Max Allan Collins

Philos took the bag he'd confiscated from Arpid, and—as this was the last one—used a knife to slice the top of it off, and began to lay his own fuse trail ... back to the pile of sacks they'd arranged down the corridor.

Finished, Philos viewed his handiwork with some pride; but he was nonetheless anxious. 'Come on, thief. I only hope we're not too late.'

And Philos headed off, and Arpid hurried after him.

Neither of them noticed that the thief's sandal had cut through the powder trail, severing it.

In the throne room, the alarm bells had finally stopped, but the battle raged on.

Wielding his two swords, Lord Memnon pressed his attack on the Akkadian. Both men were skilled warriors, fueled by hatred of each other, and they traded the advantage regularly, their swords flying in expert onslaught, sparks flying from the colliding blades.

Cassandra, free of the snake—where had it gone?—surreptitiously helped the Akkadian's cause in two key ways, neither of which Memnon—busy with battle—noticed. First, she barred the throne-room doors, to keep this fight limited to just the two men. Second, she slipped a slender, filigree-adorned sword from a wall, and held it behind her, as she attempted to position herself behind Memnon ... though as energetic as the duel was, that position was ever changing.

But her hope was to drive that sword into the warlord's back, and change the future, defying her prophecy....

Outside the palace, Queen Isis knelt before two un­common commoners, helping Philos and Arpid up out of the grate.

'It is finally done,' the scientist told her. Looking around, at the warrior women posted on the palace steps, flame-lamps on the upper landing casting flut­tering shadows in the cool breeze off the desert, the scientist noted the Nubian's absence.

'When your powder did not go off as planned,' the queen said, 'Balthazar entered the palace to help Mathayus.'

'Why, that palace crawls with Red Guards!'

'Yes ... but do not underestimate our friend.' And the queen nodded toward the shadowy area, along the outer wall, where the ten dead guards, slain by Balthazar, slept the sleep from which one never wakes.

Always taken aback by such carnage, nonetheless the scientist said, 'Well, he is a remarkable fellow, at that.' And Philos withdrew from under his robe a small hourglass, turning it over.

As the sand began to trickle down the narrow throat of the glass, Philos said, 'When this runs out ... more or less ... we should have a considerable distraction.'

Isis sighed, looking toward the palace. 'They can use the help.'

The scientist nodded. 'Come on, boys,' he said to himself, speaking to the absent Mathayus and Balthazar. 'Time is running out....'

Which, in the hourglass, it was.

But in the halls where the bags of powder had been set, the fire was out. No rush at all.

Cassandra and her blade could not seem to get be­hind the the hated Memnon, but Mathayus likely would make her efforts immaterial. The Akkadian had the upper hand now, his mighty scimitar forcing Memnon back against a massive golden six-foot-tall statue of a ram, which regarded the contest with dis­interest from the periphery.

Then something crashed against the doors to the throne room, a resounding whump, as men beyond tried to knock them open, possibly with a battering ram.

As they traded blows, Memnon—despite his in­ferior position at the moment, hearing his men at the door—grinned wolfishly at his opponent. 'A noble effort, Akkadian... but my palace guards are the fiercest warriors alive.'