Max Allan Collins

'And once he has her,' Mathayus said, 'and her powers of vision... he will come here, more swiftly, more deadly, than ever before.'

Mathayus withdrew the threat from the king's throat, turning to the crowd, addressing them in a loud, strong voice.

'Memnon will stop at nothing!' He prowled the open area, staff in hand. 'Hide here as long as you can, but hear me when I say that he will find you . .. unless he is stopped. If not... he will sweep across this land like a terrible sickness, and wipe out all of you!'

A deep laugh rumbled from the Nubian king's chest. 'And who will stop him, Akkadian?'

Mathayus turned to Balthazar, an eyebrow cocked.

'Will you stand alone before the fury of his ar­mies?' the king asked, laughter replaced by a som­ber timbre.

Without hesitation, Mathayus gazed directly at Balthazar and said, 'Yes.'

The refugee camp around him looked on in awed silence. Cassandra felt a chill—a voice within her said she had just witnessed the birth of a king.

And even Balthazar seemed to regard the Akka­dian in a new light; after all, no warrior had ever before fought the giant to a standstill.

The Nubian king heaved a sigh, having been granted his life, now granting a small concession. 'One night's sanctuary ... and then pray to the gods, Akkadian, that our paths never cross again.'

And the king disappeared back within his tent, as the guards fell away, and Mathayus and his party joined the rest of the assembled tribes. As bandits, these people had raided and stung Memnon; but now, among them, they knew . .. one braver than themselves had proclaimed himself ready to face the warlord and all his minions, alone if need be.

When night's purple star-studded cloak fell across the open-air cliffbound chamber, music echoed across the campfires, flutes and drums, percussive yet melodic, primitive yet civilized. An atmosphere of goodwill—or at least better will—accompanied nightfall, the enmity of the clash between their king and the Akkadian having muted into a truce, any­way, if not quite an alliance.

The visitors had been provided a tent, and Cas­sandra was strolling toward it, enjoying the music, the camaraderie; she paused at a cooking fire where a congenial group had gathered, roasting three pigs on one long skewer. The little horse thief was among them, having made friends, and currently was arm-wrestling one of Queen Isis's fierce yet beautiful woman warriors. The queen herself was looking on, rooting for her soldier, while the eccentric scientist sat cheering Arpid on. The camel, Hanna, was nearby, grazing at a feed bag, not terribly interested. No sign of Mathayus, though.

Philos was saying, 'Leverage, my boy! Leverage! It's not just strength, it's science, too....'

And with that, Arpid's fist was slammed to the tabletop by the laughing female. Philos shook his head and chuckled, as the thief flexed his sore hand, saying, 'A gentlemen always allows a lady to win.' Then, to the lovely warrior, he asked optimistically, 'Best two out of three?'

Smiling at the little thief's antics, Cassandra strolled on. She was perhaps halfway to the tent when a child of four or five scampered up to her, and tugged at her sleeve.

She looked down, where he was gazing up ador­ingly with big dark eyes, offering her dates from a bowl, and wondered if she had ever seen a more adorable child.

She smiled and accepted the gift, then tousled the boy's hair. For a moment, she was not a lady oracle, just a woman, a young woman, thinking about mar-riage and children of her own ... half Akkadian, perhaps...

But as she touched the boy, her fingers in his scalp, a vision seized her ...