The Dark Lord

filling the doorway was carved with a relief showing kilted men bowing before the Judges of the Underworld.

'That's very nice,' Thyatis muttered to herself. Nicholas and Mithridates appeared at her side, staring in surprise into the dust-filled chamber.

'What happened?' Nicholas' voice was very tense and sharp. Mithridates had a spear-like pry bar in his hands. 'Where's Fenuku?'

'Under there.' Thyatis turned away, digging grit out of her eye with a thumb. 'Let's go.'

Vladimir's trail of incense led down into another pillared hall, this one crowded with crumbling wooden crates and wicker hampers filled with rotting, desiccated goods. On edge, the fellaheen and the Romans picked their way through the chamber to an entrance sealed with a heavy slab of raw, unworked stone. The Walach pressed himself against the barrier, snuffling along the join between the floor and the door. After a moment, eyes closed, nose twitching, he rose, nodding. 'Through here.'

'Huh,' Nicholas said, glaring at the unremarkable slab. 'How did they get it into the doorway?'

A lip of stone ran around the entire opening, hiding the edges of the stone block. There was nowhere to drive a pry bar into a crevice. The Latin knelt, running his fingers along the edges. The fit between the block and the frame was snug and tight. He looked back at Thyatis, grimacing. 'Are we going to have to chip our way through? Do we have chisels and hammers?'

'We do. But I don't think we have a week,' she replied, looking around the hall. The plastered walls were covered with decaying paintings—most of them cracked and shattered, leaving piles of untidy plaster chips on the floor and gaping holes in the long, panoramic scenes. 'They must have sealed the chamber from the other side. Perhaps there is another entrance in some other passage.'

Nicholas' face contorted into a scowl and the man turned back to the door, glaring at the mute stone. 'Everyone start looking!'

For himself, he bent to examine the door frame again. The fellaheen, huddled together, began poking dubiously at the piles of debris on the floor. Mithridates stood the sled on end and leaned it against one wall. The weight of the wood broke through a thin plaster crust, causing another cloud of dust to rise and images of men and women bowing down before a beardless pharaoh to collapse into dust and paint-tainted chips.

Thyatis remained alert, keeping an eye on the Walach prowling among the scattered junk. Despite her heart's misgivings, she was beginning to think the barbarian would have to be killed first. Thyatis was confident of her ability to overmaster Nicholas in a duel of arms... but the Walach? A moment later, the barbarian paused sharply and reached down into a clutch of spiderwebbed wicker baskets.

'Nicholas! Look at this. There are two of them.' Vladimir held a stout cedarpost in his hands, one end recessed, the other carved to make a point. He smelled it carefully. 'There was a rope tied around this and the ends were coated with grease.' The Walach's forehead crinkled up in thought. 'Fat. Pig fat.'

Nicholas took the length of lumber and looked from it to the door, and back again. 'A post?'

Thinking, he ran a hand over the recessed cavity. Crushed fragments of wood, dark with ancient oil, bent all in one direction. 'How did they close the door... men had to enter the tomb, then leave again, sealing it up behind?' Nicholas turned to Thyatis, nodding to himself, imagining the ancient scene. 'They tilted a slab up, just inside the door, balanced by these posts. When the last man departed, they jerked the posts away, letting the slab fall into the doorway, perfectly cut and aligned.'

'Could be,' Thyatis replied. She took the post from him, examining the ancient wood with pursed lips. 'The slab had two cone-shaped bumps, to match holes cut in the floor. So the posts were secure while the block was balanced, and now you can't push the slab back, because bump and cavity make a key in the floor. There might even be a brace cut from the floor at the back end of the slab.'

'Curse these builders...' Nicholas bit his thumb. 'Clever... using a balance like that... we have to make the slab go back as it came down.' Certainty filled his face. 'Look, they can't have put anything in the path of the block falling, so we can push it back the same way.'

'I suppose.' Thyatis raised an eyebrow. 'How?'

