfalls alerting guards.

"Great security," muttered Awad. "If my men had been so lackluster at Anis Bridge, I'd have lined them up and shot them."

There was a closed door ahead, golden motes etched across it. Mahmuud ran his free hand over the surface. It felt cold, and cast a reflection of the three as perfect as any mirror. Mahmuud pushed it open, and the door slid back with a snake-like hiss. A small room dimly lit by a flickering torch was revealed.

Mahmuud ducked in, and took the torch from the wall, and cast it across the room. Large paintings of unknown lands hung in the room. There was one of farmland under a red sky in a golden frame. Another with a picture of fells stretching across the horizon, a shimmering blue lake in front.

The single beam of light playing on the floor faded as Awad closed the door behind him.

"Now where?" asked Tamir.

"Do I look like the bloody architect?" said Mahmuud.

"If you ask me, this whole affair's been too easy," said Awad. "Maybe its because my old job in life was the defense of a bridge, but has anyone else got the impression that this has all been a bit, well, easy?"

Mahmuud looked at him and shrugged.

"Climbing that bloody wall wasn't easy. Who knows with these people? I'd say they were arrogant, certain the war is far away," said Mahmuud. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself too.

Mahmuud moved to a door on the north wall, opened it, and waved the dying torch, embers trailing like magic dust, over a stone spiral staircase. A scream echoed up the stairwell that set their hairs on end, and their spines tingling.

"That doesn't sound good," said Awad. "Not good at all."

Forty-Three – The Madness of Horde's Tower

Abdal barely took his eyes off his wife. She embodied everything Abdal now hated. Not that he did not think her beautiful, but that beauty was only skin-deep. He had met whores that had followed his army about with more kindly manners than the sorceress who had played with his heart. The woman who had given birth to his twin sons and then snatched them away.

There was a piercing cry that echoed along the corridor, muted only by oaken doors. Zalim jumped, then feeling embarrassed, straightened himself up, and aimed his crossbow at the doors.

"Relax, boy," said Hasdru. "Before you put me on edge."

Closed black doors flanked the journey through the dark passageways. Abdal noticed they were going down, into the bowels of the cliffs, not up.

"Are we entering the depths of the earth, towards the very fires of hell?" said Hasdru.

It felt warmer the deeper they descended. Amber opened a thick door to reveal a wide circular room. Iron cages were set into the walls on one end to form a semi-circle where forms of things shifted in the dark, their moans spine tingling and full of terror and pain. One crawled forward with skin as white as chalk, human in appearance save for his stump like arms and clawed hands.

"What evil is this?" said Atiya, as she backed away from the wall.

Abdal had heard of the evil of Horde's Tower, of the experiments on the deranged, but the realty was horrific. He felt pity for the creatures he saw clinging to the cages. All of them looked undernourished, skinny and wore not an inch of clothing. Many were deformed; with large pincers for arms and crab-like legs which they scurried back and forth upon. They all wailed pitifully. Some screamed with anger. Others still had their arms and legs intact, but sported giant insect eyes that glowed in the dark.

"Why do I get the feeling this is your doing, sorceress?" said Abdal.

"I wish I could take responsibility for these daemons, but they are the workings of someone else entirely."

"Where are the guards?" queried Ghalib.

"They are not permitted within the tower," said Amber.

At the centre of the circular room was a giant spiral staircase lit by flickering torches, coating the stone with orange light. Amber led the way down, sword point at her back. The moans above and their own hollowing footsteps echoed down the stairwell.

The last step led into a similar shaped circular room, with many dark tunnels leading away from the chamber. There was a ring ridged with a stone hand rail around the eight foot platform that rimmed the room. Four stone bridges spanned a dark chasm, and led to a circular platform at the very centre of the chamber.

"You have kept my sons in this godforsaken place?" said Abdal, anger on his face. "Have you experimented on them too?"

Amber began to laugh.

"No. They are not here. They have never been here." She dropped a small acorn to the ground, and a spark of white energy flashed across the room. It blinded Abdal, and caused his head to spin. Black mist began to cover her legs, swirling like smoke from a fire, travelling up from the ground, snaking its way around her form. Abdal lunged with the point of his sword but met nothing but the swirling mist.

"I'm here," she said. Amber stood at the centre platform, hand raised to the ceiling, signet ring glowing like a miniature sun, bathing the room in a red, hellish glow.

A series of high pitched screams echoed from the dark tunnels. Everyone but Hadi armed themselves. Hadi scratched his thinning hair, and clapped his hands together again and again. Atiya notched an arrow in her bow, and couldn't stop from shaking as she pointed it at the dark tunnel to their rear.

"What do you want?" boomed a deep and thunderous voice. It echoed through the chamber, blanketing the screams from the tunnels.

There was a sound of rushing wind as something rose from the deep chasm. Abdal's heart began to beat like mad as he watched a pair of giant bat like wings emerge from the darkness. The wings were connected to the most hideous form Abdal had ever seen. It made the tragic experiments above pale in comparison.

The thing had a body shaped like a man, but must have been ten feet tall, with cloven feet, and four arms; two with clawed hands, two with sharp fleshy blades dripping white ooze into the depths of the chasm. A long armour plated, black tail thrashed from side to side, the tip of which sat a bulbous scorpion-like stinger. The creature stared at Amber with thin red eyes, snake tongue flashing back and forth from a large mouth.

"We have guests, Azazel," said Amber, gesturing Abdal's party with a sweep of her hand.

Azazel was ancient. Older than the elves, the dwarfs and man who could remember the time of the Old Ones. Nothing pleased him more than new play things. He stared at Abdal's party, each and everyone in turn, and licked his thin lips, and rubbed his hands together.

"What is your wish?" said Azazel. Amber stroked her signet ring. Azazel cursed for the human had control over him. If only he could rid himself from the power of the jewel-sultan Jaffar.

"Destroy them," shouted Amber. "Kill them all."

"With pleasure," said Azazel. The creature flapped its great wings slowly, and tilted his head back. The mouth opened, and the lower jaw began to droop down to its black-skinned stomach. An ear splitting scream filled the chamber.

A hundred red eyes flashed open in the dark passages.

"Circle!" shouted Abdal, his instincts taking control. His allies did as he commanded, Hadi setting himself up the middle. "If you can recall any spells, sorcerer, now would be the time!"

Small bat like creatures emerged from the tunnels, flapping a hundred pairs of wings to create a sound like a giant heartbeat.

Abdal sprang forward, and cleaved through the body of a bat as it stretched for him. The slice scattered the beast's entrails over the floor, and dropped in two halves with soft fleshy thuds. Atiya released a barbed arrow, which struck another in the wing. The thing spun and pitched into the chasm with a screech.

Hasdru, Ghalib and Yaq'ub were swarmed by the beasts. They thrashed and cut at the nomads forearms and face, spilling blood onto the tiled ground.

"Away!" shouted Ghalib, as one landed on his chest. The creature screeched and tore out the nomad's throat with its sharp claws. Ghalib fell back, blood spurting from the wound like a daemon fountain, spitting out of his open mouth as he coughed. He tried to steady himself on the rail, and stem the blood loosing from cut arteries, but another bat creature bowled into him, and sent him over the rail. Ghalib couldn't scream as he fell to the depths of the chasm.

"Ghalib!" shouted Hasdru. "Curse you!" he cried. Hasdru swept his wide sword about the air with measured, powerful strokes. His blade bit deep, and severed several bats as they circled above him.

Abdal felt a stabbing pain on his shoulder of his sword arm. Clawed nails dug into his knotted muscles as one clung to him, biting, head wobbling as it tried to chew away Abdal's arm. He grabbed it with his free hand, and crushed its neck. The creature went limp, and dropped from his body.

"We're doomed!" shouted Yaq'ub, bleeding from several cuts across his face and chest as he swung wildly about him.

"Get it off me!" shouted Zalim, both his hands on the torso of a bat sat on his turban. The boy almost tripped on his cast crossbow, but Atiya steadied him, and drove the tip of an arrow into the back of the creature.

"Thank you," said Zalim, blood running down from his cut forehead.

Abdal caught the shadow of the giant creature still hovering above Amber, and felt his fury rage.

"Sorceress! Ally with daemons will you," he shouted above the racket of the bat creatures.

Abdal slashed a bat from his path, and moved to the bridge spanning the chasm. As soon as his boots touched the path, Azazel swept in low, screeching like a banshee.

"Quickly!" shouted Mahmuud. The whole place had come alive with terrifying noise. One moment the odd drifting wail, the next, a cacophony of tormented screams that put them all on edge. They pushed through into a large circular chamber where a spiral staircase nestled into the centre of the room.

The fresh torch in Tamir's hand wavered, and bathed the room with an amber glow. Two dozen iron cages contained blasphemous creations that set their hairs on edge as the three Arabians paced towards the stairs.

"Poor devils," said Awad. "What are they?"

"Do I look like the matron?" boomed Mahmuud. He'd run out of patience with their silly questions. Now was not the time to stop and ponder on mutated men in prison cells.

Screeches shot up from the spiral steps, along with a familiar booming voice.

"Sorceress! Ally with daemons will you."

It was Abdal's, no doubt about it. With renewed vigour at the sound of his friend's voice, Mahmuud took to the stairs. He hopped down them, skipping two or three a time, Awad and Tamir fast on his heels.

They came to stop, breaths quickened by the descent, at a scene that only the most twisted, sinister sorcerer could have imagined. Bat creatures with small, goblin like bodies attacked the nomads, diving from black, swirling circles above the heads of the desert folk. But that wasn't all. A giant creature swept at Abdal like a manifested nightmare, a nerve shredding battle cry emitting from its wide, sharp toothed mouth.

Forty-Four – A Desperate Fight and the Clash of the Jewel Sorcerers

Abdal watched the beast come for him, and dived as Azazel rushed past. He sucked in breath as he ended the dive with most of his torso facing the dark chasm, perched dangerously over the edge. Abdal felt a rush of wind against his body, and the touch of a wing as Azazel turned mid-air. He stood up, and saw Amber take a few steps back, fear in her eyes.

"Stop him!" Amber cried.

Azazel roared, and swooped in behind Abdal and grabbed him with its clawed hands.

"Abdal!" shouted Mahmuud. The warrior launched the broken end of his halberd at the flying creature as Tamir and Awad got stuck in against a swarm of bat creatures. There was a sickening crunch and scream as Mahmuud's blade pierced its side. Black blood began to ooze from the wound as Azazel dipped backwards, sword arms waving, one hand on Abdal, the other on his wound. The creature began to spin as it tore the wretched blade from its torso. Azazel tossed the weapon to the centre platform, and the bloody halberd blade clamoured on the stone.

Abdal gripped Azazl's arm with his free hand, and stuck his sword deep through its wrist. Black blood rushed out of the wound like a split in a water bag when he withdrew the blade. Azazel cursed in his ancient tongue, and launched Abdal towards his fighting comrades. He smashed through a canopy of bat creatures, scattering them across the floor, and took Hasdru off his feet.

"Watch it!" cried the big nomad, as he tried to regain his footing. Yaq'ub came to Hasdru's aid, shielding his own eyes from the claws of a persistent bat that screeched above. He grabbed hold of Hasdru's arm, slashed the bat aside so that the body slumped over the stone rail, and tried to pull Hasdru to his feet.

"Here," he shouted, then looked up.

The scything sword arm of the flying beast sliced through Yaq'ub's neck like a hot blade through butter. The nomad's face, contorted with fear and pain, dropped to the floor by Hasdru's leg, mouth agape, eyes open. Azazel picked up the rest of the man's body, and flew upwards. The daemon gripped Yaq'ub's headless torso with one hand, and slashed the nomad's body open from groin to neck stump above Abdal and Hasdru's heads. Blood and organs dropped upon them like sickening rain.

"Damn you!" shouted Hasdru, as he stood to his feet. "Fight me!"

Azazel was more than happy to oblige. With an organ shuddering roar, the creature dived at Hasdru and Abdal. Its dark shadow danced forward, and Abdal and Hasdru darted aside. Azazel slammed into the wall, and cursed in his ancient tongue once again. These humans were proving difficult.

Mahmuud pushed his way through the melee armed with Tamir's horn, and batted a winged beast aside. The unconscious creature flew through the air and tumbled into the dark chasm.

"I'm coming, Abdal!" he shouted above the din. "Out of the way!" he roared at a bat creature. The thing broke off, and flew to the ceiling afraid. Mahmuud caught another one with his free hand, and raised it to his open mouth. The bat creature saw the teeth and screeched. Mahmuud tore the head from its body with his own teeth, and spat the head to the floor. This barbaric display caused a dozen bats to fly towards the dark passageway, far from the fight.

Zalim and Atiya watched the smaller bat creatures dart away, zigzagging around and bumping into each other in their haste to get away. Zalim pumped a fist in the air and cheered as the things fled back to whence they came. His cheer faded as soon as he felt the floor beneath his feet shudder.

Azazel stomped the ground with his cloven feet, and lashed out with his sword like arms, tongue flashing in and out of his mouth. His scorpion tail bobbed at the left shoulder, and darted forward at Abdal. Abdal jumped back against the stone rail, and ducked a follow up swing of the tail. Hasdru launched several quick thrusts, but his blade was knocked from his hand. A follow up swipe slashed into the nomad's ribs, and he collapsed to the ground, holding his side.

Amber noticed her chance. Abdal's back was turned, and everyone's attention was on the slave beast. She crept forward, gingerly crossing the stone, and picked up Mahmuud's bloodied halberd.

Abdal saw Hasdru fall. This was all his fault. If he hadn't of been so foolish to believe he could rescue his missing sons, the nomad's would still be alive. He cursed himself as he watched Tamir and Mahmuud engage the beast. Mahmuud didn't even have a blade, only a blunt object he recognised as Tamir's war horn.

There was a womanly scream from his side and Abdal turned to see a blade arching towards him.

"My General!" shouted Awad.

Amber's weapon crashed into Awad's chest as the old gate captain intervened. The blade sank deep into his torso, and the man fell backwards, eyes open, a cry of pain parting from his lips.

Abdal's sword flashed faster than Amber could see. Her outstretched hand that had held the blade that killed Awad separated from her wrist in a spray of crimson. She screamed and fell back, her raven coloured hair masking her twisted face. Abdal noticed the ring on the severed hand by his foot, and he stooped to pick it up.

"This is yours, I believe," he said. He slid the ring off her dead finger, and turned back to the beast.

"Creature," he shouted. Azazel stopped fighting and stared at the ring in the man's raised hand. "This controls you, does it not?"

Azazel growled, but stopped his attacks. Tamir and Mahmuud stepped back, weapons raised in a defensive posture. The room began to fall into a calm silence.

"Kill her for me, then crawl back to your hole!" he shouted. Azazel spread his wings, hunched his bloodied legs, and leapt up.

Amber began to crawl, pushing herself away from Abdal with her feet, holding the stump of her bleeding wrist with her bloodied free hand.

"No, don't... please Abdal, I beg of you, spare me, your wife, your love."

"You know nothing of love," said Abdal.

Azazel soared down, and gripped Amber by her hair. She dangled from his grasp, blood leaking from her severed arteries, and cried a hollowing scream as the beast plunged down into the depths of its home.

"Hasdru!" Atiya shouted, and rushed to the nomad's form.

She turned him over, and rested his head on her lap as she fell to her knees.

"Please don't die," she whispered as she stroked Hasdru's hair away from his face. Hasdru opened his watery eyes, and coughed a splatter of blood onto Atiya's arms.

"Sorry about that," he whispered. He laboriously drew up his right arm, and grasped the golden chain around his neck. "Gunbai is yours," he muttered. He drew a deep breath, and looked Atiya in the eyes. "I love you," he said. Hasdru smiled, then died.

Atiya ran her hands around his neck, and removed the treasured necklace. She studied it in her palm a moment. Atiya couldn't hold back her emotions and sobbed.

Abdal looked at the mess around him, and knelt by Awad's corpse. He closed the old warrior's eyes with a gentle sweep of his hand, and he too, cried. He cried because that was all he had left. Loyal friends had died. His sons were not here and never were. Abdal felt a hand grasp his shoulder. He looked up at the face of his old retainer, tears streaking his scarred face.

"Come, Abdal. It's not over yet. We still have to get out of this cursed tower," said Mahmuud, as he tore his weapon free from Awad's chest.

