to seize the jackal-headed man's belt. The leather was soft and slippery but she managed to get her fingers around the band. Grunting, she leaned away, levering the corpse against her thigh. With a greasy sound, the body slid away from Khalid. The young Arab thrashed weakly as he tried to stand up. Zoe heaved again, a hiss of breath escaping gritted teeth, and turned the jackal over. The corpse was heavy and cold, the eyes of the mask dark pits, exposed flesh puckered with small stones and a dark gash where an arrow pierced the chest.
'Wake up!' Zoe kicked the dead man viciously in the side. 'Get up!'
A Roman slingstone snapped past, splashing into the mud. Khalid rose up, black with mud from head to toe. 'Get down yourself!' he hissed at Zoe as he crouched, eyes flickering back and forth, watching for the next missile.
Zoe knelt and rapped her hand sharply on the jackal mask. It boomed hollow, red paint flaking away among carbonized metal and soot. 'Make these limbs move,' she shouted into a tall, blunt-pointed ear. 'We have to get out of here!'
'Captain! Captain!' One of the archers splashed towards them, pointing upstream. 'Look!'
Zoe turned, dark brown eyes narrowed in anger at the interruption. She froze, eyebrow rising in surprise. A rushing hiss reached her ears, and she could see a glistening brown wall rushing down the canal towards her. 'Khalid,' she said calmly. 'Grab hold of the other arm.'
'What?' Another slingstone snapped past his ear, making the Arab duck violently. 'We've no time to—
Zoe twisted his head around, sharp fingernails digging into his ear. Khalid yelped, then shouted in alarm when he saw the onrushing water. 'A flood!'
'You men—' Zoe cursed, seeing the backs of the archers climbing the far bank of the canal. Heedless of the water rumbling towards her in a slick green-brown wave, Zoe crouched, digging her arm into the muck, under the jackal's body. The corpse was sinking deeper. 'Khalid, help me!'
The young Arab wrenched his attention away from the slowly building wave. He was green himself, but shook free of his paralysis and grabbed hold of an arm and a leg. Together, they tugged at the body. It came free with agonizing slowness, black mud oozing away from pallid limbs. Without waiting for the legs to come completely free, they staggered together toward the eastern wall of the canal.
Distant laughter hooted in the air. The slingstones stopped falling. Zoe, forcing herself forward, foot by foot, mud sucking at her boots, had a wild, brief image of legionaries crouched on the rampart, calling bets on her, on Khalid, even on the corpse. The rushing water was close now, the hiss rising sharply to a roar. Zoe splashed on, boots filling with water. Khalid stumbled, dragging the corpse down as he fell. Zoe felt the slick, gelid dead arm slide over her shoulder. Desperately, she clutched at sinewy brown fingers. Her right foot sank deep into the mud. Khalid went down, the corpse slumping over on top of him. The oncoming water roared, drowning out all other sound.
A chill washed over Zoe, despite the close, humid air and sweat running from her temples and shoulders. Sick with fear, she dragged her left foot free, losing the boot. Khalid's arms clawed desperately at the mud, trying to keep his head above the muddy slurry rising in the canal. Zoe lunged forward, grabbed his hand, then set her legs, hauling back with all her strength. The jackal slipped sideways, falling into swiftly rising brown water. Khalid floundered up, splashing. Zoe spun him around, pushing towards the sloping wall of the canal. Brown water, thick with twigs and leaves, washed around her waist.
Tugged by rushing water, the jackal's corpse drifted sideways, head dragged down by the weight of the mask.
Zoe groped to catch the dead man, but the current snatched him away. Cursing again, she surged forward, splashing through chest-high water. The wave swept over her and the Palmyrene felt herself lifted up by rushing water. Biting her lip, she made one last grab for the jackal—caught his leg—then the wave slammed her into the side of the canal. Muddy water flooded into her mouth. Zoe choked, gasping, fingers digging into the cold flesh of the jackal's leg.
'Help!' she choked out. Hands reached down for her, filling her vision with writhing tan worms. Someone caught her hair, then her flailing arm. She slammed into the side of the canal again, breath punched from her chest. Still, she clung to the jackal with a death grip. A lasso settled around her shoulders, then the water began to fall and she was dragged free of the muddy roil by a dozen hands.
Khalid's face appeared, blocking out a blazing sun, and his teeth were very white in the dark silhouette of his face. 'She looks angry,' Zoe heard him say from a great distance. 'She'll live!'
Zoe choked, coughed, spit nut-brown water and bits of leaves out on the ground. Gagging, she heaved, managing a thin stream of yellow bile. Her mouth was filled with fine grit, making her cough again. 'Water...' she managed to say. The mouthpiece of a water skin banged her in the eye, then she managed to take a drink, spat, drank again, clearing her mouth. 'Where is the jackal?'
'Here, my lady.' Two of the Sahaba, tan-and-white robes stained brown to the chest, dragged the still-cold and unmoving shape of the man, Arad, to her. They dumped him on the ground, metal mask clanging dully on the logs of the rampart road.
Zoe crawled to the corpse, raising herself up on one arm. Brown water leaked from the mask, puddling under the man's head. Fingers trembling, Zoe touched his neck and throat. The flesh was cold and greasy. 'Wake up,' she growled. She coughed again, spitting up silt. 'Wake up!'
There was a shuffling around her as the Sahaba drew away, muttering. Zoe's face contorted, a blue spark flaring in her eyes. Her hand, stiff with anger, slapped hard against the cold iron. The mask rang like a bell, ringing with tinny echoes. The girl's hand blazed blue-white for an instant and the iron mask split open. Grunting, Zoe wrenched aside the metal fragments, revealing a battered face, still and pale, without even the faintest motion of life.
'Oh, no...' The Queen's voice faltered, falling into a faint whisper.
'What is it?' Odenathus appeared, kneeling beside her. Half of his face was burned red, his cloak in tatters, tunic and armor charred. Khalid crouched at his side, noble young face stiff with worry. The Queen looked up, eyes bright with tears.
'I think he is dead,' she managed, then covered her mouth with a mud-caked hand.
Odenathus leaned over the body, lips a thin, tight line. Gently, he removed the remaining pieces of the mask. The man on the ground was thin, cadaverous—a once-handsome face badly scarred by old wounds. The lips were black and stretched tight against jaw and teeth. The young Palmyrene pressed his hand against a hollow cheek, leaning close, listening.
'Nothing...' he started to say.
Black lips opened with a wet, rattling gasp. Odenathus jumped back in surprise, eyes wide in fear. The body twitched, fingers scrabbling on the muddy logs. Then the head rose, and sunken eyes blazed with sullen green flame. 'There is still an edge on this knife,' echoed a dreadful voice from a dead throat.
Khalid drew back, the blade of night halfway free from its sheath. Odenathus stared in horror, watching slow life rise in the corpse limbs, muscles swelling with strength, the skin flushing with warm color. The Queen stiffened, her face growing tight. A tic began at the corner of her jaw, then she turned away, covering her face with the charred corner of her cloak.
The dead man rose, joints creaking. The head swiveled, looking to the west, mouth stretching into a cruel grin. 'Where are the busy bees now?' it coughed wetly. 'Dead, dead in the hive...'
—|—
'Heave!' shouted a
Two hundred men, stripped to the waist, muscled backs gleaming with sweat, moved as one. A thunderous shout of
Shahr-Baraz stood atop the Roman wall, looking down on the outer canal. He smiled, a broad, feral grin shining through the sweep of his mustache. Delighted, he slapped his thigh with a gloved hand, turning to the men standing beside him. 'Well done, captains! At this rate we'll have four bridges across the outer canal by nightfall.'
