Max Allan Collins

'The Akkadian—what of the Akkadian?'

'The battlefield is deserted,' Arpid said, with a shrug. 'It's as if the sandstorm grabbed them up and cast them away, to some distant place.'

'We must look,' she said firmly. 'We must search.'

'Of course,' he said, agreeing, feeling a strange emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Did he feel some emotion about that damned Akkadian? The bastard had treated him poorly, Arpid only hanging around him for protection's sake.

So why did he feel worried? Sad? Experiencing such emotions, where another person was con­cerned, was new to the thief, and as such the sen­sation was disconcerting.

The sorceress and the thief walked the battlefield, which on closer examination was not so empty, after all: half a dozen half-buried bodies presented them­selves. They walked carefully, gingerly, through this instantaneous graveyard. Then, suddenly, the sand shifted before them!

A horse emerged from out of a small dune, and reared up, whinnying; this prompted another horse to do the same, and another, unburying themselves. The men had perished, but their steeds, many of them, had survived.

'We'll have mounts, at least,' the thief told the woman.

Another small dune dissolved itself as yet another beast rose out of the sand: Hanna!

Arpid ran to the mount; hard to believe he was

actually pleased to see the fleabag ... but he was,

he was__

Cassandra, at Arpid's side as he held the camel by its reins, said, 'No sign of her master.'

'He has to be here somewhere,' Arpid said. 'At least, his body does. ...'

She frowned. 'I don't sense him dead. Keep look­ing.'

Arpid gazed up at the camel. 'Why don't you help? Where is he, old girl? Where's your master?'

Hanna bellowed impatiently, and they realized, all at once, that the beast was standing next to a rounded hump of sand. They watched, astounded, as a shape rose, sand pouring off him, a battered, bloodied, bruised warrior emerging. ...

Mathayus.

Arpid and Cassandra exchanged wide-eyed, de­lighted expressions.

As the Akkadian stepped away from his burial site, another warrior revealed himself, interred be­low him: wide-eyed in death, Thorak himself.

'For an ugly brute,' Arpid said, 'he makes a pretty sight.'

Mathayus had gone to the woman. 'Are you all right? Are you hurt? Did they ... ?'

'No,' she said. 'I'm ... untouched.'

And the sorceress was struck by his concern, the depth of feeling in the dark eyes of the assassin. Had he gone through all of this because of his mission? For gain, for vengeance?

Or simply to save her?

'I'm fine, thanks,' Arpid said to the Akkadian, who had not spoken to him. 'Really appreciate your concern.'

Cassandra was looking at Mathayus carefully— he seemed unsteady. 'Are you ... ?'

'I am well,' he said.

Then she noticed the arrow,