Nicholas stepped to the door frame again. 'This,' he said, pointing down at the stone lip around the entrance. 'This edge gives us a little leverage. We can chisel slots at the base of the slab for the pry bars, then hammer them in, tip up from the bottom and push on the top at the same time.'

Begrudgingly, Thyatis nodded in agreement. The fellaheen were already digging mallets and chisels out of their leather carrying bags and Vladimir and Mithridates gathered up their long iron bars, ready to set muscle against stone. Nicholas looked very pleased with himself, but the Roman woman noticed he stood well back from the slab as the Egyptians crouched down to begin chipping away at the sandstone.

—|—

Shirin came to a halt at the base of a ramp and hurriedly pinched out her candle stub. Smoke curled towards the triangular apse of the tunnel roof, vanishing into encompassing darkness. A narrow hall opened out before her, filled with double rows of fluted, acanthus-topped pillars. To her right, fire-yellow lights danced among massive stone sarcophagi, to her left was a wall faced with stone steps depicting a procession of gods and demons, carrying gifts and funerary goods. Halfway down the wall, a shadowy recess led into some other, as yet unseen, room.

Muffled whispers ghosted in the air as the Khazar woman stepped into the chamber.

The motion around the coffins ceased, and Shirin felt a prickling sensation. A cluster of figures draped in desert robes turned towards her, swinging round their lanterns. Shirin was suddenly, horribly, aware of her recklessness—these people didn't know her. She didn't know them! They might not even be the Daughters of the Archer she thought to follow through the tunnels and corridors. Covered by her cloak, she grasped the hilt of the long knife in her belt, letting the point slide free of the sheath.

'Who are you?' a sharp, female voice whispered in the gloom. Two of the figures glided towards her, metal glinting in hand, swift-assured violence pregnant in their movements.

'Peace, friends,' Shirin said softly, backing up the steps. She made the sign of the Archer with her free hand. The hunt to the swift, she realized. Starvation to the slow! Time for judicious truth. 'I've come from the Roman temple, following those tomb robbers.'

The lead figure paused, tugging a fold of her burnoose down, revealing a hawk-nosed, pox-scarred visage. Dark eyes blazed in the lantern light. 'Show me your face.'

Shirin matched the woman's movement, drawing aside her veil. The Egyptian sneered, one thin hand darting out to drag the rest of Shirin's scarf aside. Suppressing a sharp desire to strike the invasive hand away, the Khazar woman remained still, gaze adamant and unflinching.

'You're a pretty spy,' the woman said after a moment of scrutiny, her jaw tightening. Shirin thought she saw weighed calculation in the glittering eyes. 'You followed us?'

'I saw your tracks in the sand,' Shirin responded, shaking her head. 'They led me to the hidden door...'

'What is your name, Roman?' the Egyptian woman snapped, a grim light in her eyes. 'Was the Hunter's door open? I'll flay someone alive if it was!'

'No,' Shirin said, uneasy with the woman's careless threat. 'It opened for me. Listen, a party of Romans has entered the tomb. I saw them break through the main door. Can they find these chambers by another path? And there are—'

The Egyptian interrupted with a harsh chuckle. She raised a short-bladed sword, hilt up and grinned at Shirin with a mocking smile. 'Your Roman looters won't find this chamber. They might not even live to find the false tomb!'

Irritated by the woman's bravado, Shirin recovered her scarf, draping it around her shoulders. 'I'm not a Roman,' she said in a controlled, even tone. 'My name is Shirin. What are you called?'

'Penelope,' the woman said dismissively. 'Stay out of the way. We have to find this device they seek. Be ready to leave.'

Before Shirin could respond, the Egyptian spun on her heel and hurried back to the massive, bulky shapes of the coffins. Her eyes now adjusted to the torchlight, Shirin saw the other Daughters were busily levering slab lids from the sarcophagi, grunting and straining. A faded, three-part mural covered the entire rear wall, showing a sun-disk framed by hawk wings and dozens of protective gods.

Suddenly, as Shirin paced along the facing wall, trying to grasp the size and shape of the chamber, the stones under her feet jumped with a thud. Eyes wide, the Khazar woman shrank against the wall, groping for