The Scorpion pulled himself up the ladder. He paused at the top for a second. What if he was too late? In a single movement, he yanked the dead Arab down and dodged sideways. As the body hurtled down, the Scorpion sprang up on to the roof of the turret, his heart pounding.

The three men froze like figures in an improbable tableau.

Prince Abdul Sa’ad stood in the center of the turret, a scimitar held high above his head. His face was dark with rage. The long curved blade glittering like ice in the brilliant sunlight. At his feet knelt the half-naked figure of the king, his torn white thaub hanging from his waist like a skirt. His hands were bound behind him, the fingertips red and bleeding from where his fingernails had been ripped away. It was an execution, the Scorpion realized. Another second and he would have been too late.

The prince seemed to be standing in space, the small platform surrounded by the immense blue sky. Far below, from the crenellated parapet around the rim of the tower, the battle could be seen raging among the ruins, jagged as a lava field. The ancient tower swayed with the explosions like a tree in a summer storm.

Abdul Sa’ad’s eyes glittered murderously as a snake’s.

“Who dares …” Abdul Sa’ad hissed and the Scorpion realized that he was utterly insane.

“You know who I am, O Prince of the Destroying Flame,” the Scorpion replied, his eyes narrowed to slits against the blinding sky glare.

“You are too late, O Scorpion who was dead and now is spewed up from Hell. Thy sting cannot harm the Mahdi, the Chosen of Allah. Now all the nations shall see his sword outstretched in glory, shining like the Night of the Qadr,” intoned Abdul Sa’ad, his eyes fixed upward.

“No, by the Dawn and the Ten Nights. Your armies are scattered like the evil tribes of Aad and Thamoud,” the Scorpion said.

“Too late,” howled Abdul Sa’ad beginning to slash down with the scimitar at his brother’s bared neck.

The Colt bucked in the Scorpion’s hand as he fired. The bullet caught Abdul Sa’ad in the temple. The sword clattered on the hot stone slate. Abdul Sa’ad collapsed over the kneeling king. As King Salim straightened up, Abdul Sa’ad rolled face down on the roof.

With a slash of the khanjar, the Scorpion freed the king’s hands. Together, they shakily rose to their feet. Salim looked sadly down at Abdul Sa’ad’s body. He sighed as only an Arab can sigh, from the very depths of his soul.