Gebrem looked as though he were still in Almovaar’s bleak fastness. The hot wind had left the braids of his hair askew, even though only his spirit had been away, not his body. His eyes were red, as though tiny granules of sand still stung them. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like the rasp of a sliding dune, similar to the voice of Almovaar.
“You knew,” he accused. “You always knew, Kyroun. Yet you didn’t tell me. Why?”
Gebrem’s eyes blazed. Kyroun could sense the gathering of the Emperor’s nascent power. It was a power that might well have matched his own, for all that it was still new to Gebrem. The Leba had assimilated Almovaad magic far more quickly than any of the Amiyas; it was as though he were born to wield it. The Seer knew that his future, as well as that of Gebrem and the newly reborn Matile Mara Empire, depended on how he replied to Gebrem’s anguished question.
He answered it with a series of questions of his own.
“If I had told you, would you have accepted Almovaar? And if you had not accepted Almovaar, would you – and the Matile Mala – be where you are today? Would you, or your daughter, or anyone else here still be alive? Would this city still be standing?”
Gebrem’s eyes didn’t waver from their intense lock with Kyroun’s. But the flames of wrath in the Matile’s gaze slowly diminished to embers. And the scowl on his features relaxed, becoming an expression of deep melancholy – and, perhaps, regret. Finally, Gebrem turned and departed from Kyroun’s bedchamber without saying another word.
He never replied to the Seer’s question. He didn’t have to. For both men knew what his answer would have been.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shadows After Dark
1
The tsotsis must go, the Emperor, as well as the Degen and Imba Jassi had agreed. More than a menace, the gangs of thieves were traitors as well. The people of Khambawe retained bitter memories of the way the tsotsis had looted their homes and robbed them in the streets even as the Uloans were rampaging through the city. The gangs had proven to be as destructive in their own way as the invaders.
In times past, Khambawe’s authorities were helpless to stem the tide of lawlessness rampant in the Maim and beyond. No longer were they ineffectual. No longer would they allow the tsotsis to rule the streets after the sun went down.
No longer ...
Kece froze in fear when he looked back and saw a second shadow beginning to appear on the wall behind him.
Don’t trust shadows after dark ....
That was the new watchword among the tsotsis. Life in the Maim had become more arduous than ever since the new Emperor had decreed his intention to reclaim the area and finally eradicate the infestation of outlaws from the city. The tsotsi sets, already decimated by the fighting against the Uloans and each other, were now hunted relentlessly by squadrons of soldiers and vigilantes. Those who were not killed on the spot were captured and taken away, never to be seen again. And rumors concerning where they had gone multiplied among the remnants of the gangs.
But soldiers could be evaded and, given the opportunity, killed. Not the shadows, though. Not the shadows.
Don’t trust shadows after dark ....
Not long after the coronation of the new Emperor, the shadows began to appear without warning, etched on the walls and floors of the Maim. A tsotsi would suddenly sprout a second shadow behind him, and that tsotsi would die, no matter what he or anyone else tried to do to prevent it, or how far and fast the target attempted to flee. The tsotsis soon began to call the second shadows “Muvuli,” which meant “Bringers of Death.”
Now, it was Kece’s turn to be stalked by a Muvuli.
Kece looked up at the night-sun, and cursed bitterly. Where there was light, there were shadows. And there was always light in the Maim. It was the same light that had shone over the entire city on the night the scar-heads from the islands had invaded. Now, the Maim was the only place over which the magical orb shone: muted in the daytime, brightly at night.
This witch-light was the Blue Robes’ doing. Kece hated the Blue Robes more than anything else – other than the new Emperor, whom he and most other tsotsis considered to be little more than the foreigners’ shamasha, doing their bidding and mimicking their ways.
Kece’s second shadow stood only a short distance from the first. It duplicated the posture of its counterpart. When Kece instinctively reached for the hilt of his tirss, both shadows did the same. Then, when he realized his weapon would not help him, he drew his hand away from it. So did one shadow – but not the other. The Muvuli completed the motion that Kece and the first had stopped. Its movements were now independent of those of the tsotsi.
Eyes widening in horror, Kece watched as the second shadow raised its tirss high over its head. Then the Muvuli swung downward.
With a choked cry, Kece flinched away. The Muvuli’s blow barely missed striking the other shadow on the wall.
Even though he knew flight was futile, Kece turned and ran, trying to outdistance both of his shadows. As his feet echoed hollowly through the deserted street, Kece cursed Jass Mofo for sending him and everyone else in the Ashaki set out in the streets to search for two people who could not be found.
The Muvuli struck again. This time, the blow landed, the spikes of the tirss sinking deep into the back of Kece’s true shadow. Kece cried out as pain ripped through his own back and blood spurted from fresh wounds, even though it was only his shadow that had been struck. He staggered, struggling to stay on his feet, fighting to hold on to his life.
Another shadow-blow sent the tsotsi reeling to the ground. His blood rilled onto the
