Max Allan Collins

wind shifting the sands omi­nously, sun beating down without mercy—they were not aware of their seeming imminent success. Their prey, however, was aware of them: from a nearby dune, Mathayus—astride Hanna, the sorcer­ess sharing his saddle, riding behind him now, her arms wrapped around his midsection, her standof-fishness a memory—picked up on sounds, carried by wind. His keen senses were more finely honed than those of the thief, trudging along trying to ig­nore the blistering heat, while the woman seemed lost in her mystical musings. He wheeled the albino beast around and saw a cloud of dust—distant, but not so distant as to pose no threat.

Still, the Akkadian only smiled; in fact, he grinned. 'Thorak ...'

The horse thief turned, saw the gathering cloud of dust, and shook his head, with the weary resig­nation of the put-upon. 'What a surprise . .. how­ever could he have found us? ... Oh, yes, you left him that marker. ...'

'Yes, and the fool is walking right into danger.'

Arpid looked up at Mathayus as if questioning his fellow traveler's sanity. 'Oh, he is, is he?'

'Certainly.'

'How many men does he have, would you say?'

The assassin frowned at the distant dust cloud. 'Only a dozen, I'd say.'

'Ah. Only a dozen of the finest warriors of Mem­non's Red Guard. And there are three of us, includ­ing one woman and a sniveling coward....'

Mathayus shook his head. 'The fool is riding right into a storm.'

The sorceress was studying him with childlike curiosity. 'A storm?'

'Pardon me for saying,' the thief said, 'but, for­midable as you are, partner... you're no storm. You're just one man. A man among many, I grant you .. . but one man.'

The Akkadian grinned down at his scruffy com­panion, then he lifted his eyes away from the dust cloud Thorak and his men were raising, toward the opposite horizon.

Sighing, shaking his head, the thief muttered, 'This is, without a doubt, the worst fix you've gotten me into yet!'

And now Arpid looked up, his attention drawn to the direction in which the Akkadian was gazing, and grinning; what was that fool so happy about, any­way?

The thief's eyes took in that horizon, where he saw a dark brown shimmering fine, like a living thing, moving inexorably toward them.

'Perhaps I spoke to soon,' Arpid said, agape. 'I believe you have managed to outdo yourself, Ak­kadian—this is without a doubt the worst fix I've ever been in!'

'The day is young, thief,' Mathayus said, reining Hanna.

'Gods save us,' Cassandra said, eyes huge as she took in the ominous, gathering darkness, as if an impatient night had decided to rush in, hours early. 'It's a sandstorm!'

'And right on time,' the assassin said.

The sound was growing, a hollow, eerie roaring, like a hoarse scream.

'Ah, yes!' the thief said, throwing his hands in the air. 'Just what we needed! Who wouldn't want this? I was just thinking, if only we could have a sandstorm along about now....'

Mathayus looked pointedly at his partner. 'Fend for yourself, thief.' He glanced back at the sorceress, sharply. 'I must leave you here.'

The sorceress seemed struck by that thought. 'Leave me . . .