'Mush-mouthed lies. Pap,' sneered Pallaton. 'Coramshan seeks to conquer all of Calimshan. Zubat is the first stepping-stone in their path, but rather than fight like men, Zubat flops on her back and lifts her skirts for the almighty Bullies of Bhaelros-'
'Excuse me, I'm still hungry.'
Amenstar rose from her throne and pushed between the quarrelers, who didn't notice. Gheqet and Tafir slipped behind her. Star wasn't hungry, but her male friends piled their plates high for a second round. Hovering courtiers paid Star compliments, but she made only vague answers and watched the argument escalate.
Mouth full, Gheqet offered, 'Neither samir seems to really care about his people. They seem more interested in banging heads and increasing their personal power.'
'Same way in the army,' Tafir mumbled as he munched squid. 'Politics never change.'
'Politics bore me,' huffed Amenstar. 'Look at those two. They're supposed to court me, and instead they bluster like puffed-up gamecocks.'
'They'll duel soon,' chuckled Gheqet, 'then you'll only have one choice for a husband.'
'My husband would need to stay close and have a sense of humor.' Star studied the two princes, who now shouted in each other's face and added, 'I wonder if they qualify…'
'What are you doing?' asked her two friends.
With a wicked leer, the princess grabbed a honey roll from Gheqet's plate. Taking aim, she pegged it at the two princes and laughed as it bounced off Pallaton's shoulder wing. Startled, the samir jumped back from his enemy. Both princes goggled at Amenstar, who returned a gay wave.
'Are you mad?' asked Gheqet.
'No, I'm… politically savvy,' giggled Star. 'I was told to keep the two princes apart. Besides, it's my party, so join in!'
Grabbing a spiral-sliced orange, Amenstar lobbed it at Nagid, but missed and splattered one of his retainers. Tafir chucked a stuffed peacock egg that exploded amidst Pallaton's grumbly soldiers. Gheqet skipped an oyster shell that ricocheted into Nagid's knee. The music faltered, and a stunned silence fell.
'Then again…' Amenstar stood very still, trying to shrink from sight. Perhaps if she apologized for her rash act-
A glob of red sugared ice whisked overhead. It bombed a pair of aged diplomats in gray and gold. People gasped, but the elder dame, an old hand at diplomacy, stood, snatched up a stuffed crab, and winged it across the room.
Someone roared. An almond cake zipped past Tafir's ear. A lamb chop smacked a man to Star's left. Shrills and laughter exploded from a distant table as every occupant rose, dug their hands into their plates and hurled the lot. Within seconds, the air was full of flying food.
Star shrieked with laugher as she dodged a smoked duck. Gheqet slung a handful of rice and caught a melon rind with his forehead. Let off the leash, Tafir hurled a mountain of pineapple and cherries into the air like a volcano. People screamed, laughed, shouted, and called names as they grabbed whatever they could and threw it. A few cowards scurried to the walls, a few servers tried to block the deluge, but most guests just pitched in and pitched. The fabled Palace of the Phoneix was upended like a market in a hurricane.
Star was splatted by an octopus, splashed with gravy, pelted with olives. Her friends fared the same, and she shrieked with laughter at their food-smeared faces.
'See?' Star howled. 'Politics can be fun!'
7
The Year of the Gauntlet
In the depths below the city, the mummy found itself trapped.
There was no exit from the tiny room holding the sarcophagus. Bricks, sloppily laid by inexpert hands, sealed the chamber.
Lying in a trance for centuries, with its body neither living nor dying, the mummy's powers had increased, as an oak tree grows larger and stronger century by century. Laying hands against the bricks, the mummy flexed fingers harder than granite. Dried clay crumbled like old leaves. Lashing out, the mummy smashed both fists through the brick wall. Rending, tugging, shattering bricks and mortar, the mummy tore away the upper wall, then kicked the remaining bricks into powder.
Shuffling forward, the mummy escaped its tomb of the ages.
And stopped.
Dimly it recalled these corridors, last seen ages ago. Sifting memory, like recapturing ancient dreams, the mummy remembered its purpose, the task for which it was created, and who had given it this dark and twisted unlife that burned in its brain and bones like a poisonous fog.
Along with the imperious commands of its long-lost masters, the mummy recalled ever more. Odd thoughts skittered through its shriveled brain, like ghosts shrieking through an empty house, like snakes infesting a skull, like spiders spinning a web in a dead man's helmet.
Yet the pull of duty overwhelmed these distracting thoughts. The creature hadn't been created to think, but to act, to protect.
Slowly, the creature turned, head craned upward on a stiff neck from which dust trickled. It knew why it had awakened. Attuned to the ancient and almost silent heartbeat of Cursrah, the mummy's revival had been triggered by the city's unearthing. Far above, rods and rods distant, the undead guardian sensed that human feet desecrated the palace flagstones.
The mummy's irrevocable duty, pressed upon it for thousands of years, was to protect the palace's lowest level-and the greatest treasure Cursrah could boast. Invaders venturing into the palace would travel downward, as surely as water ran down a drain, and eventually reach this lowermost cellar. The mummy's duty was clear: to lure intruders, to punish them, and to snuff out their lives.
Rotted rags parted as the mummy raised withered arms. Imbued with the ancient powers of Cursrah's necromancers, the mummy sent magical vibrations echoing through the ether, wafting upward, seeking out the intruders, and plumbing the deepest reaches of their unconscious minds, luring them down, down. Unseen, unheard, the summoning spell sparkled in the crystalline desert air. The mummy dropped its arms, knowing the charm had taken.
Neither alive nor dead, the mummy scuffled along the corridor. At first it lurched and shambled, having not walked for centuries. Tottering, occasionally bouncing off a stone wall or thumping against a lintel, the bandaged creature plowed on. With every step it grew stronger, more capable, more sure. Doggedly, with the patience of eons, it shambled toward its goal: the place holding Cursrah's greatest treasure. It went to set a trap for the intruders.
'We must descend into the ruins,' announced Amber, 'all the way to the bottom.'
'What?' asked Hakiim and Reiver.
Revived, the two men clawed sand from their eyes and faces. In awe, they stared at the newly exposed city basking in lustrous moonlight. All three kept turning to scan the miles of valley bottom, as if expecting it to suddenly disappear, and they spoke in hushed tones, as if ghosts might overhear.
'Well, of course, we might find treasure,' offered Reiver, 'or we might not. Those few coins may've leaked from someone's purse-'
'The greatest treasure lies in the bottommost cellar.'
Amber stared at the pink-white marble floor as if she could see through it like harbor water. Disturbed by her odd assertions, Reiver and Hakiim looked at one another.
Casually, Reiver hedged, 'True, anyone with sense would bury the best goods the deepest, but the deeper you go, the less the tunnels can be trusted. The weight adds up, and if they haven't collapsed already-'
'There's danger exploring too deep,' Hakiim interjected.
'It doesn't matter,' replied Amber. 'There's something we need down there. Something unique to this city and its past, something wondrous. There's someone down there, too. Someone in distress, or lost, or-I don't know