Abdal nodded, and stood up. He was about to say something to his friend, but a blinding white light enveloped the room, and a familiar figure stepped out of thin air.

The roc collapsed at his feet, smoke rising from its scorched body, large feathers fluttering in the air, falling like light snow onto the blood covered ground. Jaffar rubbed his hands together, and looked directly ahead. The far wall was lit by bright, ethereal light, the source of which interested the Sultan no end. It was the second jewel of three. A second mighty weapon to enforce his might and will upon not just Araby, but the world.

"Isn't it delightful, Wadi?" said Jaffar, as he stepped over the roc's smouldering remaining wing.

"Yes, My Sultan," said Wadi, obediently.

"It is hard to imagine something so beautiful, yet so deadly, is it not?"

Wadi nodded, and listened to the din of battle outside. The rocs; once a powerful, proud and rare race, were being slaughtered. Wadi didn't like it at all, but what could he do? Instead, he watched his powerful master stride to the edge of the gap, place his hand onto a stone pillar, and consider the approach across.

"Finally," said Jaffar. "I have searched for you for a good part of a decade," said the sorcerer, addressing the blue gem in the wall. "Five yards is all that stands between me, and the continued new Arabian Dynasty."

He waved a long fingered hand over the crevice, and spoke words of power that Wadi did not understand. The chamber rumbled as debris tore itself away from the walls and ceiling. Dust and other clumps of rock tumbled then hovered above the crevice. Wadi stared wide eyed as Jaffar created his own arched bridge.

Jaffar stepped onto the bridge, his polished black boot heels clipping loudly on the rock.

"All in a day's work, Wadi," said Jaffar, as he jumped the last step dramatically. He peered close at the blue gem, and ran his pale fingertips across the round black stone wall. He caressed it, and fingered the two free holes Jaffar assumed were fashioned to hold all three jewels.

Jaffar felt a wave of energy coarse through his veins as he neared the jewel. The source of his first began to burn in his chest, and Jaffar collapsed to his knees with a cry of agony.

"Sultan!" cried Wadi. He went to move, but a high pitched voice echoed through the chamber.

"Painful, isn't it?"

Jaffar clasped the wall, digging at it with his fingertips, and reached out at the globe, where mist swirled within, for purchase. He opened his watery eyes, and breathed deeply.

"W-who is that?" he demanded.

Jaffar looked up, and saw a floating figure with long greying hair, a black beard, and terrible white eyes. Red robes fluttered about the newcomer as the figure descended from the great ceiling above.

"I go by many names," said Kadar, "but you may call me death." The figure held out an aged hand. A nimbus of white light began to stretch from the hand, then a giant slash of white energy struck Jaffar in the chest and flung him across the chasm. Jaffar landed on his back with a groan.

"You must be the one who stole the jewels from the temple of the Old Ones, am I correct?"

Kadar landed on the ground, in front of the jewel.

"How do you know about that?" he asked. "Where did you acquire such private knowledge?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said Jaffar, as the evil sorcerer stood. Jaffar felt the power of his jewel tingle with the winds of magic that seeped into the cave. His eyes glowed yellow as mist rose from his eyes and mouth. His hands began to shake with power.

"Die!" he shouted, and directed his hands out, open-palmed. A cone of blinding red light stretched from his palms. Kadar met it with his own stream of power. The room flashed repeatedly, and Wadi was forced to shield his eyes with his forearms.

He became deaf from the noise, and stumbled backwards, away from the chamber, but without sight he bumped into a wall, and fell to his knees. He screamed as the din grew louder, and the room thundered. Debris began to collapse to the ground in giant balls of rock. Dust expanded from the floor and began to choke him. Wadi gasped for breath.

Then the room grew quiet. Wadi withdrew his hand from his eyes, and stared back into the chamber. Tumbled rock littered the floor, while a dusty mist hovered above. The stench of ozone was heavy on the air and Wadi covered his nose with his thumb and index finger.

There was a drawn out sob, dramatic and manic coming from the darkness. A figure knelt on the floor, shoulders slumped, head in his hands.

"Master?" Wadi said, quietly. "Is that you?"

"It's gone, Wadi. Gone!" cursed Jaffar. The mad sorcerer looked up, rage across his face. "That thief stole her from me under my very nose!"

Wadi wasn't sure what to say, but thought quickly on his feet.

"Come, Jaffar," he said. "Lets get back to the Zeppelin. There is nothing you can do now."

"It's out there," said Jaffar, as he allowed Wadi to help him to his feet. "I must find it," he said, almost delirious, clawing at Wadi's forearms.

"I'm sure you will," said Wadi. "I'm sure you will."

Forty-Five – Visions of a Battle Lost and a Dark Temple

The brilliant blinding light faded. Kadar, the mad sorcerer, fell from the air and landed onto the blood soaked ground with a thud.

"Kadar?" Abdal said, as he rushed to the sorcerer's aid. The man looked pale, and confused. He opened his white eyes and smiled.

"Ah, there you are, my boy," he said, weakly, his high pitched voice harsh on Abdal's ear drums. He didn't stand, but continued to lie on his back. He held out his hand. "Take it, my boy, take it," he muttered.

Abdal clasped Kadar's hand.

He didn't know where he was, but Kadar's voice called from the blank void.

"Do not be afraid, Abdal Rahiim."

Clouds flooded his vision, and a blue sky stretched out before him, appearing before his eyes as though a paintbrush stroked colour onto a white canvas. Abdal yelled as he stared down at the ground miles below. The mountains, rivers and jungles looked like a model map, but something told him different.

"Where am I?" Abdal asked. Kadar swooped down in the form of a red bird with orange eyes. He remembered seeing such a bird years before when he had fallen out of his bedroom window with the iron giant.

"You are in a place between worlds. Your body is still in the tower, and all this will pass for your friends in a blink of an eye, though for you it will be a little less, speedy."

"Why have you brought me here?" Abdal demanded.

"To show you something."

Abdal found himself racing to the ground. He kept himself from screaming, though that was all his instincts wanted him to do. He raised his arms and covered his face as the ground rushed up to meet him.

Then he stopped head first above an armoured corpse. The land began to slide back, until he realised he was now standing before a field of corpses that stretched as far as the eye could see. Giant clumps of dismembered, butchered bodies lay entwined like lovers on the grass. Shattered shields, swords, helmets, greaves, breastplates, spears, quivering banners, majestic eagles and twisted black wings of the Mu'ayyad, hands, parts of faces, arms and internal organs covered the grass. The huge mountains cast shadows across the depressing, familiar scene.

"What is this?" asked Abdal.

Kadar landed on a shivered spear shaft, and clutched the wood with his clawed feet.

"It is your army Abdal. Defeated by the man you know as Marid."

"Has this happened? Is this the future?"

"Yes and no, are the answers to your questions. They fought but a few days ago. It was a massacre. Those who survived were nailed to crosses all the way to the border of Ghafsa."

Abdal felt the ground slip away. He sailed into the sky, and across the land. He passed the mountain ranges like a bird flying at impossible speed, then found himself slowing down as he descended to a mountainous valley.

Dust billowed about, but he could make out the cold corpses nailed to makeshift crosses. Abdal lowered his head.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked. "Have I not suffered enough?"

"I do not show you this to make you suffer. The world suffers, and it is my fault."

Abdal raised his head. A group of people on horseback looked up at a figure on a cross. One was a woman, and she rode a great ride steed. Abdal walked slowly towards them, and stared up at the forlorn man on the cross. It was Barakah.

His chin had fallen to touch his chest, his long hair draped before his pale face like a dark curtain. His golden cuirass was beaten and bloodied, while a broken spear shaft lay imbedded below his ribcage through his side.

"Barakah," whispered Abdal.

"My love." Abdal heard a soft gentle voice. He looked up at the woman on the white steed, and saw that it was his wife, Jumanah. She was dressed in a fine white silken dress that shone in the sunlight. Her cheeks were stained by tears, her voice broken like her heart. Jumanah slipped from her saddle. her slender small feet were covered with pearl-coloured shoes, and hit the ground hard. She rushed to the cross, and placed her hands on Barakah's boots. Jumanah clung to his body, and turned to her men.

"Cut him down," she ordered. "Now!"

Abdal watched as her armoured guards dismounted. Their mail clamoured as they struck the hard, dusty ground. Two withdrew silver broadswords of foreign design, and worked on Barakah's bonds.

"This, in case you're wondering, is the present," said Kadar. He landed on Abdal's shoulder. "Tragic, is it not?"

The soldiers lay Barakah's body gently on the ground. Jumanah crouched by the corpse, and stroked Barakah's cheek.

"They were in love," said Abdal.

"Yes. Sweet, forlorn perhaps, but what love isn't?"

"What is the importance of this?"

"I thought you'd want to know what happened to your army. Jaffar has won the war in Araby, but he makes plans with ratmen to invade Estalia."

"Then I have lost. What do I care for Estalia?"

"Would you have another proud country fall to the power of a madman?"

Abdal turned to Kadar, anger on his face.

"Take me back, Kadar. Away from this."

"Not yet," said Kadar. Abdal's world went white, and he lost all sense of self.

When Abdal gained conciousness again, he was in the depths of a dark jungle. Birds called out in clicking, spooky songs that echoed beneath the canopy.

"Kadar, damn you, where am I now?"

There was a flutter of wings, and Kadar landed on a fallen tree, clawing the decaying moss covered bark with his feet.

"Lustria," said Kadar.

"I have not heard of such a place?"

"The New World, surely you've heard of that?"

"It is a myth. No one has survived sailing the Western Ocean."

"You will," said Kadar. The bird twitched his head, and gestured an ominous pyramid temple in the distance, sat upon a forested hill. The dark silhouette was illuminated by pale moonlight. "I have not got long to exist in the realm much longer. My fight with Jaffar has seen to that. When you wake, you will find two jewels in your pockets. One will be familiar to you; the gem your father gave to you. The other will be the one inside me, and will be the colour of blood. Keep them safe, hidden and seek this temple of the Old Ones. It is the only place that can destroy the jewels forever, and perhaps, destroy Jaffar himself." Kadar began to fade, along with the jungle.

"I have had it with war," Abdal shouted. His words echoed in the vanishing 'between realm', until they too, ceased to be.

Abdal woke to the sounds of a gentle surf breaking against a shore. Seagulls cried from the cliff tops, and the sun shone down on him. He took a deep breath, and pulled himself up. He was on the beach, along with Atiya, Mahmuud, Tamir, Zalim and Hadi. His comrades were still asleep, and lay on their backs.

A shadow cast itself over Abdal's seated form, and a horrible stench entered his nostrils. He turned to see the old camel, in particular, its long smelly tongue as it licked his face like a loyal dog.

Abdal pushed it away, and took to his feet. His muscles felt raw, and ached from the fight in Horde's Tower. All he could see was a peaceful beach, and fells rising like a hump-backed giant rolling off into the distance. His hands went to his pockets. Smooth solid objects were nestled in the fabric. Abdal withdrew them, one in each hand, and stared at the jewels in his palms. They glowed with power, until the ethereal light diminished faintly so the jewels looked just like precious gems, nothing more.

Atiya stirred, and Abdal knelt by her side. He stroked her cheek and smiled at her as she opened her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked. She placed a palm to her forehead, and Abdal helped her sit upright, supporting her back with one hand.

"I can't explain it. Kadar has brought us away from the tower."

Atiya stared around, and felt the chain of a pendant around her neck. It glowed amber at her touch, and Gunbai extended from the disc.

"Greetings, new master," Gunbai said, as he slowly hovered between Abdal and Atiya. Gunbai bowed, and shot back into the amulet, sinking into the metal like he entered a body of water. The golden aura of light faded as the magical being disappeared.

"I am sorry about your husband," said Abdal. "He was a brave and good man."

"Yes, he was..." said Atiya. She remained silent for a moment, then watched the journey of a wave rise in the distance, and crash back down in a white, frothy spray against the shore. "There is something I must tell you, Abdal... about Asad. I am sorry I did not tell you before, but I did not know how to go about it. You remember the night we made love?" Abdal nodded.

"How could I forget?"

"Asad is your son, Abdal. I was pregnant before I married Hasdru."

Abdal's eyes widened.

"My son," he whispered. Abdal placed his hands onto Atiya's shoulders. "I have... a son?"

Atiya nodded. Abdal couldn't stop the smile from breaking across his face. He clasped the small of her back with his right hand, and drew her close, planting his lips on hers. They kissed for the first time in seven years.

"Hamid's balls!" cried Mahmuud. "How the devil did we end up here? What trickery is this, I demand to know?"

Abdal and Atiya broke apart, and laughed at Mahmuud's words.

BOOK THREE

The New World

~ I.C 1459 ~

One – Mahmuud and Tamir's Fine Arabian Weapons

The cream triangular settee sail wavered in the breeze as the dhow neared the port of Tobaro, slicing through the choppy, sparkling blue waters beneath the sun. The Tilean coast was dotted with craggy cliffs, and expansive golden beaches that stretched towards a series of misty fells on the horizon.

A tall figure dressed in white trousers, a blue tunic that revealed the rest of his well-built stomach and chest, pushed open the ornately decorated transom door, and walked out onto the deck.

"Morning, Captain," said a bald headed, broad-shouldered figure. The man's muscled arms bulged as his large hands gripped a solid, brass tipped spoked steering wheel. The man was bare-chested, and covered with black tribal tattoos that arched around his pectorals and up his neck, around the back of his tanned head, travelling up and over the top of it, ending with two sharp dagger shapes streaking down his eyes.

The Captain nodded, and cast his stern gaze down onto the top deck. His crew worked hard on the rigging.

"Captain, we're pulling into Tobaro harbour."

"Good," said the Captain. They had made it in good time.

He stared out at the closing harbour situated off the beach beneath the tall cliffs. Foreign ship masts and sails; vessels from Estalia, Tilea, and the Empire, blew in the breeze as they sat in the tall white stone work harbour. Beyond the harbour were Cyclopean crenelated walls of gray stone that masked the city from view.

They sailed past a round fort structure sat on the end of a jetty, and stared up at the iron canons poking out from the crenelated wall. The green, white and red striped Tilean flag blew on a single mast above the defensive structure, and waved a constant greeting.

A nipponese sailor with smooth skin and a black goatee, dressed in baggy brown trousers and a red tunic, marched up the flight of steps that led from the top deck to the transom deck to stand besides his Captain.

"So this is it?" He said in good Arabian.

"You are learning the language fast, Haruko."

Haruko looked proud, and straightened his back.

"Zalim has taught me good," said Haruko.

"I could think of no finer teacher," said the Captain, as he placed his hand on the sailor's shoulder. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

Haruko pointed to the open doors on the deck.

"He's below."

The Captain nodded. Haruko moved aside as the Captain placed one hand firmly on the hand rail, and stepped down the staircase, polished black boots thumping the wood in a slow, measured fashion. He moved across the poop deck, rounding a tanned, skinny sailor, and stopped at the bow.

He watched the ship, Atiya, part the ocean; a white bubbly wake cascading down the sides of the vessel as it moved into the Tilean harbour. They passed wooden piers flanked by various sized ships; from Galleons of the Empire with their seventy-gun ships and half dozen masts, to small local fishing boats, rising up and down to the gentle bob of the ocean. Obscured by the fluttering sails, and by webbed rigging were squat white buildings with square windows and unimpressive doorways where people whipped oxen and horse pulling carts to warehouses.

The Captain stared at the moving figures on boat, ship and pier as the Atiya sliced slowly through a broad and busy lane. Most of the men were the white-skinned Tileans, who stared at the Arabian vessel with suspicious eyes. Why would they not? Tilea had been at war with Araby for eleven years. The very sight of such a traditional enemy vessel was enough to cause men to shout insults until they were red in the face.

"Dogs!" They called in Tilean.

"Savages!"

"Go home and sleep with your mothers, inbred scum!"

Fish flew through the air and struck the canvas sail with sloppy thuds. The fish slid down onto the deck. Other specimens clattered into the side of the dhow, along with rotting vegetables, and other undesirables.

The Captain bent low and picked up a fat, long silver fish. The scales shone in the sunlight.

"Casimir, take this to the cook, I'm sure it'll make a fine meal."

