Norath ignored him. In a growling whisper, he said. “Someone is trying to spy on us using the Power. We may have been betrayed. We have to catch him. We need to ask why he is here, waiting.” The sorcerer husked orders to the men, then to his beasts. Two parties of six men each moved out. Those who stayed began stringing horses and camels together so they could be managed more easily.

Megelin was livid. Not one of his lifeguards had looked to him for approval of the sorcerer’s orders.

That reckoning might come soon.

What had happened, anyway? Norath seemed stricken sick. He almost danced in his nervousness.

The sorcerer could not restrain himself. “You. You. Attaq. Come with me. The rest of you stay with the King. Keep the animals together.” He said something else in another language. The deathcats rumbled unhappily.

Norath moved off into the moonlight at his best speed.

The deathcats arrayed themselves defensively on Megelin’s side of the herd. The remaining lifeguards stationed themselves among the animals, to steady them up. They were one fright short of a stampede.

There were thirty-two horses and four camels. The King of Hammad al Nakir had to help control them as though he was a common soldier. Another mark against Magden Norath.

Megelin tried to talk to the men across the herd. The lifeguards had nothing to say. One unidentifiable voice told him to shut up. They had troubles enough already.

A shriek ripped the night. Megelin jumped. The cry stirred a deep, unreasoning dread.

Expectant silence followed. It lasted only seconds.

Shadows scurried past. Megelin first thought they were his lifeguards fleeing. Then one ragamuffin passed close enough to be recognized as a derelict.

The lifeguards swarmed out of the darkness seconds later. Some grabbed Megelin and hustled him forward. Others helped move the animals.

Magden Norath was not among them.

After Megelin had been herded more than a hundred yards, the nearest lifeguard panted, “The sorcerer is dead. His head was almost all the way off. We need to get you safe.”

Norath? Slain? Magden Norath? How could that be?

As the band streamed into the Sheyik’s compound Megelin heard the distant shriek of an injured deathcat.

Suddenly, Megelin was alone except for three lifeguards. Those three barely restrained their rage. They wanted to go hunt the monster who had murdered their god.

The Sheyik’s men took the animals. Others kept pushing Megelin toward safety. They took him to the Sheyik himself, an older, heavily bearded man Megelin knew and did not like. Hanba al-Medi had served both sides: the Disciple when the Faith was in full flood, then the Royalist cause after El Murid began to fade.

The old man was trembling, confused. He kept asking what the excitement was about and got no answers.

At that point there were no answers. The second in command of the lifeguards told Hanba, “There was an ambush. Someone knew we were coming. Four men are dead—including Magden Norath.”