Max Allan Collins

tackled two of the sol­diers, taking them down, scimitar slashing, flashing, the dagger in his other hand doing the same.

Then he disappeared, only to emerge here, and there, blades in both hands flashing, three warriors going down at once under the onslaught of steel, bodies dropping away into a wall of swallowing sand that offered the fresh corpses instant burial. The screams of slaughter were otherworldly as Ma­thayus and the storm became one, delivering their brutal sentences of death with simultaneous dearth of mercy.

Thorak—for all his courage no less a victim of the stinging sand, all but blinded now—spun his horse in rage, his battle-ax in hand, his frustration unbearable as around him the bloodcurdling cries of his men melded with the shrieking wind. He spurred his steed and rode toward the screams.

And then appearing before him, as if the sand parted to reveal him just for Thorak, stood the Ak­kadian, scimitar slicing another brave man to an un­dignified death. Thorak bore down on him, charged him, swinging the battle-ax in a blow the assassin could surely not have seen coming.

But the Akkadian sensed him, and spun, answer­ing steel with steel. They flailed away at each other, the warrior on horseback, the barbarian on the ground, Mathayus like a force of nature, cutting and ripping, rivaling the whirlwind around them.

Yet somehow the scarred-faced commander held his own—due in part to the advantage of horseback— and battle-ax clanged against scimitar, every blow met, every parry responded to with skill and precision. Worthy warriors, they might well have ad­mired each other's skills, if they had not been so busy trying to kill each other.

Thorak saw an opening, took it, and Mathayus anticipated the move, knocking the battle-ax from the warrior's grasp, and thrust forward, with massive force that pierced the man's leather armor.

Pummeled by sand, lanced with pain, Thorak tumbled from his horse, and fell to the shifting ground, dying. The Akkadian turned away, looking for new victims; but Thorak still had seconds to live, and he used them....

Memnon's most trusted adviser of war took his last moments to withdraw an arrow, a certain arrow, from its quiver, removing the leather covering that shielded its tip. And using the arrow like a knife, he stabbed upward, catching the Akkadian in the thigh.

The assassin winced in pain, and dropped to his knees, as if in prayer. Around them the only sound was the screaming sand—the red-turbaned guard all lay dead, most of them already half-buried.

Thorak's last sight was that of the wounded Ak­kadian—perhaps they would continue this duel in the underworld—and then the sandstorm consumed them all.

Before long, the wind of sand had moved on, leav­ing the desert's tan skin to shift under a more gentle breeze, whose fingers drew meaningless pictures and patterns on the restless dunes. The field of battle lay still as the death the sands covered; it was as if no one had ever been here—that, minutes before, a fu­rious clash had taken place at this site seemed an impossibility.

Nearby, where the Akkadian had left his com­panions to wait for the outcome, the sands seemed similarly empty of life. Then fingers began to pro­trude from the dune's surface, like a corpse rising from its grave. A single eye blinked open, the rest of the face it belonged to covered by the sand.

The horse thief sat up, amazed and delighted to be alive, and took some time brushing himself off, before giving any thought to either of his compan­ions. He stood at the highest point of the dune and shielded his eyes from the sun with the side of his hand, surveying the battlefield.

A female voice said, 'Arpid ...'

He turned toward the sound, suddenly remem­bering the sorceress, who was coughing, saying, 'Help me ... please,' half-buried in the sand, the blanket Mathayus had provided her having long since blown away.

Actually feeling a little guilty about forgetting her, the thief ran to the woman, helped her up; it took her a moment to get her feet steady under her.

Then, alarm and concern coloring her voice, she asked,