A tall Kislevite stepped forward, and took the fish from his Captain's hands. The man was taller than the Captain, broad of shoulder, and pale of skin. Casimir, whose name meant 'famous destroyer', sported a thick black beard that shuddered when the man laughed. He did so now as he stared at the fish, shaking it in his large hands.

"Free food," he said, in broken Arabian. "We must be honoured guests."

"Quite," said the Captain, as he ducked a rotten cabbage that exploded on the sail.

"I didn't know your people were so disliked," said Casimir as he moved away.

The ship sailed smoothly into a free space, and the crew quickly busied themselves with securing rope to the harbour. A loud splash indicated the anchor had been cast into the sea. A young sailor with stubble unhooked a metal clip and drew out a thick plank of wood which he extended out to the pier.

"Men, you know the rules. If you're not back in forty-eight hours you forfeit your rights to be part of this crew." The Captain turned to the tattooed helmsman. "Look after her when I'm gone, Olaf."

The Norscan helmsman nodded.

"Aye, Captain."

"So then, Captain," said a familiar voice, "are you ready?"

Captain Abdal Rahiim turned to face a tall and muscular man, and nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Zalim," he said. "How is Venegard's mood?"

"Irritable," said Zalim.

"I guess he won't be coming ashore?"

Zalim shook his head.

"No, Captain, but he has given us a list of ingredients he needs to stock up on," said Zalim. He waved a rolled, bleach coloured scroll in front of Abdal's face.

"Great," muttered Abdal, as he stepped onto the pier, "who does he think we are?"

"His maids," said Zalim. The young man smiled, and followed his Captain ashore.

The narrow cobbled streets of Tobaro were busy with colour and noise. Abdal took a deep breath in as he looked up at the front of a broad, tall spired temple made from sandstone situated at the end of one alley. Elongated crenelations ran the arched roof of the structure as sunlight shone down over its tinted long and elegant windows.

He walked out of the street and entered a wide plaza before the grand temple. It was packed with groups of people, chatter rippling across the square as inaudible jumbles of noise. Some sat on the stone ring of the large fountain directly at the centre of the square. Others streamed in and out of the tall, rectangular red tiled-roofed buildings that hemmed the plaza in, and into streets, under arched walkways that connected the Tilean architecture like a web.

Tobaro was a grand city, the grandest of all Tilea some would say, situated by the Abasko Mountain ranges a short distance from the neighbouring country of Estalia. It had once been a home to the Elves, Abdal had heard, who abandoned it for their native homeland, Ulthuan, centuries ago. After the Elves had vanished, human fishermen close to the area inhabited the elven fortress, and in the centuries that passed, turned it into a great city. Abdal could not see the elven architecture amongst the Tilean buildings.

"Excuse me," said Abdal as he grabbed a passing shoulder. The man was in his mid thirties, with blue eyes and a trimmed black beard.

"What is it, Arabian?" He asked, gruffly.

"I was wondering if you could help me find someone? I am looking for Mahmuud al-Jamil ibn Nidal ibn Abdulaziz al-Tambuktini."

The man stared at him.

"Mahmuud what?"

"He is a smith," said Abdal. He recalled these foreigners had no head for names, only titles.

"No, sorry, I know no man by that name." The foreigner stomped off into the crowd.

Abdal felt a rough tap on his shoulder.

"Captain," said Zalim, "perhaps the guards might know?" Zalim gestured towards two armoured soldiers flanking a doorway to the east of the plaza. They wore full plate mail armour despite the heat of the day, giant silver halberds flashing in the sunlight.

Abdal nodded, and pushed on through the crowd. He had seen busy places before, so kept calm despite his wish to be elsewhere. It wouldn't do for an Arabian to start pushing Tilean's around in their native homeland.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Abdal, as he stopped before them. The guards looked at his scarred face, and flinched.

"What do you want?" The shorter of the pair asked, adjusting his conical helmet so that it ceased irritating his brow.

"I was wondering if you know where to find Mahmuud al-Jam-," he cut himself short. "Mahmuud the smith?" he said instead.

"Mahmuud... Mahmuud," said the shorter guard. He looked at his companion. "Isn't that the Arabian smith in Old Town?" The other guard expressed a total lack of knowledge and continued to stare at Abdal's scarred face.

"Old Town you say?" urged Abdal. "How do I get there?"

"Easy, Arabian." The guard gestured a broad busy street to the north, "just make your way up that road, and follow the street signs. You ought to arrive at Old Town in a ten minute walk."

"Thank you," said Abdal.

They followed the guard's directions. The street was filled with several performers. A large, shaggy furred bear was beaten with sticks and forced to do tricks by a man dressed in tight red cloth. The man giggled like a girl with each strike, and laughed at the bear as it tried to walk about like a man. A small crowd of people, ranging from children to old men, laughed too, and clapped a quiet applause. Another man, tall but thin as a spear juggled sticks of fire to a large crowds delight. Abdal could smell the burning chemical used to sustain the fire, and reminded him of the ball of fire fire that had scarred his face almost two decades gone.

Abdal skirted a stinking pile of dung left to decay on the street, and almost clipped a passing brown oxen as it pulled a cartload of crates up the sloping road.

"Watch it!" Cried the cart driver. "Silly Arabian."

Mahmuud and Tamir's Fine Arabian Weapons, read the sign across the street, high above the crowd. The lettering was bold, but the sign had begun to chip and ware away to reveal the original faded wood beneath. The blacksmith shop was situated in an old part of Tobaro, where the buildings stood tightly together all the way up a gentle sloping hill. They were of square design, with red tiled roofs and small square windows. They looked like stacked boxes, Abdal mused as he walked beneath an arch that led onto the small plaza. Mahmuud and Tamir's Fine Arabian Weapons was situated in the north-western corner of the square, where a huge crowd of people gathered. Abdal could hear laughter and insults.

"Out of my way," said Abdal as he marched across the stone plaza. People stopped and stared at him as he went, but he had gotten used to the attention. He looked like a monster; the fire had burned away his good looks. At one time he had felt nothing but anger and shame. Now he cared little about his appearance.

People moved out of the armed Arabian's way as Abdal stomped across the plaza. He pushed through the chattering crowd and saw what they were looking at. A fat, dishevelled Arabian with greasy long hair, gut hanging out of a far too small blue tunic, wearing loose, baggy trousers, stood waving his fist at the neighbouring shop. He carried a fat wine bottle in his hand, and cursed up at the open window above the ground floor shop.

"Damn you, Flaunders. Your rats keep eating my bedding!" he shouted. "Keep them... in control or I'll be forced to kill you!"

The crowd laughed. The Arabian turned, eyes not quite focused on the crowd, and swept a stubby finger from his meaty free hand at the assembly.

"What are you devils laughing at? Never seen a drunk Arabian before?" More laughter met his words. Abdal couldn't believe what he was witnessing. The large Arabian fell backwards and landed on his arse to the crowds delight.

"Hamid's balls!" he shouted. He didn't try to stand up. Instead, he raised the open bottle to his lips, and drank more wine.

Abdal pushed out of the crowd, and stood before his old friend, Zalim at his side.

"By the gods, Mahmuud, what's happened to you?"

Mahmuud collapsed, and began to snore.

"Go about your business," shouted Abdal as he turned on the crowd. He placed his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. The crowd stared at the armed Arabians, then dispersed slowly, chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

"Barbarians." Abdal heard someone say from the crowd. "Barbarians, these men from Araby."

Two – The Proposal and Recruits

Tamir pulled the worktop table aside and cringed at the sound of the wooden legs scraping the tiled stone floor. Unsold swords rattled on the table as he dragged it out of Abdal and Zalim's way. He gently lowered the table onto the floor, brushed his hands together, and walked down a thin aisle flanked by weapons on the walls.

"This way," said Tamir. "There's a bed through here."

Tamir pushed through a thin dangling curtain that separated the workshop from the living quarters. It stroked Abdal's face softly as he passed though the returning material. The room smelled of body odour and wood. The floor was covered with dust and wood shavings, which Tamir swept out of their way with a short staved, long bristled broom.

He stood the broom in the corner of the box room, against a series of sheathed scimitars, and indicated the long bed tucked under the staircase. The bed was a simple construct, with a straw mattress covered by a stained white sheet. A large pillow was at one end, while the woolen blanket was bunch up into a ball at the side by the wall.

"Sometimes he is so drunk he can't make it up the stairs, so I moved his bed down here," said Tamir. "I must apologise for the mess, I have been making halberd shafts all day. I see little point though," Tamir looked at the sleeping giant, "business is bad."

Mahmuud weighed a tonne, and Abdal and Zalim struggled to hold him. Their arms seemed to burn with the task, muscles taught as metal. Sweat began to cake Abdal's brow, but they rolled him onto the bed. Mahmuud dribbled onto Abdal's forearm, but still somehow managed to keep hold of the wine bottle in his hand.

"I was not expecting this," said Abdal. He shook his head, and crouched by his old companion's side. He watched the large stomach rise and fall with every drawn breath. "What has happened to him?"

Tamir shrugged.

"He has been worse these last few years, but he started heavily drinking after he received that letter of yours. Then, after several months of moping about, his woman ran off with his new born child."

"Ah," said Abdal. "Poor Mahmuud, what has the world done to you?"

Abdal stood to his feet, and turned to Tamir.

"So, how is business?"

"We have not sold a weapon for three months. Mahmuud is drunk all day, and I work myself to exhaustion trying to keep him, and this shop, in order."

"No women about the house?"

Tamir shook his head.

"Mahmuud scared both his, and mine away."

Abdal nodded, and took Tamir by the elbow.

"I must talk with you and Mahmuud on a very important matter. Is there a place we can sit?"

"Follow me upstairs," said Tamir.

"Zalim, keep an eye on Mahmuud," said Abdal.

"Yes, Captain."

The room was heated by a small fire in the northern wall. The kindling burnt and smoked, and red embers flicked out onto the stone floor like diving fireflies. Tamir placed a cup of water onto the desk, pulled back his stool, and sat down. He fingered the rim of his own glass, then looked across the table.

"I'm sorry about your family," he said. "Atiya was a fine woman."

"I did not come to talk about that," said Abdal. He noticed the hurt expression on Tamir's face, and softened. "I am sorry, my friend. It has been many years since I last spoke of them." Abdal raised the glass to his lips, and tasted the cold liquid. Tamir opposite did the same.

"What did you wish to talk to me about?" asked Tamir. The cackle of the fire broke the silence that ensued for a brief moment as Abdal leant back on his chair.

He withdrew a folded, bleached parchment from a pocket from inside of his tunic, and placed it firmly on the table.

"It is a map," said Abdal. "A map of the New World."

Tamir looked into Abdal's eyes, then down at the square parchment at the centre of the table.

"The New World's a myth, Abdal," said Tamir as he reached forward for the parchment.

"Maybe," said Abdal. "I believe differently."

Tamir picked up and unfolded the parchment which rustled between his fingers. It bore a faded map and a continent he had never seen to the far west of Araby. He shook his head, and looked at Abdal.

"You plan to find this place?" he said, sceptically. He folded the map, and slid it back across the table, then took another sip of water. "Why do you want to go there?"

Abdal smiled, and dipped his hand into his baggy trouser pocket. He withdrew a small, long black lacquered chest, and a tiny golden key. He placed the chest onto the table, and slid the key into the lock. Abdal opened the lid slowly, and Tamir saw a nimbus of multicoloured light emit from the chest. Abdal stared at Tamir to study his reaction as he turned the open box around. Two jewels shone upon a green felt tray, one red and one blue. They were only the size of pebbles, but Tamir knew their worth.

"The jewels," whispered Tamir.

"Yes," said Abdal. "The jewels."

Tamir nodded, and sucked in a long breath.

"What do you want from Mahmuud and me?"

"Two sailors," said Abdal. "Two friends."

Tamir stood, and rubbed at his long hair as he paced to the fire. Abdal noticed it was marked with gray, despite Tamir only being in his late thirties.

"What makes you think I'd throw away my livelihood to go on a fool's quest with you? You're not my general any more," he said as he stared into the fire.

Abdal nodded, and placed his cup onto the table. He stood, and walked over to his old horn blower, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I am in need of good men. My last voyage saw the death of a quarter of my crew. We are here to pick up men willing to journey for glory and treasure, and ultimately, dispose of these... powerful things. I am in need of men I can trust. Can I trust you, Tamir?"

Tamir nodded as he looked at the tongues of flame flickering in the cove by his feet.

"Yes," said Tamir. He smiled sadly, and turned to his old general. "Besides, I'm fed up of this place. War has driven these people mad. Business isn't exactly booming. Neither of us have anything to stay for. I can answer for Mahmuud. We will come."

Abdal slapped Tamir on the shoulder, and smiled, taking Tamir's hand in a firm shake.

"Good," Abdal said. "My men will be back here in several hours to take you to my ship. Make sure you're ready for a long journey. Pack lightly."

A small line of men stood across the jetty. Abdal peered at their faces, and looked at his helmsman, Olaf, who sat before a small, rectangular table on Atiya's top deck. Olaf tapped a quill against his thumbnail, and coughed loudly.

"What do you think, Olaf?" asked Abdal.

"None would get a job on a Norse longboat, Captain."

Abdal nodded. None looked especially strong and all but one stood beneath six-feet.

"Step forward," said Abdal. The first man was old, and stank of ale. He stumbled forward, masking his dirty, stubbly face with lank, greasy blonde hair.

"You're drunk," said Abdal. "Why should I risk you on my ship?"

"I don't drink a drop at sea, Captain," said the man in clear Arabian, with a deep, guttural accent that marked him from the Empire. He parted his waterfall of hair, and stared Abdal in the eyes.

"What's your name, sailor?" asked Olaf.

"Eric," said Eric.

"Where are you from, Eric?" Olaf said again. Abdal stood, arms crossed, and studied the man with a stern glare.

"Middenheim," said the ale-sodden sailor.

"Previous experience?"

"I've served for six years on the Prince Karl Heinz, and five on the Indefatigable."

"They're military ships," said Olaf.

Olaf turned to Abdal, who nodded.

"Make your mark on the sheet," said Olaf, as he passed the man the quill.
"Why do we have to sign this? You're not the navy are you?" said Eric.

"For posterity," said Abdal. "Make your mark and get on the ship, before I change my mind."

"Thank you, Captain," said Eric. He saluted Abdal, and stepped onto the boarding plank with unsteady feet. Abdal briefly considered getting the man help, but then figured if Eric fell off it was probably a sign for the best. In truth, Abdal wanted to know the name of every man aboard his ship, so that if they died he had a record of them. A record of more loss to show Hamid when Abdal died and ask him, 'why?'

"Does he know what he's signed himself up for?" asked Olaf as he stared bewildered at the back of the Middenheimer.

"Lets hope so, or he'll be in for a shock," replied Abdal.

"Easy does it," muttered Eric, as he stretched out his arms for balance, and gingerly crossed the board.

"Next," called Olaf.

The tallest man in the line stepped forward with a graceful step. He was a young man of Arab descent, handsome with long black hair tied into a pony tail, and intense brown eyes. Abdal guessed the lad couldn't have been older than twenty. He was dressed in a sleeveless white tunic, and wore white, Arabian fashioned trousers.

"Name," said Olaf.

"Jibran," he said, nervously. Abdal eyed the boy, and took a step forward.

"You are Arabian. Where from Araby?"

"Cohper," said the lad as he cast his eyes over Abdal's scarred visage.

"Any sailing experience, Jibran?" asked Abdal.

"A little, Captain. I've sailed on my father's merchant dhow since I was old enough to tie an angler's loop."

Abdal and Olaf exchanged an amused glance before Abdal ducked down, and withdrew a thick, coiled rope from beneath the table.

"Show me," he said, as he held out the rope.

Jibran nodded, and took the rope from Abdal's hands. He worked the knot quickly, making loops and threading the end of the rope through several times until he ended up with a perfect angler's loop. He held it out triumphantly, a smile spread across his clean-shaven face.

"Very well, Jibran. Climb aboard." Abdal placed a hand on Olaf's shoulder.

"Two more, Olaf, then we sail."

"Aye, Captain," said Olaf. "Two it is!"

Three – At Sea

Mahmuud opened his eyes. He felt like he'd been asleep for a century, and couldn't focus on a single item in the dimly lit room where he awoke. His head swam with dizziness, but he gripped the bed with his hands, and with shaking arms, lifted himself up. There was a fading glass lantern hanging from the ceiling, which rocked back and forth. Streams of daylight filtered in thin beams through a dozen tiny holes in the planked ceiling. He stared at them and tumbled to the floor.

