The falcons trailed the odor. Each pursued an arrow. They flew with the speed of wrath, soaring in wider spirals, in greater swiftness, assaulting the air, the howl of the wind behind them. Within a few palms of their quarries, they snapped back their wings. A flash of feathered lightning; they aimed their sharp claws and darted down.

The birds were fast, their aim accurate. The leaders of the enemy fought with their swords to fell the falcons. They staggered, let go of their blades. Their hands sprang to their eyes. Blood gushed from empty sockets. They fell from their horses. The earth was soaked crimson.

Claws loaded, the falcons soared back, tearing the air with their beaks. The wind gave way. Closed behind the birds. Propelled them onward. Each falcon released two offerings into the Shah’s palm. He placed the veined, gelatinous balls in a silver box and into his pocket. Trophies of war to present to Raven. The birds settled on his shoulders and arm.

Chaos erupted in the valley. A headless dragon, the enemy drowned in its own turmoil.

The Imperial Guards who surrounded Gold Dust raised their shields and thundered a cry of victory. Gold Dust flicked at the reins. She dug into the stallion. Charged past the guards toward the base of the mountain and the Shah. Hair flying, the breeze stinging her eyes, she strained to clear a path. She had not realized how far she was from the foot of the mountain. But she would manage. Her heart felt solid in her chest. Her hands were steady. Surveying the scene around her, she goaded Dor forward. So quick had been the advance that the Persians had suffered little. In the valley, the enemy scurried to amass their power and ready themselves for another attack. Useless. They would rise no more.

Her body slipped to one side. The saddle swayed. It seemed to slide from under her. Her heart fluttered. The ground shook. Rocks tumbled. She was losing her grip. She let go of the reins, pulled herself up, and grabbed the horse’s mane. She had not been prepared with powdered bezoar and hyacinth-stone to bear the putrid gasses. Her lungs would have burst if not for the soothing effect of essence of mint that infused the air.

Down below, the king was about to give his last signal. She knew every detail intimately. This would be the lethal blow. Where did the saddle go? She clung to Dor’s mane, her thighs gripping his panting flanks, his eyes two trembling blisters. Narcissus had checked her saddle. These things were not supposed to happen to the favorite. The animal’s mane cut into her palms. Her fingers were bleeding, losing their grip. The stallion was defeating her. Her bones felt hollow. Hopeless isolation replaced her marrow. She was alone among the Persians, towering mountains, the volcano. Not even the music of her bones. Only the thunder of her heart.

The king raised his sword.