Max Allan Collins

Thorak.”

“Finally,” Memnon said, with a sigh of satisfaction.  “The Akkadian is dead. . . .”

But the warlord soon realized he was looking at Thorak’s insignia – his blood-spattered insignia – and nothing else.  Rage and even a kind of sadness rose in him – the scarred warrior had been at his right hand for many years, and now the Akkadian had slain him, and sent this taunting message.

Crushing the bloody amulet in a powerful hand, Memnon stood lost in thought for long moments, before General Toran stepped forward.

“My lord,” he said.  “Is something wrong?”

The warlord banished the emotions from himself, and glanced impassively at his generals; he even summoned a small smile.  “No – quite the opposite.  All is in order.”

The generals exchanged glances.

'And I think, gentlemen,' Memnon said, 'this meeting is at an end.'

The generals half bowed and were making their way across the throne room, toward the doors, when Toran stopped and turned, the other men halting as well, though their expressions were tentative.

With a boldness none of them had ever before dared, General Toran said, 'My lord, it is customary for the seer to attend these meetings. We all know how valuable her council has been.'

Takmet paused in his pacing to look tellingly Memnon's way.

'Why,' the general was brazenly asking, 'is the sorceress not with us tonight?'

Around him, the other generals were nodding their heads.

Memnon, hiding his anger at this affront, said only, 'She is indisposed.'

The generals again exchanged anxious glances, and Toran asked, the suspicion obvious in his voice, 'Nothing ... serious, I hope?'

Memnon smiled, though his eyes were hard. 'If it was serious, you would be informed.. .. Are you not my most trusted advisers of war?'

General Toran again half bowed. 'Yes, my lord.'

And the other generals did and said the same, and went out.

With a growl of fury, Memnon swept the maps from his table and hurled the wadded-up leather in­signia at Takmet, who flinched.

The wispily bearded adviser said, 'I said nothing! I revealed nothing!'

'Would that I could trade your worthless life for Thorak's,' the warlord said bitterly. 'Go! Leave me.

And Takmet, who for all his faults was no fool, did as he was told.

That night, in the surprising coolness of the sunless desert, under the purple star-tossed sky, the full moon touching the sands with a chalky ivory, the horse thief Arpid found himself in the unusual po­sition of taking charge of their little camp. He built a fire, as the Akkadian lay shaking under a blanket, lost in fever's labyrinthian halls, beads of perspira­tion jeweling his copper-hued flesh.

Kneeling beside the assassin, the sorceress tended his wound, cleansing it with water from a goatskin pouch, bandaging it with cloth torn from the scarf­like bedouin robes she wore. Mathayus mumbled in his delirium, with only the occasional word compre­hensible—but among them were 'Memnon' and 'Cassandra.'