"Hamid's balls," he cursed. He noticed the smell of the sea, and wondered if he'd gotten so drunk he'd fallen asleep in a house by the sea. He could smell brine, and hear the slopping waves. He took the bobbing, unsteady motion to be a hangover, and proceeded to look for the door.

Mahmuud walked along a partitioned gloomy room. There were white sheets, hammocks, stretched out across beams at his flanks, between the partitions. One had a sleeping, snoring sailor in it.

Mahmuud stopped and stared at the sleeping figure, shook his head, then continued on his way. He could see a simple wooden ladder that led to a door above, and Mahmuud made his way to it. He gingerly placed a bare foot onto a rung, and slipped into the ladder, almost taking it off its hinges.

"Careful," said a rough voice from the darkness.

"Bugger off," said Mahmuud. He tried again, but this time found purchase, determined not to slip up. He put one foot after another on the rungs, vision spinning, headache telling him to lie down and sleep. Mahmuud shook his head, cursed inaudibly and banged his head on the closed ceiling door.

Mahmuud held his stinging brow, waited for the pain to subside so that he could see, and pushed open one of the doors. The wood folded back to reveal brilliant sunlight. It was too much and Mahmuud snapped his eyes shut. Blind, head swimming with an ungodly hangover, the old warrior turned weapon-smith, turned alcoholic, climbed out onto a clean, but busy top deck. He shielded his eyes with a hand and stared at the mixed race crew.

He heard the flutter of the sail, and looked up at a grand dark green transom deck. Sunlight caught gold designs as they worked their way around the transom walls.

"I'm at sea?" Mahmuud muttered. "What am I'm doing on a blasted ship?"

"Easy, friend," he heard a strong voice from behind. Footsteps thudded on the stitched planking, and Mahmuud turned to face a man of similar height but of Kislevite nationality, pacing towards him. "The Captain brought you here." Casimir stopped, and looked the dishevelled form of the Arabian up and down. He wasn't impressed.

"My name is Casimir," said the Kislevite as he extended a large hand.

"You're a damned Arabnapper. What was your plan? To dump the sleeping Arab in the sea?" said Mahmuud.

Mahmuud could see he had an audience now. Most of the crew on the deck had stopped what they were doing to see the man they'd had to fetch unconscious from a bed, ale-sodden as a beggar. A young, tall man approached him dressed in dark blue, wearing a black hat with a small white feather at the front.

"Welcome to the Atiya," said Zalim.

"Grand, now strangers are naming ships after dead women," said Mahmuud. "Do you think you have any right using that name, boy?"

Zalim raised an eyebrow.

"What the blasted hell am I doing at sea? How did I get here?" No one offered an answer. Mahmuud could see a figure dressed in oriental finery smile at him. Haruko placed his palms together, and performed a courteous bow. Mahmuud ignored the friendly gesture, and eyed Zalim sternly.

He rushed to the side of the dhow, pushing aside a few sailors, placed his hand on the ship, and stared out at a gentle ocean shimmering like a giant mirror. His eyes widened, and his face grew red. The crew watched as Mahmuud rushed to the other side of the ship, place his hands on the edge, face growing ever redder. Mahmuud began to make noises as though he was about to burst with frustration. He ran to the stern, up onto the poop deck in the hope of seeing land on the horizon, but all he saw was the sea.

His shoulders slumped and he rubbed his thinning, graying hair before pointing a finger at the crew.

"Where's your damned Captain?"

Usually there would be a knock at the door. Abdal heard the scuffle and complaints from outside before the door swung inwards, and looked up from the map on his desk. Mahmuud paced in like a giant, stomping across the red Nipponese rug which stretched out from the centre of the transom cabin. Tamir and Olaf glanced at the newcomer. Olaf appeared outraged, and went for the sword at his hip. No one was supposed to enter the cabin without knocking.

"It's alright, Olaf," said Abdal. He lay a restraining hand on the Norscan's arm, and stared across at Mahmuud.

"Hamid's balls," said Mahmuud. The big man's jaw went limp, and hung like a retards. "Abdal!"
"Yes, my friend, it has been too long," said Abdal.

Mahmuud peered about the deck, and exchanged confused glances with Tamir, and the tattooed Norscan. Abdal drew away from the desk, and rounded it. He walked up to Mahmuud, and offered out a hand.

For a brief moment they weren't sure how to greet one another. Mahmuud didn't take the hand, and looked at his old friend with dis-trustful eyes.

"Where have you been?" asked Mahmuud.

"Running away from my destiny," said Abdal as he lowered his hand.

Mahmuud nodded, and peered about the cabin. The shelves on the flanking walls were filled with foreign artefacts gathered from Abdal's travels, from Albion to Nippon. There were objects of all different sizes, ranging from small golden thimbles, to long, curved decorated daggers. Behind the desk were wide windows that bathed the room in light.

He moved slowly past Abdal, and walked around the room. His temper was subsiding.

Mahmuud's feet brushed a silver urn on the floor. When he peered at it, he saw that there were many bird feathered fletched long arrows sticking out.

"I believe you've met Zalim," said Abdal. He gestured the young man Abdal had spoken to out on the deck. Zalim bowed, entered the cabin, and closed the door behind him.

"Zalim?" said Mahmuud as he nodded his head. "You've grown, boy."

"Yes," said Zalim. "It has been eleven years, Mahmuud."

Mahmuud grunted a retort, and continued to slowly pace the cabin, all eyes focused on him. The smell of alcohol made Tamir cringe. Mahmuud bent low, and looked at a painted metal statuette on the floor. It was a dragon, with a long, eel like body that faded seamlessly with the tail.

"A Nipponese Dragon," said Abdal as he paced slowly behind his friend. Mahmuud nodded. His eyes focused on a jar filled with earth.

"A little part of Araby, so it is always with me where I go," said Abdal.

"Take me back to Tobaro," Mahmuud said.

"I'm afraid I can't. The city is far behind us, and I must not lose a day's travel."

"Why did you come and get me?" demanded Mahmuud. "You seemed to be fine leaving me in the first place."

"I had little choice, Mahmuud. I did not wish to get you involved, not with what I had in mind. It was my burden to carry, not yours."

"Whatever your burden is mine too, as it has always been," Mahmuud snapped back. "I guess you thought I was no longer any use to you."

"No, Mahmuud. I was not myself. You remember the letter I sent you?"

Mahmuud nodded. Abdal walked to his desk, dipped his hand in his pocket and withdrew a silver key. He unlocked the top right draw, and pulled it open. Abdal pulled out a small black chest from the draw, and placed it onto the table. A moment later he had another golden key, this time kept round his neck on a chain, and slid it slowly into the lock.

"Gather round," said Abdal as he turned the key. Everyone slowly approached the desk and stared at the chest.

"You remember these?" Abdal opened the lid, and a great white light bathed the cabin. The jewels light shone as bright as a star, then faded to appear as ordinary gems.

"How could I forget?" said Mahmuud. "I thought you were going to cast them into the ocean after Horde's Tower?"

Abdal nodded.

"I almost did, but something compelled me not to. For months I debated whether or not I should. Atiya begged me to cast them to the depths, but I couldn't. When we finally settled, built our own home with modest fields for crops and livestock, everything seemed well. We were happy. For a time it felt like the events of the past was exactly that, the past. Then I had the dreams. Of green jungles and a temple. Again and again of which there was no respite. Kadar called it the New World when I first saw the visions the day at Horde's Tower, but I would not listen to those dreams, and I was punished. They were punished," said Abdal. He stopped for a moment, placed both hands on the table, and passed a stern glare at those eyes gathered around the edges of the desk.

""I tried to escape my destiny, but even then the fates conspired to thrust me here again by taking those I loved away. But I would not let them, not without a fight." He slammed the desk with a closed fist, and made Mahmuud jolt.

"I began to search for answers, playing with the idea of necromancy as the key to their resurrection, and perhaps mine. I travelled to the great libraries of the Empire; at Altdorf, Middenheim and Nuln. I spent weeks pouring over ancient scrolls and dusty books, until I met a scholar, a necromancer, who knew well the principle texts of Abdul ben Raschid."

"The Book of the Dead, are you mad?" said Mahmuud. Abdal sternly eyed his compatriot, and continued his tale.

"The necromancer heard mention of a legendary chalice able to raise the dead, bound in Norse mythology. I could find very little information about this cup, nor he. It was only when we travelled further north, to the shores of Norsca, did I discover the legend of the true story of the Death Chalice. Norscan mythology speaks of a proud King, Onan Skasgaard, who went mad after his family died from some vile plague," said Abdal. The words hurt, but he continued. "In all his life he'd been able to fight his enemies, but there was nothing he could fight when his wife and two sons perished. He prayed to the gods, night and day, and swore an oath of repayment that would continue even in death if only the gods could favour him and return his loved ones to life. The case was so like my own I became obsessed.

"For ten years he ravaged foreign lands to appease the gods, until one day he arrived home and there stood a black robed figure at his doorway. Onan boomed 'who are you?', to which the robed man replied, 'You, who have pleased the gods receive their gift, and punish yourself no longer.' The robed man withdrew a silver chalice from within his robes, and placed it on the ground, then disappeared into thin air. The chalice he'd left behind looked considerably plain. Onan boasted many more spectacular trophies from his raids of the southern coasts. But there was something special about this cup. It contained water that could not be spilt, and never diminished even once consumed.

"Onan drank from the cup and was refreshed. He felt youthful again and noticed his reflection in the shimmering water of the chalice. 'Pour it over the graves of your loved ones and they will return to you in perfect health," came the voice of the robed figure. Onan did as the man bade and immediately went to the burial crypt of his loved ones. He opened their stone coffins with his mighty hands to reveal the decomposing bodies, and proceeded to pour the chalice liquid over them, amazed to find that, unlike before when he had tipped it over and not a drop fell out, the water fell onto their bodies, and his loved ones were restored to life."

Mahmuud stared at his friend, not sure whether it was a good thing to be sober.

"For the last eight years I went in search of this Death Chalice, and at wicked costs, but costs I was willing to bare. My search began in Albion, where I found nothing but rain and fog. We proceeded south, to the very coasts of the foul Southern Wastes, then east, past beautiful islands that led towards the Sea of Dread. That water was unlike any I had traversed before, and seemed to constantly oppose us. My friends, the short of it is, I have sailed most of the known world and have not found what I seek. Then began the dreams again. I had not received the visions since the weeks leading to the deaths of Atiya, Asad and my new born son, Anadin," said Abdal.

Abdal careful removed the two jewels from the chest and clutched them in his hands, raising them in the air.

"These daemon things are my curse. Until I have put these to rest I will find no peace. That, my friends, is why we must get to the New World, and why I need your help. I know it is not your burden to bear, but you have always been loyal, and good friends. I would stand no chance of succeeding without you by my side."

Mahmuud grunted, and shook his head.

"I need a drink," he said. "Please tell me you brought alcohol."

Four – Phantom of the Night and the Stalking Ships

The Great Western Ocean was calm, lazily rolling, fading into darkness as the sunlight gave way to night. The twin moons shone, bathing the water silver as the Atiya drifted across the sea. Abdal stretched his arms above his head, feeling the knotted muscles unwind, and bones click, then stood from his desk. He flicked the lid closed of the golden compass in his right hand, and slid the item into his pocket.

A single lamp burned on the corner of the desk, and cast flickering shadows over the walls. Some of the figurines Abdal had collected from Cathay, Nippon, and from the blacks of the Southlands, seemed to come alive. Jewelled eyes flashed red from the corner as a tall Cathayan mythological monster poised ready to leap.

Abdal rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but he would not go to bed. He moved slowly, his boots thudding softly over the carpet, then hard on the wooden floor, and opened the door. He could hear the music from Haruko's stringed instrument. The Nipponese sailor sat on a step that led to the poop deck, and plucked at his sanshin, creating sharp but soft sounds that drifted across the dhow. Haruko was skilled, and worked the instrument strings with such perfect precision it made Abdal wonder why he had never learned to play music.

Zalim joined in with an instrument the lad had purchased from Cathay. It was a long flute made from thick wood with several holes Zalim covered and uncovered with his fingers as he blew into the mouthpiece. Haruko looked up from his sanshin, and nodded at Zalim, who had discovered the right tempo of the song. Together they played soothing music as the crew slept below deck, or sat on top in quiet contemplation beneath orange glowing lanterns.

Then Haruko began to speak softly;

'The sea at night time.
Forever it rises and falls,
yes, rises and falls.'

Haruko knew how foreigners struggled to grasp the deeper meaning of traditional Nipponese poetry, but he didn't care. The music inspired him, and he continued, but in his own language. Abdal walked slowly from the transom deck, up onto the poop deck, and listened to the foreign words as he breathed in the scent of the ocean.

He paced slowly to the stern, and leant his elbows across the wood, staring out across the bobbing sheet of water. He closed his eyes and pictured Atiya. She had begun to fade from his memory now, disappearing with time to the pools of the forgotten. He could just make out her eyes, and her smile, her raven coloured hair blowing in a gentle breeze. The way she talked, fierce at times, surprisingly compassionate and vulnerable at others.

'The sails do blow

beneath the twilight moons glow,

but where do we go?'

Abdal listened to Haruko translate, and shook his head. He didn't know where they were really headed. Perhaps Lustria didn't exist, and was a figment of a dying man's imagination and all they'd find was an open ocean. Abdal heard footsteps and turned around. Zalim and Haruko had wondered up onto the poop deck, and skipped and danced like idiots, playing their musical instruments.

A few deep laughs echoed below as the crew on the deck noticed Zalim and Haruko's antics. Abdal couldn't help smile.

"Fancy joining in, Captain?" shouted Casimir. Abdal peered over the poop deck balcony, and watched the large Kislevite perform a national dance which involved crouching, throwing out a leg, one after the other while his arms were crossed, then leaping up, and doing the same action, time and time again.

"I'll give it a miss," said Abdal. "But you're more than welcome to carry on. This is a pleasure cruise after all."

"I once went on a pleasure cruise," spoke Eric, bobbing his eyebrows. He had been true to his word and was sober. "The First Mate, Hoardings, even managed to steal away with the Captain's ship for three weeks, leaving the poor bugger marooned on an island. We sailed for a few weeks with some of the island's native women, making love and being general idiots." Eric began to chuckle. "When we sailed back, and picked him up the man was raving mad. In fact, I think the only thing that saved us from a hanging was the fact that the Captain had become sick with some disease. We managed to convince him, when he was well again, that we'd looked after him and had left the island weeks ago."

"I hope you don't plan on leaving me in Lustria," said Abdal. Eric's grin faded.

"We're going to Lustria?" he said.

"Yes," said Abdal. Eric scratched at his forehead, and shrugged his slender shoulders.

"I can't recall that at all. Damned ale. You do know where it is, right, or are we just sailing west?"

"I have some idea," said Abdal, as he stepped down onto the top deck, the ring and whistle of sanshin and flute behind him. "Have no fear, Eric. We will find land, and that land will be Lustria."

"What makes you so certain?" asked another sailor. It was the young Arabian, Jibran.

Abdal reached for a round golden amulet that dangled from a chain across his chest. He rubbed his thumb gently over the warm surface, and smiled as an amber nimbus of light shone from the metal. A clawed hand emerged, which startled the new members of the crew, the a pair of dagger sharp wings unfolded. The Gjinn rose from the amulet, tail dangling from its waist.

"What the hell is that?" screamed Eric, jolting up from the bed of rope he had been sitting on.

"I'm Gunbai," said the Gjinn. "Pleased to meet you," he said, as he flapped his wings.

"Y-yes, quite," said Eric. He studied the cup in his hand, unsure whether it was filled with water.

Gunbai dived back into the amulet, and disappeared.

"That thing knows where the New World is?"

A series of nods from the crew answered Eric's question.

"Oh good," said the Middenheimer. "For a minute there, I was worried."

When they had all parted, and fallen asleep, a figure crept across the top deck. He looked at the fluttering sail, and up at the shining stars. He drew an item from his pocket, and held it to the sky, examining it beneath the twin moons light.

