He considered the family tales of his ancestor facing down a cult of assassins here with almost no help. Jim would take a fortress full of assassins over a mob of religious fanatics any day. The assassins might kill you and it would probably be swift, but these lunatics might slow roast him over a fire and eat him.

Finally, Jim could make out Belasco’s voice. “We are here to give blood and life to our master!”

As one the assembled mob chanted, “Hail, Dahun!”

Jim took an instinctive step back, glancing first to the right, then to the left. As he suspected, the crouching figures on the rocks surrounding this area were archers. He began sidestepping toward the closest boulder, a suddenly very distant-seeming twenty feet to his right.

With two rapid steps, Jim found a deep shadow beneath an overhanging rock. He had to crouch, which made doffing his robe more difficult, but in seconds he was almost invisible within the tiny pool of darkness. He reached back and from behind his neck pulled up a concealing hood that left only his eyes exposed. The material he wore was dull black, as were the blackened metal fastenings. He gripped his dagger and waited.

Belasco shouted, “Rejoice! Know your sacrifice brings us closer to our master’s appearance!”

At that, the archers crouching in the rocks rose up and began firing at the gathered worshippers. Most stood stunned as those next to them fell. The eeriest aspect to Jim was the silence. A muffled exhalation of breath, or a faint grunt of pain, but no one screamed or cried out. With the wind whipping up dust, Jim could only catch glimpses of faces and none showed any fear.

They stood like sheep at a shearing, waiting until a bow shaft found its mark.

Jim needed to see no more. He scooted along under the rock and slipped behind it, circling around until he was behind the archer perched on the rock above where he had hidden. There was a small gap of ten feet of open ground he needed to cross to reach the next hiding place and he didn’t hesitate. All eyes were on those worshippers falling around Belasco’s feet and Jim knew that in a moment they would be dead and someone would be checking to see if anyone survived. He was determined to be as far away as possible before that moment.

Jim reached the second shadow and glanced around. Seeing no one nearby, he sprinted across a dozen yards of open space. An opening between two large rocks marked the entrance to a game trail that led down a short incline to the old caravan route to Durban. The eerie sound of the desert wind deepened Jim’s apprehension as he half ran, half stumbled down the trail.