Amber remembered the garrote chain hanging from his hand and asked, 'Did you kill her?'
Without turning, the thief countered, 'Did you kill those two?'
'Uh, I don't know.'
'The same.'
Reiver would say no more.
Torches flared throughout the tunnels, islands of light marking turning points in long corridors of gloom.
The White Flame had ordered torches erected at intersections to better hunt treasure, a sign of good organization, yet moneylust had wiped away discipline. Alone or in pairs, bandits fanned throughout the tunnels to tap walls, probe cracks, and ferret out niches. Amber, Hakiim, and Reiver were free to risk their necks picking past the danger spots. They had two advantages because they'd been here before, and Amber possessed a mental picture of the tunnels being used long ago. Yet to avoid raiders, they had to double back and retrace seeming miles of passage. Reiver kept scouting ahead, disappearing more than half the time. Still, they had descended to near the lowest levels before they were spotted.
Two bandits looked their way, dismissed them as comrades in desert robes, then looked again and came trotting.
'Go,' hissed Amber.
Skipping, she drew up the rear, keeping a hand on Hakiim's back, and pushing not a little. Tramping into light, they rounded a corner that looked familiar and suggested danger. Hakiim suddenly stalled and Amber plowed into him.
Hakiim gargled, 'Gluefloor!'
By the light of a sconced torch, Amber saw the tiny bones of rats and snakes gleaming before Hakiim's dusty toes. If they'd been any hastier…
'Hak, get across on the stepping-stones,' Amber said. 'I've got an idea.'
'Where's Reiver, curse his eyes?' Clutching the wall, Hakiim paced across the bricks they'd laid to one side saying, 'He's usually not away from us this long.'
'Probably picking a mummy's pocket,' Amber said, stepping gingerly over the staggered bricks.
She intended that to be a joke, but the memory of the undead creature waiting in the depths made her shiver, even more now that she knew it was one of her friends, or an ancient counterpart. How had Gheqet or Tafir been made a mummy? Why? How did they all die? Amber's stomach churned for worry about the three friends, though they'd been dead for centuries-or weren't yet, in the mummy's case. Still… no, it was too confusing, so Amber shook it from her mind.
Hopping off the last brick, Amber shoved Hakiim and said, 'Get out of sight and wait.'
Thankfully he didn't question but skipped into darkness. Just past the dark, glossy patch, Amber dropped to one knee as if she'd fallen. Capture noose under one hand, she peeked behind under her armpit.
The two bandits still pursued. Seasoned outlaws, they didn't bumble down the corridor's center, but slipped around the corner in single file, silent as shadows. Their scimitars were sheathed to keep two hands free, but now each pulled a crook-bladed jambiya. The man and woman split, one leaping across to hug the other wall. Seeing their quarry down and struggling to rise, they never noticed the wet-shiny floor but launched themselves before Amber could escape.
Half skipping, the woman planted a sandal, felt it snag as if in tar, put down her other foot and stuck. Losing her balance, she jerked one foot from a trapped sandal, then slapped her bare sole on the magic glue and stuck permanently.
The man fared worse. Lunging, he stubbed both toes, stuck, and crashed on elbows and knees. Mostly his clothing and dagger caught, but his left hand smacked so his palm held fast. Cursing, he yanked and tore skin. Pain froze him, then fear dawned as he realized his dilemma.
Amber jogged to catch Hakiim, but he threw out an arm to block her.
Ahead, Reiver talked to a stranger at a torchlit intersection, or rather, listened. The thief slouched with slack hands. Before him stood a squat, almost hunchbacked man with rags strung across his shoulders and hips. His skin was ruddy as a sunset, his nose a square blob, his hair grizzled. He spoke low, so the friends couldn't hear, but familiarly, resting a grubby hand on Reiver's shoulder.
'Who's that?' asked Hakiim.
'I've no idea,' said Amber. 'Some thief Reiver knows from town?'
'More like a ragpicker, and he couldn't have walked all the way from Memnon. He's got no waterskin… or anything else.' The three wayfarers were hung like peddlers with packs and water bags and weapons, but the stunted man had nothing.
Amber peeked behind to see if the White Flame's cutthroats followed and asked Hakiim, 'What shall we-'
Reiver spotted them and waved a hand. 'Hoy.' he called, 'come hither.'
Reluctantly, the two friends joined the thief. Reiver blinked owlishly, as if drunk, and grinned, 'Meet my new friend.'
'New?' Amber wrinkled her pointed nose. Up close, the stranger stunk like a dog kennel, rank as the ogres. He didn't look friendly. Crooked teeth champed side to side, and baleful brown eyes bored into Amber's soul.
'What's his, uh, your friend's name?' Hakiim hung back.
'Name?' Reiver goggled like an idiot. 'Uh, he doesn't…'
Amber found herself staring, unable to pull her eyes from the stranger. The eyes grew bigger, filling her vision, big as desert suns pouring on her head, and just as hot. Those eyes drilled into her mind, making her thoughts grow fuzzy.
'Reive!' yelped Hakiim.
Amber jolted. Reiver collapsed, blacked out. Hakiim lowered the thief to the floor, calling his name. Shaking her head, Amber found her shoulder trapped, for the squat stranger clutched it with dirty nails. Up close, his eyes blurred, hypnotizing-
'Witching!' Amber bleated.
A snarl answered as the stranger batted Amber's face and knocked her against the wall. Stunned, she slid in a heap. Her capture noose clattered on stone. The striking hand was half a paw, she noted, same as the mongrel- man's. Blunt claws had raked her ear and jaw, but they bled without pain in her half-dreaming stupor. Slumped on the cold floor, she saw the squat man hunch over, ready to drop to all fours. Red-roan hair sprouted from his shoulders, his blunt nose turned black, his ears elongated.
Like a jackal, Amber observed in a daze. It was not surprising. Cheetahs and vultures had spiraled into the valley, so why not jackals? The explorers had heard gobbling barks, yet this jackal walked upright like a man.
What was the old adage? 'As with men, so with animals.' Old ghost stories around campfires recalled lycanthropic curses where men became jackals, called werejackals. There must exist jackals who assumed the shape of men… jackalweres.
'Get back, you,' Hakiim commanded.
His hands full tending Reiver, Hakiim fumbled for his scimitar. Animal-quick, the jackalwere lunged. Clawed paws stabbed for Hakiim's face while bristling jaws snapped for his wrist. Hakiim screamed as teeth crunched flesh and bone. He fell, the monster scrabbling atop to tear out his throat.
Weeping silently, too foggy to move-was she mesmerized or concussed? — Amber flailed for her capture staff and didn't even come close. Trying to rise, she toppled over. Through drooping eyelids she saw Hakiim kick ineffectually, but the jackalwere clung, perhaps already gulping his life's blood from a severed throat. From the shadows sprang three more hunchbacks. Jackals always hunted in packs.
This was the end, she thought numbly, killed and shredded in a buried tunnel in a lost valley. Their families would never know their fate, and Amber would never learn the mummy's secret. Fat, salty tears stung her eyes and her gashed cheek. Crying was the only action she could muster.
The three new jackalweres froze and stared at Amber. What did they see? She was no threat, helpless and easily killed. She realized the lycanthropes looked beyond her, down the tunnel.
A sizzle in the air ended in a double thop-thopl as twin crossbow bolts buried in two jackals' midriffs. One fiend mewed like a kitten and clawed the feathered quarrel. The other keeled over and kicked a leg. The lead jackal jerked up its muzzle, so Hakiim's blood glistened in torchlight. The brute scrambled off its victim, skipped to run, but