It was an unpainted, stone figurine of an old lady with long hair, a gnarled sorceress' stick in her hand. The figure knew who she was, and shuddered at the thought of her. He crept barefoot across the top deck, rounded a sleeping sailor, and walked to the prow. He felt the gentle breeze and clambered onto the bowsprit. He quickly rushed across to the tip, and placed the statuette onto the wood.

"Isabi'yan," he whispered, waving his palm above the object. The figurine glowed and a purple mist rose from out of the blank eyes. The fog swirled around the figurine, until the statuette was no longer visible, then disappeared.

His task complete, the sailor returned to the lower deck to sleep, and wait.

She could see the stars, and the sea, despite being in her cabin quarters. Her vision blurred and she swooned, almost falling from her chair, but she gripped the table edge, and forced herself upright. Badriyah was getting too old, her strength fading with each and every year. She was already one-hundred and six. Now she was on a ship; a terrible place to be considering being rather prone to sea sickness.

"Well, Badriyah," said Marid as he stood at her side, wiping sweat from his hands as he anxiously asked the question, "is the eye in place?"

Badriyah saw the horizon from the Atiya's prow, and heard Marid's voice as though he spoke through the wind.

"Yes," she said, her concentration forcing her to sweat. "I can see quite clearly."

"Good," said Marid. "Tell me, sorceress, how far are they away now?"

Badriyah cast her view to the stern of the ship, then, like some bird, shot across the waves, gliding like a spirit, until the giant ship Al Hakam came into view, with dozens of lights sparkling like stars across the top deck and transom. It was a dangerous vessel; at two-hundred and twenty feet long, the biggest in the known world, with a crew of eight-hundred souls. At the flanks, riding the waves were two smaller dhows, each a hundred and sixty foot long. Jaffar was taking no chances. If the Al Hakam came up against another fleet, there would be at least three ships to fight against. They also had the ungodly gift of being quick. Speed was vital if they were to catch Abdal.

"We are several miles away," she said, hypnotically. Sweat christened her brow, and dripped down her winkled cheeks. "I shall inform the Captain."

Marid slammed his fist onto the table, which shook Badriyah's bubbling apparatus on the surface.

"I shall inform the Captain," said Marid. "You continue to watch, hag."

Badriyah didn't reply, and didn't need to. She smiled as Marid moved his ageing body across the floor, leaning against his gnarled black staff.

"Touchy, aren't we, Marid? Is it because you've lost the favour of Jaffar?" she whispered as the old sorcerer left the room, slamming the door as he went.

Five –Captain Muzzaffar and the Naked Mighty Mahmuud

He had been trained in the arts of stealth; to use his ears like a weapon, to differentiate sounds. By the walk, and the thud of the stick; undetectable to those not trained as an assassin, Captain Muzaffar could tell Marid was about to knock on the door.

"Come in," Muzzaffar said as he brushed his long black hair back into a pony tail, tying it in place with a golden strap. He'd beaten Marid to the punch, and, hand floating before the door to knock, Marid swiftly moved it to the brass door knob.

He entered the cabin and looked Muzaffar over. The Captain was just a boy, only eighteen, yet commanded the fleet. Marid rolled his eyes, and spoke.

"We have inserted the eye," he said.

Muzaffar nodded and stood. He walked with an easy grace towards the sorcerer, polished shining boots thumping the floor, and cast his blue murderous eyes over Marid. Muzaffar despised the old man. Sure, Marid had won a victory, but that was eleven years gone. His subsequent defeat at the port city of Tobaro that same year of his victory against the remnants of Abdal's army, fourteen-forty eight, Marid had led a fleet of Arabain corsairs to lay low the efforts of the Tileans and prevent them from aiding Estalia. The Tileans had turned them back with ease.

"What do you have for me?" he said. Marid leant his weight onto his staff.

"They are directly west of us, only a few miles ahead."

"I know not why you came, Marid. Your very presence irks me," said Muzaffar. The Captain waved his hand, and moved back to his elegant chair, pushing it under the table. The cabin was broad, and tall, lined with marvelous dark oak transported from the Bretonnian forests. Lion rugs adorned the floors, while the skull of a Mu'ayyad lay in the corner, mouth agape to reveal sharp sword length teeth.

Muzaffar hated this job. Why waste his talents chasing a pirate? Why had Jaffar ordered him away from enemy lines in the war against the infidels when he could have got someone far more useless to captain the ship, and the mission.

Muzaffar knew about the jewels that Abdal, the traitor, the aider of infidels, carried. They were great and powerful objects. He looked at Marid and knew why the sorcerer had come. It wasn't to help collect them for Jaffar, his father, but to acquire them himself.

"Tell me, Marid, what is this Abdal like, after all, you've met him, am I correct?"

"Yes. On a few occasions. He is the usual hero type, annoying and persistent."

Muzaffar shook his head, and tutt-tutted.

"Come now, Marid, surely you can do better than that? What is he like?"

"Dangerous," said Marid. "He must not complete his task."

"You know of his task?" said Muzaffar, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't play games with me, boy," said Marid. "My body maybe feeble, but my mind," a nimbus of orange light began to glow around his fists. Muzaffar moved fast, clutched Marid's wrist in an iron grip, and kicked away the sorcerer's staff. Marid felt the cold touch of metal on his throat, and winced as Muzaffar drew the blade across, nicking the skin.

"Never threaten me again, Marid, or next time I'll slice your throat. Begone, wretch, out of my sight before I change my mind." Muzaffar let go of Marid, grabbed the collar of his robes, and pushed him back. Marid collapsed with a groan and thud as Muzaffar sheathed his elegant curved blade.

He watched the sorcerer crawl on the ground, and reach for his stick. Marid wrapped his long, pale fingers around the wood, and lifted the staff. He planted the butt on the floor, and tried to lift himself up.

"Still here?" said Muzaffar. "Scurry away, rat," he snarled. Marid moved quickly for the door, his heart racing.

Muzaffar sat back down, and considered his next move, the sound of scurrying feet rattling on the poop deck above.

"The wind is weak, I doubt we shall make much progress today," said Olaf as Abdal stepped out of his cabin door. Abdal buttoned his tunic, stretched out the fabric, then looked at the horizon. It was a shimmering line of water and sky.

"Better than a storm," said Abdal.

"Aye," said Olaf. "We should be passing the north-western coast of Araby any day now. Just thought you should know."

"I know, Olaf," said Abdal.

"I know you know," said Olaf. "Just thought I'd get it out in the open. I know how moody you get."

Abdal shook his head, and wandered down onto the top deck. The cook, Marmadoc Bracegirdle, was shouting up at the much larger Kislevite. Casimir couldn't help but laugh as he got a mouthful of the Halfling cook's mind.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" shouted Marmadoc in his high, squeaky voice. He clenched his small hands again and again, and took off his white cap, tossing it to the deck, loosing the long, curly ginger hair beneath.

"But you can't deny it, Bracey," said Casimir, his thick accent loud on the air. The large man ruffled the Halfling's hair. Marmadoc grabbed Casimir's arm with both hands, but couldn't get his stubby fingers round the width of the Kislevite's wrist.

"What's wrong?" asked Abdal.

Marmadoc stopped scuffling, and pointed a stubby index finger at Casimir.

"He insulted my honour. To think I actually cook for you pirates. You know what he asked me to do? He asked me to toss away the skin of the fledlings. 'I don't like skin on fledlings, little man', that's like having ketchup with caviar," said Marmadoc, doing his best Casimir impersonation. "Then he said I eat all the food, and give the rest of the crew scraps!"

"I do see an extra inch," said Abdal. Casimir and a few sailors laughed.

"We'll see how you laugh when you find weavils in your food!" Marmadoc stamped off, shoving his way past crew members who laughed.

"One of these days, Caismir, I do believe Marmadoc might actually hit you," said Abdal.

"Nothing less than I deserve," said Casimir, as he moved to sort out the wavering sail.

Venegard traced the yellowing page with a pale index finger, and heard a knock at his door.

"I am not to be disturbed!" said Venegard. When the knock turned to intrusion, the necromancer turned. "Oh, it's you," he said as Abdal closed the door.

Venegard was a very peculiar man, with a gaunt and pale face, a black goatee that he kept molded into an elongated triangle with what smelled like starch. His cold gray eyes peered out beneath thin eyebrows that looked like lines of ink on a page.

A blue magical light shone from within a glass lantern that was nailed to the desk. Venegard turned back to his thick, black, leather bound book.

"Any luck on the translation?" asked Abdal.

"I have had some, but not a great deal," said Venegard. He sounded tired, and rubbed at his eyes.

"We are making good time, and are on the way to Lustria. I thought you should know as no one has seen you for over a week."

"Yes-yes," snapped Venegard. "Of course, you won't find the chalice there."

Abdal nodded.

"It is but a myth, Venegard. Gunbai would have found it if it wasn't."

"Bah, what does that genie know of the world anyhow, cooped up all of its existence in an amulet. There could be many reasons to explain why we haven't found it, but it is out there, somewhere."

"Maybe," said Abdal. "There's no harm in searching for alternatives. Besides, I no longer wish for the same things I did eight years ago. Things change. Wants change."

Venegard took his turn to nod.

"Mine haven't," he said.

"Perhaps you should re-evaluate your own goals, before they kill you."

Venegard removed his finger from the book, and closed it with a slam, spilling out a dust cloud from its ancient pages.

"That will not happen, Abdal, as you well know. I've dedicated my life to this. Perhaps it is time we left each others company once this voyage is complete."

Abdal said nothing, but glanced across the cabin, at the glass bottles that lined the shelves on the walls; dead animals and other curiosities floated in coloured liquids.

There were several loud thuds that vibrated through the cabin, along with muffled yells. Perhaps the Halfling had finally lost it, and was attacking the crew.

"I guess I should get back on deck," said Abdal. "Get some rest, Venegard, you look like you need it."

It was Mahmuud who was making the majority of the noise as he stomped about the ship, stark naked save for a blue turban wrapped haphazardly on his head, holding a dripping mop in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. He stood upon the poop deck, mop raised as though he held his beloved halberd, and drank deeply from the bottle. Red liquid spilled over his mouth, and dripped from his chin over his protruding gut.

"Mahmuud the Mighty, he slays all his enemies!"

The crew stared up at him, their work forgotten, and watched with amusement. Tamir was already on the poop deck, and grabbed Mahmuud by the elbow.

"What are you playing at? You're making a damned fool of yourself, again!" Tamir said forcefully into Mahmuud's ear. The big warrior pushed Tamir back, and thumped the butt of the mop on the deck.

"What do I care, I'm Mahmuud, slayer of scorpions," Mahmuud thrust the mop forward, spraying water from the head, "the wounder of daemons. What do I care about a bunch of half dressed pirates?" Mahmuud began to stamp around, and thrust his spear at an army of imaginary foes.

"This has got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen," said one sailor with a trimmed blond beard. Abdal unsheathed his sword, grabbed the sailor by his throat and pinned him against the starboard side of the dhow.

"He's the best man I've ever had the privilege to have know," said Abdal. The sailor, Fenton, stopped smiling and groaned as Abdal clutched his throat. Abdal looked the man in the eye and saw fear and confusion, then realised he'd been close to killing the man. Abdal released Fenton, who collapsed to the deck.

"S-sorry Captain," said Fenton as he clutched his throat.

Casimir strode over, a grim look on his face, and helped Fenton to his feet.

"Close one," said Casimir. He cast his eyes across the deck, and noticed the those members of the crew that had laughed were silent.

Abdal moved quickly, sheathing his blade, and took the stairs two at a time then stopped before his drunk friend.

"Ah, My Prince," said Mahmuud, sweat christening his brow, "come to help me finish the bastards off?" Mahmuud waved the bottle in his hand around, spilling red wine around the deck. "Come, Abdal, Amal, drink with me a while." Abdal and Tamir exchanged a sad glance as Mahmuud raised the bottle to his lips. "Come now, are we not old friends? Have we not ventured far together?" Mahmuud wrapped an arm around Abdal and another round Tamir. "I'm not sure, but I think we on a ship."

"Mahmuud," said Abdal, "you need to rest. Put the bottle down, and go below."

Mahmuud raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head back. A loud laugh erupted, and he let go of Abdal to free up his drink.

Abdal slapped the bottle of wine from Mahmuud's grasp. It shattered on the deck and loosed liquid like blood from a broken body.

"I'm tired," declared Mahmuud, as he slumped to the wet deck. He closed his eyes and began to snore like a pig.

"I think you should of left him in Tilea," whispered Olaf, as he walked onto the poop deck. He eyed the spilled wine, and shook his head. "Casimir's not going to like that. It was his best wine," said Olaf.

Six – The Storm

Two weeks at sea. Two bloody weeks. Mahmuud looked up at the camel, which had joined them for yet another adventure, and shook his head. The camel was flat on it's belly, mindlessly munching on some hay. The sound it made irritated Mahmuud.

"Stop eating," he shouted. The camel didn't, but had the courtesy to fart instead.

Mahmuud felt groggy, and sea-sick, unsteady on his feet when he tried to move and the camel wasn't helping matters. Now he couldn't breath. Mahmuud wasn't a sailor. The sea was always something nice to look at, but the idea of travelling upon it was something else. Mahmuud wasn't a swimmer. He thrashed around like a dog every time he tried, and the last time he was in the water a giant fish had almost gobbled him up. Then there was that giant octopus.

"Hello."

Mahmuud saw the young Arabian, Jibran, moving through the gloomy bowels of the ship. The lad had some rope in his hands and laid it across the beam of wood, then sat down opposite, next to the camel.

"What do you want, child?" said Mahmuud. "Want me to tuck you in. Miss your father do you?"

"No," began Jibran. "Why do you drink so much?"

Mahmuud shrugged.

"My father says only fools drink. He never touches a drop. Never allowed me any either."

Mahmuud looked at the ceiling. Hamid's Balls, not another lecture.

"I have heard many tales of one called Mahmuud, who carried with him a great halberd."

Mahmuud nodded.

"Are you he?"

"A long time ago," said Mahmuud. "Many things have changed."

"When I was young, my father told me stories of the heroes who fought in the rebellion against Jaffar. Of the great general Abdal Rahiim, who won many magnificent victories against overwhelming numbers. The Battle of the Plains was recounted again and again. That the general was horribly scarred by fire in a battle."

"You listen to many stories," said Mahmuud.

"Don't all children? The scarred Captain... Is he the former prince of the Tambuktan throne?" Mahmuud straightened up.

"Bah, you're talking about dead men, boy. Whoever you think we are, we're not."

"Perhaps," said Jibran, "perhaps not. You're secret is safe with me."

The young Arab stood, and walked away, his bare feet plodding softly on the wooden floorboards.

Marmadoc Bracegirdle rubbed his itching, stubby nose with the back of his sleeve, and stared across at the crew. He tapped the simmering bowl of stew with a silver ladle, watching the crew watching the steam rise like tendrils to the ceiling. He knew they were all hungry, and this was the only time when most of them showed him honest respect. The respect he so obviously deserved.

"What is it?" asked Jibran. "I cannot eat pork."

"Then have no fear, Arab, for this is a fish and vegetables mix produced by only the finest cook on all the seas." Marmadoc smiled broadly, and dipped the ladle into the stew. He removed a steaming, sloppy amount, and poured it with skill into Jibran's bowl.

"Fish and veg, that's all we bloody eat, where's the damned meat?" muttered Mahmuud, next in line.

"You'll get meat when you stop drinking our ale and wine," said Casimir. The Kislevite was sat on the long bench, already tucking into his stew. Mahmuud grunted, and held out his bowl. The Halfling continued to smile broadly as he dumped a modest portion into the bowl.

Mahmuud looked at the food, and felt his stomach rumble.

"Eat up," said Marmadoc. "I assure you it tastes great!"

Mahmuud didn't say a thing. He walked up onto the top deck, and watched the calm sea glitter like a mirror under the sun. He leant his elbows against the bow of the ship, and dipped a spoon into the still hot stew.

"I see you're feeling better."

Mahmuud half-turned, and watched Abdal approach. He was dressed in white, with a dark purple sash crossing over his right shoulder.

"I guess," said Mahmuud.

Abdal leant across the bow too, next to his friend, and looked out to the ocean. "It's beautiful, is it not?"

"Yes," said Mahmuud. "Not nearly as beautiful as a woman, mind."

"No," said Abdal. "Certainly no substitute."

Silence ensued as they stared out to sea.

"I see you had your halberd fixed. Good to see the weapon again," said Abdal, recalling the famous weapon that had wrecked havoc for many years.

"I couldn't let it remain broken," said Mahmuud, "it is an ancient family heirloom." Mahmuud tasted the stew, and spat it out quickly into the sea. "I thought the bugger said this was actually good."

"Marmadoc isn't the greatest cook I've come across. He tries his best. He has a few dishes that taste very fine, but then one would have to broaden their religious horizons."

"You still turn your back on Hamid?" said Mahmuud.

"As He turned His back on me," said Abdal. "Listen, Mahmuud, I need you to do something for me. Keep an eye on Jibran."

"He's the spitting image of you," said Mahmuud. "He was asking about you, whether you were the great general Abdal Rahiim."

"What did you say?"

"I told him nothing."

"Good. Keep it that way," said Abdal. He pushed himself away from the edge of the ship, and placed a firm hand on Mahmuud's shoulder. "You know, I didn't have the chance to tell you this before, but it is good to see you old friend."

Mahmuud nodded, and sipped the stew from his spoon.

A deep, continuously rotating updraft formed the giant, swirling black clouds that swept along the squall line. The winds hit the dhow with force, battering the sail and the ship like the angry breath of a god.

"Shorten the sail!" cried Abdal as he clung to the rigging. A wave of water splashed onto the top deck, and soaked Abdal as he made his way to the fluttering sail. The deck was slippery, but Abdal kept his footing and watched as the lanteen yard shivered in the strong wind. More water splashed with cold, biting force over the crew.

Abdal wrapped his hands around the quivering halyard. Sailors worked and furled the sail as rain lashed down from the heavens and water swooshed over the deck.

Abdal stared out at the sea. The horizon was dense with swirling dark cloud, and the sea a carpet of waves and motion. The storm could swallow them all up, and drag their broken bodies to the ocean bed. Abdal moved across the deck, driving wind slashing rain upon him. Another wave crested the ship, and washed onto the deck.

"It's like a damn pool!" shouted Olaf from the poop deck, his voice barely audible above the raging winds.

Abdal arrived at the bowsprit, and planted his feet, keeping steady in the wind, rain and motion of the ship. A tall wave rose like a leaping panther, and smashed down over the bowsprit and Abdal's form. Abdal was knocked back, but he quickly regained his footing, and shouted up at the heavens.

"Is this all you have, Hamid! Come, take me then, if you're strong enough!" Abdal shouted like a madman. More waves crashed over the bow, coating Abdal in cold water. "Come then, I'm here. I'm always here!"

Tamir gripped hold of the poop deck balcony, flinched as a curtain of dark water crashed over his form, and stared down at his old general. Lightning flashed, and illuminated Abdal's form in short bursts of blinding light.

"What's he doing?" Tamir cried over to the wet norscan. Olaf grinned, and held the wheel in his hands steady.

"What he always does in a storm. Shouts at the gods."

"This does not worry you?"

"If Odin was mentioned, perhaps, but it's never my god he curses."

Tamir nodded, and grimly stared at Abdal. Thunder roared in the heavens as lightning flashed across the raging night sky.

Seven – The Island of Herra and the Sentimental Camel

The calm of the storm was a prayer answered. Abdal slowly paced the poop deck, and passed his eyes across the Atiya. The sail had torn; having been too slow shortening it, and much of the rigging was loose. The hull had been battered, and the transom damaged.

"We need to make repairs," said Olaf, as he grimly peered about the wreckage.

Abdal nodded. A shrill cry came from above, and he looked up at a white bird as it glided down into the water. It waved its wings, and stared at the dhow gliding close like some predator.

"Land!" shouted Casimir from the bowsprit, pointing towards the horizon where faint shapes of islands were visible. These weren't on the map.

"I've heard of good luck before," said Olaf, "but you seem to have the luck of the devil, Captain."

The Atiya glided towards them, until the white sand beaches came into view. Surf caressed black, damp rocks that stretched out from the island into the deep sea. Thick jungle cast shadow onto the beach, while tall, broad mountains stretched above like some giant's seated throne.

It took them over an hour to reach the islands. They spotted three land masses in all, each similarly jotted with mountains, forested slopes, jungle, and white beaches. The ship glided in the gentle wind towards a beach flanked by natural jetties of black stone.

There was a slow, scraping sound as the bottom of the hull hit sand.

"Off the ship, and get the ropes you dogs!" shouted Abdal, as he marched the top deck, boot heels clicking on the wood, purple cloak fluttering about him.

He dropped a rope ladder from the bow of the ship, watched it unfurl towards the sand, and clambered down onto the beach. Firm land again, he thought, how much he had missed it. Over a month at sea could drive men mad. He'd seen it with his own crew in the past. Eight years of sailing had revealed the dark realities of men trapped at sea.

He marched up the gentle sloping beach, and cast his eyes across the thickets. The deep shadows of shield-like leaves stretched out onto the sand.

"Dry land at last!" Mahmuud shouted, as his heavy form struck the sand. He fell to his knees, scooped up sand into his joined palms, and kissed the granules before loosing them back onto the beach like a grainy waterfall.

"You think these isles are deserted?" said Tamir, as he moved to Abdal's side.

"Who knows," replied Abdal.

He turned his attention back to his crew as they dragged the Atiya up onto the beach. They pulled like ants at a loaf of bread, tugging until they were red in the face.

"That will do," Abdal shouted. "Gather round."

The crew formed a semi-circle before Abdal, keeping the necromancer distant from them, the shadow of the dhow's sail and hull stretching out to them. Venegard didn't mind. He smiled at their foolishness. Venegard wasn't interested in them unless they were dead.

"Olaf, I want you to take half the crew, and conduct repairs of the ship. The rest will come with me. We might as well explore the island. There might be animals to hunt, and fruit to pick. Venegard, do what you will."

"I was going to take a stroll," said Venegard. "Maybe I'll do some painting."

"Marmodoc, prepare some food here for when we get back, I dare say we'll be hungry," said Abdal.

"Do I look like a berry-picker," whispered Mahmuud, as he held onto the reins of the camel.

The camel stuck out his tongue.

Abdal pushed aside the giant, moist leaf, and looked at the bubbling stream. A reef of rocks stretched out across like a natural bridge. There was a broad forested slope on the opposite side, where a roof of leaves created a long, corridor like canopy. Light shone through in criss-crossed beams onto the natural trail.

Abdal placed a foot onto the first rock, and felt a firm breeze wash across his body. It was then he noticed the squat, black post that was camouflaged by the thickets. He brushed the leaves away with a gentle sweep, and studied the post. The leaves shuffled and rustled like the whisper of ghosts. There were three symbols, each one a circle with several lines through it at different angles.

"That's man made," said Mahmuud.

"Great observation," said Tamir. "What's that then?" Tamir pointed to a tree. Mahmuud cast a stern stare, and crossed his arms.

"We might not be alone. Keep on guard," said Abdal.

He continued to move across the water. He pushed his foot on one rock to secure footing, felt it was firm, and pushed onto the next. Mahmuud came next, his large halberd sheathed and resting over his right shoulder.

They each stepped across the reef rock bridge, and proceeded along the slope.

"Once we get up there we should be able to have a great view of the island," said Abdal, pointing to a large rock strewn hill ahead.

They reached the hill twenty minutes later, breaking through thickets out onto a broad plateau. Abdal could see the two other islands to the west.

"We'll stop here and rest for a few minutes," said Abdal, turning to the group.

Mahmuud wiped sweat from his brow, and looked at his water canteen. The wine had been locked up by Casimir, and there was no hope that the Kislevite would allow him access to it again after Mahmuud had consumed a fair portion of the crews alcohol. Water was all that was available to him. He could feel the dagger stares cast by the crew, and gripped the shaft of his halberd tightly.

The crew dispersed along the plateau. Haruko removed his musical instrument from his shoulder, and sat down on a flat rock. He plucked at the strings, and stared out at the beauty of the island.

"If it weren't for the post back by the river, I'd assume this place was deserted," said Abdal. Tamir nodded, and took a sip of his water.

"What stone was that made from? I've never seen the like," said Tamir.

"Who knows?" said Abdal.

He moved to the edge and sat on the slope beneath the shade of a great tree. Abdal looked up and stared at the thickness of the gnarled trunk. The bark was cut with deep wriggling lines like vertical rivers. The sea in the distance shimmered under the golden light of the sun, while the surf caressed the white beaches with an endless, restful, drifting sound that spoke of peace. He listened to nature and the sound of conversing men, which, he guessed was part of nature too. Mahmuud settled onto the ground, and lay his halberd shaft into the dust.

"Just like the old days," said Abdal, as he studied his disheveled friend. Mahmuud was sober now, but years of drinking had caught up with the giant. His skin had turned leathery, once black hair receding and gray.

"Not quite. I'm a bloody mess," muttered Mahmuud. He clasped his belly in his large hands, and waved it.

Abdal shook his head softly, and smiled.

"You are, but at least you didn't try to bring back the dead."

Mahmuud shivered at the thought. The necromancer made his blood run cold.

"I propose we leave the... necromancer," he struggled to say the word, "here. I could tie him to that tree over there."

"I don't think that would be a good idea. He's not liked by the crew, but I trust him, and that's good enough for them. Besides, a past member already tried that tactic."

"What happened?"

"He ended up as one of Venegard's experiments."

Haruko's music twanged a delicate melody in the background. He wasn't singing.

"I'm not a fan of that.. music," said Mahmuud.

"I guess it's not Arabian music, but I like it. You should hear some of the music I've heard on my travels, Mahmuud. A mixture of curious instruments, and even more curious musicians. Some have been so brilliant they mesmerized me, others so dreadful I'd rather listen to the camel fart and spit all day."

The camel paced over to them and made a strange, deep sound through its nose.

"You know that's the same camel that we had since leaving the desert with Amal."

Abal studied the camel.

"I wonder what's going on in its head?" said Abdal.

"How to piss me off," said Mahmuud. "Why Amal loved it is beyond me."

Abdal laughed.

"Why didn't you just get rid of it then? You didn't have to take it with you from the beach."

Mahmuud shrugged.

"I needed it to carry goods," said Mahmuud.

"There's no sentimentality there whatsoever."

Abdal turned his attention to the view. Clumps of rock rose like brown minarets and cast shadows across the shore. Then he spotted them. Black shadows approaching and the rustling of leaves and bush. Mahmuud noticed the change of attitude in his friend, the tense stare Abdal cast at something below.

"Quiet, quickly, arm yourselves," barked Abdal. Haruko stopped playing and lay the instrument against a rock.

"There are a few," said Tamir, as he drew his old, battered war horn from a belt and a broadsword from the other.

Abdal gripped the handle of his blade, and drew it out into the light of day, sun sparks flashing from the clean metal.

"Ready yourselves," shouted Abdal, as the figures below neared, the whites of their eyes a visible contrast against their black skin.

Eight – Herra and the Vanishing Magic Act

They swarmed up the slopes yelping like savages; a brown tide that muddied the white rocky ground like a swarm of scuttling insects. They had stone weapons in their hands; axes, spears and arrows that shivered like a moving forest.

"I don't need to remind you to give a good account of yourselves, do I?" said Abdal.

Mahmuud slid the delicate gilded sheath from the end of his halberd, and let the deadly blade bathe in the sun.

"Not I," said Mahmuud. "It's been too long since I've done some blood-letting."

Abdal could feel the adrenaline pumping, but he wasn't nervous. He gripped his scimitar and made a shout to his men that rang above the din of the natives.

"Stand and fight for your lives!"

Abdal braced himself, as did his crew as they took up position around the plateau. The savages washed over them, and disappeared in a wave of dusty smoke.

"What evil is this?" exclaimed Mahmuud, as white sand rained over him.

Then a figure dressed in a red simar appeared in the thickets, wearing a red flat hat with a small peak, white socks pulled up to his knees and dancing in black shoes.

"Forgive me, thought I'd just amuse myself." The man said, in Arabian.

His skin was white, pale like the moons, and he wore a smile with thin red lips.

"What is the meaning of this?" Abdal demanded, dipping the point of his sword towards the red dressed man.

"Oh, don't mind me, it's been a while since I last had company."

The man walked towards them, gaily gliding across the gentle slope like a buffoon.

"Stay where you are," Abdal demanded. He took a step forward. "Now, tell me again, what is the meaning of this? The warriors? What did you do with them?"

The man placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back to laugh.

"I see I should have come as something else." There was a cloud of smoke, and sand granules blew in a gentle breeze. The breeze seemed to stroke Abdal's face purposefully, as though it were a lover. There was a rustle in the thickets behind them, and a woman dressed in a flowing blue simar walked out to greet them. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair that fell to her bosom, large green eyes that sparkled like emeralds, and a welcoming smile borne with full lips and pristine white teeth.

"Is this more to your liking?" She said.

"What are you?" asked Abdal.

"Relax, I mean you no harm. My name is Herra."

Abdal did not relax the grip on his weapon, neither did his men.

"Herra, what manner of creature are you?"

"Creature, I'm no creature! Far from the barbaric word and connotations implied by such a basic word. You are my guests. Please, come to my home. You can rest and feast and delight in my company."

"I'm going nowhere with you," said Abdal, echoing the unspoken sentiments of his crew. "What is it you want?"

Herra, still the visage of a beautiful woman, drew closer, bare feet gliding across the ground.

"I warn you, step no closer," said Abdal, sternly.

Herra smiled and placed her hand on the tip of Abdal's blade.

"Come now, you must be tired. I mean you no ill." She slowly moved the blade aside and stood a mere hand's length away. He could feel her breath on his scarred face, but Abdal could not find himself to drive the blade at her.

Abdal shook his head, and stared into the eyes of Herra. They were swirling pools of turquoise. She turned away from Abdal then, arms out wide, and faced the Kislevite.

"There is no need to fear, man of Kislev." Casimir's resolve failed like a dying candle in the loving gaze of Herra. "That's better. Now then, shall I take you to my home?"

"Yes," came Casimir's response, his eyes glazed. Abdal noticed the alarming effect she was having on the men. At first they had behaved defensively, but now they were easing their weapons, some even sheathing them. Mahmuud himself drove the butt of his spear into the ground and leant on the shaft.

"What trickery is this, witch?" shouted Abdal.

"There is no trickery here, Captain," she said, her tone light and friendly. "Only your men look tired. They are eager to refresh themselves, and so are you."

"Stay if you want," said Mahmuud, "but I'm going with her."

Mahmuud sounded sleepy, though his eyes were wide open. Most of the men seemed as though in a trance.

"Damn you, witch, let go your hold upon my men or I swear you'll taste cold steel," said Abdal.

"Why my hold has no effect on you, Captain, escapes me, but do not meddle with me. Your men are mine, and I shall take them where I please. I could strike you down in an instant, but where would the fun be in that? Find them, if you can." Her words were spoken softly as she waved her arm before his eyes. There was a bright flash and everyone but Abdal vanished.

"Herra!" Abdal shouted.

What was going on? thought Venegard as he tried to hide a cough by burying his mouth in his own black simar. First he had seen a thousand primitive men charge his comrades, then they had turned to dust and the peculiar figure he overheard as Herra had cast a spell over the crew and then disappeared, leaving all but Abdal on the hillock. He could see the captain was quite distressed and stood from the foliage, waving a pale arm in the air as he called down in a croak.

"Abdal," he shouted."

Abdal glanced up, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Venegard, what the devil... what trickery is this? You saw the savages, the witch?"

"I saw it all," said Venegard, moving slowing down onto the plateau from the neighboring heights.

He joined Abdal out of breath and had to seat himself on the grass.

"Herra, it called itself," said Abdal, pacing back and forth, sword in hand, red-faced and clearly enraged. "She took them, took them all! What devilry is this that someone can do that?"

"I do not know," said Venegard, "though I can detect the manipulation of the winds of magic, my own power is very different from this, Herra. We are dealing with someone more powerful than I."

"We must scour the island, find this witch, find my men."

"Good luck to you," said Venegard. "My advice, leave it be, take what men we have and flee. Get off this cursed island before everyone is lost."

Abdal whipped round on him, a look of hatred on his face.

"You will help me necromancer, or I'll end you here. Don't think your magic can stop me. I've survived worse."

Venegard narrowed his eyes and stood.

"Don't be a fool," he said, "what good would that do you. You need me, remember?"

"Need you? Aye, and what good that has done me."

Then he beamed a smile and stared up at the sky.

"Of course!" he shouted, then reached for a pendant that hung from his neck.

It was a small bronze object which shimmered amber at his touch.

"Come on, old friend," whispered Abdal. "Show yourself."

Venegard shook his head.

"That useless creature. It couldn't find the chalice. How do you expect it to find what you want now?"

Abdal ignored the comment, well aware that he had already expressed his own similar opinions years before when the creature had failed to locate the chalice.

A small head emerged, glowing white. Gunbai looked as he always did, never growing old as those he held the amulet did. He was bald, with pointy, elven ears and an oval head, with small blank eyes and a pointy, goblinoid nose.

"Gunbai," said Abdal. "Come out, old friend."

Gunbai did not move out, but stared up from the medallion, as though he were a swimmer submerged in water.

"What do you want?" he said. "Come to shout at me for not finding what you desire?"

"No," said Abdal. "Please, forgive my past words, they were spoken out of anger. I did not mean them. You have kept good faith in me, pointed the direction of the New World, but I need your help again."

A couple of sharp, dragon-like wings emerged but he still remained in the medallion.

"Apology accepted," said Gunbai.

He leapt out into the air, spread his wings, waved his tail and twirled. A light sprinkling of amber dust fell from the sky.

"Now then, where is this devil, Herra?" said Abdal.

Nine - The First Guardian of the Wondrous White Citadel

Abdal stopped before a shallow, bubbling stream whose banks were alive with sedge. The sunlight shone onto the liquid surface and sparkled like a star. The sound of the jungle came alive as soon as he noticed the stream below. A parrot sang somewhere above, while the stream whispered a filler along their right.

They continued further into the jungle, where darkness hid the foliage and shadows ruled where light squeezed through the canopy. Eventually they emerged onto a plateau to face a brilliant white structure nestled into the mountain. The rock walls were the size of cliffs, topped by crenelations. A gaping entrance marked by two large, arched doors was the only obvious entrance. There was a chalky-white stone path that stretched from a thousand broad steps and through a dozen gardens walled by thick hedges and gnarled, tall trees, and stopped just outside the jungle thickets below. A black stone post, much like the one he'd seen earlier, marked the path like a sign post.

"I think we should have left them," said Venegard. "This is madness."

"Everything I do is mad, necromancer, I thought you knew me by now?"

Abdal moved out of the undergrowth, hand on sword hilt, and made his way down the rocky slope until his steps splashed upon the shimmering surface of the stream.

"Abdal, wait!" came Venegard's urgent voice. "The post, look at the post!"

Abdal froze and turned his gaze upon the black stone. Golden motes glowed upon its surface revealing a language he could not decipher.

"Is that elvish?" he asked Venegard.

The studied necromancer shook his head.

"This is not the language of the elves," he said. "I've never seen the like."

Then it began to hum; a keening sound that made them both drop to their knees, hands over ears, teeth clenched.

Abdal opened his eyes as soon as he felt the heavy vibrations through his knees. He noticed the water shiver with heavy thuds. The thump-thump grew louder and louder with each passing moment, then something very large broke through the trees. It was huge, and at least thirty-foot tall, made from gray rock much like a mountain covered with moss and plant life. Its head was round and protruded from between its broad shoulders, neck-less and grim, with wide eyes beneath a heavy brow that made him appear to be scowling. His mouth was wide and large, with cracked stone lips.

"By the gods," whispered Venegard.

"You trespass, outsiders, upon the White Citadel. What is it you wish here?"

Its voice was like rumbling thunder, but Abdal stood his ground, hand on sword.

"I am here for my men. They were taken by one who calls itself Herra. Let me through, creature."

It laughed loudly, shaking the branches of the trees, loosing twirling, dancing leaves onto the stream. Abdal stepped closer, hand tight on his sword.

"Step aside, I do not have quarrel with you."

"And you'd hope not to, mortal," replied the creature. "My name is Torn. I am an Archaon. I am the guardian across the river. Nothing may step upon this soil without passing me."

"We can't defeat such a beast," yelled Venegard.

"Watch me," replied Abdal.

Torn laughed again and sat down, his short legs out in front, broad feet and stocky toes pointing to the sky.

"You amuse me, mortal. You have courage. All in the past run by now, but you stand your ground as though you were my equal. Very interesting indeed. If it comes to a fight, I assure you, you cannot win. I could crush you as easily as you could crush a mouse. That is not my desire, but force my hand and I will make you bleed."

"I must get through you," said Abdal. "My men, my friends, are in that citadel." He pointed to the white structure with the tip of his blade. "How am I to save them if I turn at the first hurdle?"

"The island of Herra is not such a violent place," said Torn. "You can pass me quite easily, with intelligence. I said I am a guardian, but I do not come at you with fist. Instead, brain over brawn... ironic for such a creature as I, but Herra has her preferences."

"What do you mean?" asked Abdal.

"You will answer my riddles, mortal. If you answer them correctly, I will let you pass into the gardens. If not, you must turn away and go back to your ship."

"You expect me to believe you'll let me pass on playing a stupid game?"

"It's either that or bloodshed. I do prefer playing games to ending lives, as should everyone," said Torn, turning his rocky mouth into a smile.

"Now then, mortal, shall we begin?"

Abdal looked at Venegard. The necromancer shrugged.

"Come down, magic user," said Torn. "You may both confer to answer the riddles. I will not eat you. Not yet anyway."

Venegard looked uneasy, Abdal couldn't blame him, but the frail man moved down the slope, and stopped beside Abdal in the stream.

"Very well, Torn, we shall play your game."

Torn clapped his hands together.

"Good, I very much hoped you would. I must worn you though, you can only give me one answer. You'd be wise to make sure it was the correct one. A mistake equals failure. Now then. Let's start with something easy. What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?"

"A towel," said Venegard quickly, holding his finger up as though he were in a class.

"Very good," replied Torn. "What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?"

"A river," said Abdal. "What else could it be?"

"Good," said Torn. "I see I've not stumbled across complete idiots. Right then, where was I? At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

"Dreams?" whispered Venegard.

"I would say so," conferred Abdal, "but not everyone sleeps during the night." Abdal looked up to the sky. "Of course," said Abdal. He turned to the Archaon. "Stars."

"Glittering points that downward thrust, sparkling spears that never rust," said Torn, diving in with the next one.

"Icicles," shouted Venegard as though he'd been waiting for that one.

"You can have me but cannot hold me; gain me and quickly lose me. If treated with care I can be great, and if betrayed I will break. What am I?"

"How many riddles must we answer?" asked Venegard.

"This is the last one. Shall I take that as your answer?"

"No," said Abdal. "Trust. Trust is your answer. I trust little enough as it is, but the men inside that citadel are those I trust. We have answered your riddles, Archaon. Let us pass, or shall I take your word as lies?"

There was a pause and Torn looked angry, but then his stern features quickly softened, and he began to chuckle deeply, rolling from side to side as he sat.

"Ha, I spoke the truth, little men. You may pass into the gardens. Stay vigilant – the next guardian is not so amiable as me."

Ten – The Second Guardian of the Wondrous White Citadel

The gardens reminded Abdal much of Amjad's, where fond memories still reigned in the corners of his mind. He could see his father strolling along, hands clasped behind his back as he took in the scent of flowers, bending down to stroke the white petals of the Jasmine flower and it's evergreen leaves as they wound up gates and fences, a smile on his bearded face. He could remember clutching Atiya to his chest, and her expression as she emerged out from the tunnel into the Tiger Gardens. Tambukta and Amjad were a long way away now. He had not seen the land of his birth or the halls and gardens of his childhood for many years. For the first time in a while, he thought of the past, of the time before the storm Jaffar unleashed upon the world. An emptiness existed now, filled with too much sorrow. Instead of hope there was grim determination.

He would find his men without risking more of the crew. He had been immune to whatever powers his men were under. Herra had even commented on this. He had no doubt it was the jewels in the case tied around his neck that saved him from her power.

"Keep your eyes open," said Abdal, as they neared the entrance. It was an arched hedge of dark green, with a white path cutting through light green lawns.

Tall willows like frozen fountains stood about the place, along with pink cherry blossom trees. The scent of the flowers drifted on the gentle breeze as they made their way through the first garden. The lawn was hemmed in with tall hedges as walls that stretched taller than a man so the jungle beyond was almost obscured save for the taller trees and the forested mountain slopes. They pushed on into several similar gardens, the White Citadel before them shimmering majestically under the sun as though the walls collected light and cast it out. They walked in silence, eyes peeled around new features such as bubbling brooks that glittered like mirrors and white stone fountains where red-scaled fish swam in the shivering pools. The stone fountains themselves were an assortment of fish shaped statues pouring water from gaping mouths. Many curiously shaped black rock statues snuggled amongst the flowerbeds, of creatures and objects Abdal had not seen before. One was of an animal that looked like an elephant, but had the fir of a bear and possessed the tail of a scorpion.

Venegard was most interested and took from the path to investigate.

"Venegard, what are you doing man? Get back here, we haven't the time to sight-see."

"One should never stop learning, Abdal," he said. "I won't be but a minute." He removed a pencil and paper from a valise slung over his shoulder, then crouched, poised to draw.

Abdal couldn't believe his eyes. Venegard was known for his oddness, but this was extraordinary.

"Sketching! This is no time for that, necromancer."

"Yes-yes," said Venegard. "I know, but there is something odd about this statue. It is made from the same stone as the post that called forth the Archaon."

Abdal nodded and stepped onto the lawn, feeling the sun's warmth upon his scarred face as he walked up to Venegard. Then he froze, and the same keening whistle seemed to vibrate from the very statue. He kept his eyes open, clenched his teeth at the sound and watched the statue eyes glow white.

The ground shook violently, as though from a quake, and the sky above darkened as iron-coloured clouds rumbled across,white lightning flashing across the body like spectacular and frightening veins. The trees and fountains began to take new shapes, dark and foreboding. Where once a dolphin loosed water into a pond of red fish, now crouched giant spiders pouring red water that looked like blood into pools, where dark taloned hands waved and gray bald heads rose like rocks with plain white eyes and open mouths with razor sharp teeth. The trees, once covered with pink or red leaves, or branches which draped like curtains turned into leave-less, gnarled monstrosities, with gaunt faces opening giant mouths, rolling blank, dark eyes.

"Ohh, this is delightful," said Venegard standing up. "I could spend a week drawing all this," he muttered. Abdal cast him a wicked glance which made Venegard smirk." I do believe, my dear captain, that you appear to fit right in."

Abdal shook his head and looked to the path. It was the only thing, along with the hedges, that still remained unchanged.

"Turn back!" called a husky voice in the darkness, carried by the wind.

Abdal whipped around but could not see the speaker. The voice called again, and Abdal noticed something motioning them forwards beneath a tree. It was a slender arm attached to something covered by shadow, but the voice seemed to come from there.

"The gardens are not for you. Turn back, before it's too late."

Abdal, sword in hand, the blade of his magical scimitar glowing a faint blue, drew close, Venegard behind, paper and pencil packed away back into the leather valise. The blue light from Abdal's curving blade illuminated the thickets a few yards about them.

"What trickery is this, to turn day to night?" said Abdal.

He saw the motioning arm again, and then stopped dead before it. The arm was connected to a slender body planted into the very trunk of the tree, with skin like bark. Its four arms were branches, with pointy fingers on the hands. Its face was round and shaped like a pumpkin, with hallowed eyes and a wide saw mouth.

"You trespasss," it said, rolling the 's' slowly.

"If we trespass, it is only because something has been taken from me. Are you the second guardian Torn spoke about?"

There was no reply for a moment, save the wind whistling and shaking the hedges, and the moans of despair coming from the pools as faint whispers in the night.

"I am the guardiannn of the Garden. My name isss Hastaphon. If you value your life, you mussst turnnn back nowww."

"That is something I cannot do, Hastaphon."

It raised an eyebrow.

"Cannot, or will nottt."

"Will not," replied Abdal.

"Very well," said Hastaphon. "The path to the White Citadel liesss beyond thisss maze." It stretched its arms out towards the path and a tall arched entrance where white fog clung to the ground, and moonlight bathed the hedges silver. "You mussst get through it. I mussst warn you... no one has passsed the maze, it isss a graveyard for the brave and foolisssh."

The creature slowly sank back into the wood of the tree.

"I've got the perfect answer to a maze," said Abdal, taking the medallion into his hands.

Gunbai emerged slowly and sleepily, and glanced about the darkness timidly.

"Do not worry, Gunbai," said Abdal. "I need your help once again." Abdal pointed to the maze entrance. "Think you can get us through?"

"It's my job," said Gunbai, scratching at one of his elfin ears.

Eleven – The Maze

Gunbai led the way, amber flakes fluttering behind his flying form as he drifted to the entrance. The fog clung to the ground and obscured it from view, and even began to raise tendrils like octopus arms as soon as Gunbai neared. The little creature froze, shivered and darted back to Abdal's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" asked Abdal.

"The maze is wrong," said Gunbai. "My power is useless here," he whispered, crestfallen.

"What a surprise," declared Venegard with a sneer.

"If you cannot point the way, I could still use your eyes," said Abdal.

"I will help with what I can," said Gunbai. "Must we go there?"

"Yes, my friend, it is the path we must take. Stay on my shoulder if you wish."

Gunbai nodded.

Abdal stepped through the arch and onto the misty maze ground. The moaning from the fountains ceased, along with the wind. All he could hear was his own breathing, and Venegard's tread behind. The ground mist began to rise, wrapping tendrils of fog around their legs, clasping onto the hedges.

"I don't like this," said Venegard. "If we die, I blame you."

"Watch your stepping, necromancer."

The maze was made from black leaved hedges that rose twelve feet high, with narrow aisles leading east and west. The moonlight bathed everything pale silver, turning vision to black and white.

"It's pointless to split up," said Abdal. "Venegard, keep your eyes open and watch our backs."

"Is it me or does the ground feel somewhat... soft," said Venegard as a reply. It felt spongy and sank under his slight weight.

Abdal led the way east, Gunbai clinging to his broad shoulder with his clawed feet. Whether they were on the right path, Abdal did not know. He would have to hope they would not become trapped.

"Have we anything to mark our journey with in that valise?" said Abdal.

Venegard looked shocked that Abdal would even suggest such a thing. He clung to it like it was life.

"Do not play games, necromancer." Abdal took a pace towards Venegard and held out his hand. "If you do not wish to be lost, perhaps your cloak instead?"

Venegard loved his red cape.

"Use your shirt, damn your eyes," he replied.

"I'm your bloody captain," said Abdal.

"Not on land you aren't," replied Venegard.

"If you want to get back on my ship instead of being stranded on this devil island, do as I say. Your cloak, man. It is only cloth. I'd use my shirt – ah, or is that your game? You want to see my body, necromancer? They say men who spend time at sea sometimes succumb to such a thing."

Venegard's face went red. He shook his head, loosed his grip on the valise and unclipped the two silver skulls that fastened his cape to his shoulders.

"There," he said, rolling the cape in his hands. "Mutilate it. I expect compensation when we are next in civilisation. I want a red cape of the exact quality. Forncloth is hard to come by, you know?"

Abdal withdrew a small curved knife from his boot. The hilt caught Venegard's attention; it was decorated by resplendent jewels that sparkled in the moonlight, the hand itself modeled as a cobra. The gentle curving edge of the blade was sharp and sliced into the cape as though it were paper. Abdal worked at it for several minutes, cutting thin strips away that were caught by Gunbai.

"Place one in the hedge about shoulder height, Gunbai, use them wisely," said Abdal, as he tossed Venegard a torn cape.

"Wonderful," said Venegard. "Of all the times to stretch my legs. I should have stayed in my cabin."

Onwards they went, through the twisted, turning maze, Gunbai tucking in red strips of cloth into the wall at intervals. Abdal led the way, sword in hand, his eyes scanning the darkness, weary of the persistent fog that seemed to slow them. All sense of time escaped them.

"Abdal," whispered Venegard. "Look at the hedge."

Abdal turned and followed Venegard's outstretched hand. The red cloth Gunbai had recently placed into it was sinking into the maze wall.

"Damn!" shouted Abdal.

He pushed past Venegard, stormed to the hedge and reached for the cloth too late. It disappeared into the thick hedge.

"Have we lost the trail then," said Abdal.

"I noticed it once before," said Venegard, "but I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Evidently not. It looks like Herra does not wish us to escape this infernal maze."

"Curse you, Herra!" Abdal boomed.

Laughter followed his outburst, loud and echoing through the aisles. A faint breeze began to sweep across them, and the hedge leaves shuddered as though they were joining in the mirth.

"Not enjoying my maze?"

The voice was distorted, sexless but loud as a thunderstorm.

"Damn witch is enjoying this," said Abdal, gritting his teeth and pushing forward.

The wind grew stronger and stronger, blowing dust and dervish-dancing leaves at them as they moved onwards. It became laborious to walk, such was the strength of the wind against them. They did not stop, however, and with a forearm covering their eyes, pushed deeper and deeper, turning at forks until they came to stop in a broad forested glen. A lawn was in the middle and stretched out to occupy the shape of a rectangle, flanked by twisted, gnarled trees whose branches shivered in the wind. There was a wooden lodge at the far end, with a slanting, thatched roof where a stone chimney released a pillar of twirling, gray smoke, a flat-roofed porch extending from the entrance with a small lantern glowing amber in the darkness.

"Maybe it is the way out?" said Venegard, shrugging.

Abdal was doubtful, and judging by Venegard's weary glance, it was more like hope talking.

"We can but try," said Abdal. "Stay on guard."

Abdal paced forward cautiously, eyes flashing between the house, and the darkness by the thick trunks of the trees, and at the very hedges themselves. The wind dropped, which made him shiver and the door creaked slowly open.

"Hello?" called Abdal.

There was no response. The door remained open, revealing flickering orange light from a silver candelabrum. The white tall candles in the sockets dripped with wax. Abdal could see no figure in the hallway.

"There is something there," said Gunbai, his dagger-sharp wings poised for flight, a slight sprinkling of magic dust falling onto Abdal's shoulder.

"An excellent theory, Imp, considering something must have opened the door," said Venegard.

"Hello in there," Abdal shouted again.

He gave Venegard a glance, then set his focus on the hallway, pacing forwards with strong, wide strides until he reached the porch. The lantern light hurt his night adjusted eyes, but he pushed past into the hallway and felt the warmth wash over him.

Abdal looked to his right, for there was only a wall on his left. A passageway led towards a room without a door, where he could see a stone fireplace burning away.

"Hello," said a voice, "welcome to my home."

Twelve – The Unfortunate Hermit of the Maze

The room was broad and much larger than the lodge first appeared from outside. The stone fireplace cast dancing shadows across the red carpeted floor and the wooden walls. There was a large comfortable looking seat facing the fire. The rest of the room consisted of a long, rectangular table where a small meal sat unfinished, and a closed door to the west of the room cast in shadows.

"Do come in, make yourselves comfortable." Said a voice. It was shaky, but friendly enough and came from the seat facing the fire. Abdal could see someone was sat there. A similar seat sprang from thin air besides the other. Abdal stepped back and held the hilt of his sword. There would have been a time when he found seats appearing from thin air strange, but those days were long gone.

"Come, sit next to me a while."

"Is this another one of your tricks, Herra?" said Abdal.

"Ah, my boy, I assure you it is not. In fact, if you look closely, you might even recognise me."

Abdal stepped closer and stared at the old face. The man was gaunt and sported a gray beard that dangled from his chin and lay curled like a cat on his lap. The skin, highlighted by flickering flames, was leathery and weathered with age. Deep lines like crevasses littered his brow and cheeks, but his eyes remained bright and questing.

"You still don't recognise me... oh well, no matter, I wasn't with you long, though I thought I was some help at the Black Rock, what with shattering those awful globes and releasing that Daemon Que'lash upon your captors."

"Hamid's balls," muttered Abdal. "Hadi?"

"Yes, you do remember me then!"

Hadi nodded, coughed, and gestured the seat with an outstretched hand. Abdal stared at it a moment, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and watched the old wizard smile.

"I must offer my apologies, especially at that Tower with all those bats... terrible fear of flying things you see... had to get away, only I seemed to have teleported miles away, and when I came too, I realised I hadn't helped you in anyway. I hope no one died."

"Good men died that day," said Abdal. "But I have not thought on it for a long time. I had assumed you went over and down into the depths of the pit. What is this... teleported?"

"The ability to shift one's atoms to another place on the planet. Only, I can't recall how I managed it. It hadn't worked before, and not since. Perhaps it had nothing to do with my abilities at all... but someone else's. Someone who wanted me here for some reason or other that I've only recently figured out."

Abdal sat gently on the seat, and heard the footsteps of Venegard as he too, entered the room, Gunbai fluttering like a shimmering butterfly at his side.

"Abdal, what's going on?" asked Venegard.

"I do not know," replied Abdal, as he watched Hadi raise an unlit, curved wooden pipe into his mouth. The man snapped his fingers, a white spark flashed and a flame rose from his thumb. He placed it onto the weed, and began to toke, until the pipe began to smoke. "Hadi, what is this place, how did you come to be here?"

Hadi coughed roughly, his ancient body shivering, before he took another long drag. He closed his eyes, stared at the flames, and exhaled.

"A long story which began that day at Horde's Tower. I awoke on a ship, a pirate ship. They were going to feed me to the sharks, I recall, but my magic dissuaded them, and instead, I managed to get a job as the chef, seeing as the previous one had died of scurvy, which didn't bode well. How could the Captain let such a thing happen in the first place? Easily treatable condition by bringing along the right food. Never mind the small details. We came upon a storm that shook the very oceans to the depths. Huge waves formed, crashing down upon our ship," Hadi mimicked the waves with sweeps of his hands and arms, "washing men overboard like leftovers on a plate beneath a tap. It seemed to rage on forever." Abdal noticed the intense look in Hadi's eyes. "But it did not. When it had passed, and the day was calm, the survivors, including the Captain, Hashish, saw we were in a bad way. Our crew was down to thirteen. Just about enough to work the ship, if it wasn't wrecked.

"All was not lost, however, for we spotted an island upon the western horizon, at first nothing more than a gray speck. We thought it a godsend."

"The Island of Herra," said Abdal. "We too came upon this place after a storm, but passed through it relatively safely."

Hadi shrugged his shoulders.

"Good for you," he said. "But now you're stuck here as much as I. For I came upon the maze having defeated the rock giant's riddles. Some of the crew rushed off and disappeared at the very sight of the creature, but I stood my ground. They were fairly easy anyhow. But this maze... the mist obscures all direction, the walls conspire against one, stripping markers so that you walk around in circles. We soon became lost, and for many weeks we wandered. I even used my magic, but the hedgerows soaked up the flames as a sponge does water. Then came terrible death through starvation, and the thing that lurks in the maze. Until I alone was alive."

"The thing that lurks in the maze?" asked Abdal. "Tell me more about this creature."

Hadi appeared reluctant and took another toke from his pipe, taking the smoke deep into his lungs.

"I can't tell you much, only that it is large, black and moves like the very shadows."

"How come it has let you live so long?"

Hadi stretched out his arms and looked at the ceiling.

"I came across a small glen as I was chased through the maze by the beast. I fell here, then nothing but a lawn amidst the maze, and watched it halt at the entrance to the glen. It did not step into it. Judging it safe, I fell asleep, and awoke to find this hut had miraculously appeared. I have lived here ever since, alone."

"Have you not tried to escape?"

"I have been too afraid to leave this sanctuary. Herra has at least provided me with a home, food and drink to survive."

"I guess there's sympathy in a daemon's heart," said Venegard. "How... disappointing..."

Abdal stood from the seat deep in thought.

"There must be a way through the maze. Something we've all missed. You said someone wanted you here when you were whipped from Horde's Tower, that you have only recently figured out why you are here?"

"I'm here to help you, in some way," said Hadi. "The being that sent me was named Kadar, and seemed about as eccentric as myself."

"Kadar! Blast his soul. When did you see him... how so, when I saw him dissolve into mist in my very hands!"

"He spoke through the fire, as a voice from dagger sharp flames. Perhaps he built me this sanctuary. I do not truly know. You are tired and it is late. I have already prepared beds for you tonight. Both of you, though not for your odd, flying creature-"

"My name is Gunbai," said Gunbai, folding his arms.

"Please, rest a while. Make yourselves at home. After all, you might not see any other."

Venegard stepped close to Abdal.

"Can we trust him?" whispered Venegard. "He seems a little... unhinged."

"I know this man... or at least I did... maybe he speaks the truth."

"Or maybe it is another of Herra's games? Who knows what that creature is capable of?" replied Venegard, unable to keep his voice down.

Hadi coughed, reached for a gnarled old staff and stood slowly, clasping it firmly with one hand as he lowered the pipe from his mouth, smoke billowing out and floating gently to the ceiling.

"You've little choice. Believe what you will. I know I spoke the truth. Now... if you go through that door, you'll find your beds. Now, it's late for me and I've been waiting for you to arrive for quite a while... so if you'll excuse me."

He gave a low bow and shuffled back to his chair. The old man wrapped his faded red robes around his form, lowered his body into the chair, rested his staff by the wall next to the fire, smiled contently and closed his eyes.

"You sleep, master, I'll watch over you," said Gunbai, "for I do not tire the way you mortals do."

Abdal glanced at the sleeping form of Hadi, wondered at the design of the fates, and moved to the door, hand on the hilt of his sword. If this were a trick, he certainly would be ready to defend himself. Venegard watched uneasy from behind as Abdal opened the door. Amber light shimmered against the walls but the room was empty save for two bedrolls on the floor, accompanied by puffy pillows.

"Come," said Abdal, "it looks okay. Gunbai, wake us if anything comes."

Gunbai nodded.

"At least we get a chance to rest. It has been a long day. Fresh eyes and minds might win the day tomorrow," said Abdal as he nestled into the sheets and rested his head upon the pillow.

"Great," said Venegard. "You better not bugger off," he said, casting a stern glance towards Gunbai.

Gunbai shook his head, crossed his arms and sat cross legged in front of the door, his wings folded, tail poised in the air.

Thirteen – Flame Dreams and the Lair of the Shadow Beast

Abdal woke with a start, his senses unusually wide awake after sleep. The warmth from the fire washed over him and he found he was sat in the living room.

Abdal looked about the room, but there was only the walls. Every item in the room was gone, save the cackling fire and the seat. He could not rise from the chair for his limbs did not respond.

An intense burst loosed amber teardrops that scattered across Abdal's vision. He stared as they stopped mid-air, hung like frozen raindrops. Abdal focused on one drop, burning like a hot coal. It began to turn slowly, spinning like a child's toy and he noticed all of them were doing that, twirling like dervishes, drawing back together to create a burning image of red lines. A face began to appear, two bright eyes opened, a nose formed, then a mouth.

"Hello again," said the face.

The voice was instantly recognizable.

"Kadar!" Abdal exclaimed.

"Good to see you again," said Kadar. "Been a while... how are things?"

"You damned sorcerers," said Abdal. "Was it you who slew those I loved?" Abdal's question was asked through almost gritted teeth. "Just so you could send me on my way to get rid of these damned jewels!"

The fiery face flared like heated coals.

"If that is what you believe. I am sorry you think me capable of such an act."

"Since I was not given the luxury of your company for long, I do not know what you are capable of."

"I am sorry for your loss, they were dear to your heart, I know... but what happened was fate."

"What happened was murder! Do you think me a fool – that their deaths, followed by your visions of the New World was not of your design? Do not talk to me about fate. People do things, there is no such thing as coincidence. I have lost brothers and sisters by the score, my parents, two wives, four children, good friends. If this be destiny and fate, to hell with it!"

"Those jewels can be the end of the world, Abdal Rahiim. Do not forget your part in it. Let us brush past this tentative issue, for you have more pressing concerns to deal with than your hatred of me and those jewels. Herra is almost as old as myself. I knew her when she was young. A wild, mad thing the Old Ones wanted to punish and forget. The isle you are on is her prison, for she can not leave it."

"So Herra is a she?" said Abdal.

"Sparks your interest, does she now?" There was a mocking laughter that filled the cabin, echoing about as though Abdal was trapped in a broad cave. "Bah, forgive my eccentrics, an old spirit must chuckle now and then."

"What did she do to anger the Old Ones?"

"She stole the jewels you carry from the Altar of Ajunzihara. What a coincidence you ended up on her island, is it not?"

"You must have had something to do with the storm?" There was no reply. "Just like you had a hand in poor Hadi's position."

"Ah, he's fine... I've looked after him well, even built him a quiet sanctuary. Besides, he wasn't a socialite, and would most have likely died at Horde's Tower. In a way, I saved him."

Abdal snorted a retort.

"Saved him! You stuck him on an island, trapped in a maze, scared half to death by a shadow beast."

"We must all survive our tests. Hadi could have ended his life if he so chose. Or if he had courage, could have faced the shadow and escaped."

"What do you mean," asked Abdal.

The fiery face twirled, smoke rising from it like a tourbillion firework, the hot coals burning a red circle before Abdal's eyes.

"Why, the answer has been staring him in the face. The Shadow Beast is the way out."

"I do not understand. Hadi said it killed his comrades."

"Yes, I do not mean let it consume you, but it can be defeated. Its lair leads deep underground. There is no other way out but through there – underground!"

"How can we find the path to the lair?"

"The mist covers a thick root, like some giant, natural skirting board. Follow this and it should take you to what you seek. But beware, Abdal Rahiim, for the beast is very dangerous, and will mean to suck out your very soul if you give it a chance."

"How can it be killed?"

"You have the means at your disposal, Abdal. Trust your instincts."

The fireplace popped, but a wave of embers emerged, obscuring Abdal's vision. Kadar's face flared brightly, then became engulfed by the jet of fire. Then it came for Abdal.

Abdal woke, his legs kicking, his body jerking. Abdal's skin was moist with sweat, while his sheets were damp as from a fever. He could feel a slight wave of warmth heating his limbs, as though the embers from the fire still washed over him.

"Abdal, are you alright?" said Gunbai, his shimmering form skimming the floor as he made his way towards Abdal.

Abdal wiped sweat from his brow, noticed Venegard still slept, wrapped in his blanket and held out his arm as a perch for the Gjinn. Gunbai landed lightly on his arm, taking care not to dig his taloned feet into the skin of his master's arm. The magical creature's natural light bathed the area of his arm silver.

"Yes, Gunbai, I'm quite alright."

"You were stirring and speaking in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?"

"I suppose it was." Abdal felt disorientated. The lack of windows and the dark room did not reveal the time of day. "How long have I been asleep."

"Five of your mortal hours," said Gunbai, holding up both his hands to reveal the number on his little fingers.

Abdal stood up and stretched his arms.

"Stay and watch over Venegard," said Abdal, as he stepped around the prone necromancer. Venegard's chest slowly rose and fell with each of his deep breaths.

Abdal opened the door into the living room, not surprised by the flickering amber fire still cackling away, or by the standing figure leant against the twisted oak staff in his hands.

"The shadow beast can be killed," said Abdal.

Hadi nodded his head.

They crept as silently as possible through the narrow dark passages, the mist dancing slowly at their feet, the hedges whispering as though swept by wind even though the air was still. Abdal glanced up at the night sky, at the twin moons luminous glow flanked by a royal guard of twinkling stars. If there had ever been such a thing as home, or peace, it was long ago – all he had known was one danger followed by another – but he was not tired of it. He would not succumb to depression when there was still breath in his lungs. The calm of the night night sky soothed his heart.

"Abdal!" shouted Gunbai. He burst from the mist like a dolphin breaking the surface of the ocean, long tendrils of wispy smoke falling from his spread wings.

"What is it?" asked Abdal.

"There is a fork turning about fifty yards ahead. I think I've found that root you're after."

"Good work," said Abdal, moving forward.

He reached a wall and two roads, splitting east and west, their destinations shrouded in darkness and mist.

"Where is the root."

"It follows the western path," said Gunbai.

Abdal nodded, sank to his knees and dipped a hand into the mist by the hedge wall. Abdal's hand ran lightly across a rough, thick root. It led them a merry walk, through forking turns and darkness. Moonlight speared down and bathed their forms, washing the hedges pale silver.