Lightning flashed on distant rocks, etching brief shadows of the mounts and riders on the desert sand before darkness erased them.

Elise had no eye for the lightning or the thunder which set her mare snorting. She had scarcely spoken to the mage's apprentice,Tulen, since the two of them had crossed the border.  Her finely-honed senses were stretched taut for sign of the killer. She knew that he must come southwest, toward the Anduli oasis, and was certain they would reach it soon. Her mind, though, was not altogether focused on the chase. Again and again she returned to the image seared into her brain: Archatain's high mage lying amidst  the crimson puddle of his blood, his right hand outstretched toward the toppled jade Shah Ma'at pieces she had given him last year. Many were shattered; many more were lying amongst the blood of the man who had so cunningly played them, night after night, against Elise.

He had looked so old and small.

A cold chill struck Elise with the force of lightning, setting all her hairs on end, and her mare halted, shaking her head and laying back her ears. Elise mastered her with soothing words, then rode up to Tulen, who was alternately patting his horse's neck and staring west.  His horse whinnied and tugged at the bridle.

"Did you feel that?" Tulen asked her. His voice, normally a subdued alto, was strident, and his rolling accent was more pronounced. His square jaw worked back and forth. Though he'd not quite outgrown the gangliness of youth, he sat saddle like a warrior, not a court apprentice.

"Yes. So did the horses."

"Someone just used powerful sorceries, close by," he said, in a more controlled tone. His accent was nearly indetectable once more.  "I'd wager it's our assassin."

Tulen, Verdan's senior apprentice, had been certain magic was involved in the murder, though a clean knife thrust had killed Verdan. It looked now like he had guessed correctly. "Could you tell where it came from?"

"It came from the west." Tulen squinted in concentration. "I think I can follow the trace of it."

"Then do so."

Tulen led them, and in a little under a quarter hour they halted before a great mass of pitted red and brown rocks. A wide dune tall as three men and forty paces wide concealed the face of the largest stone. Around them the rolling sands stretched to the horizon.

"Whatever I felt came from beneath that dune," Tulen said, dismounting.

The cool blue moon showed Elise the foam-flecked body of a horse half buried by the sandy mound. She wondered why the assassin had gone to the trouble of partly burying his horse, then supposed that some of the sand had slid down over it. That explanation didn't completely satisfy her. Given time the sand would cover the body, but not in the last hour. There was too little wind.

Elise took the powder horn from her shoulder and primed her pistols as Tulen walked slowly about the dune. She wished that she had a few dozen men to post on the rocks, but she'd left her elite guard at the border two hours back. The hard won peace with Feydan was but a month old, and it would not do for the Grand Marshall of Archatain to lead forty armed men into the lands of the Caliph.

Tulen reached inside his cloak and pulled forth a handful of dried leaves. He scattered them, then bent to look at the result.

Elise watched the heights. Nothing moved.

"This dune has magic resonance," Tulen reported eagerly. "He's shifted it; I'd guess to block this boulder, for some reason."

"He's moved the dune?" There were several tons of sand there, at least.

"I can do it too," Tulen said, flashing a grin.

Magery. Elise frowned and lifted a pistol. "Be about it, then."

"It's a lovely night for spellwork," Tulen said, casting his eyes at the moon before favoring her with a wide smile and calf-like gaze.

She frowned. "Croon me no songs, mageling."

Tulen's smiled broadened before he bent to the sand. He pretended to study it, but she felt his eyes brush her again. When she turned with a deeper frown he was drawing in the sand with a bulbous wand.

He spent nearly a quarter hour sketching obscure symbols that Elise watched none too close. Sometimes he sprinkled powders and liquids as he worked. The whole while Elise chafed at the wasted time and watched the horizon. Many Feydani would be thrilled to mount her head on a pole, peace or no.

Finally, Tulen shook his arms free of his robe and chanted as he waved them in the air. A glowing white nimbus enveloped them. Three times he waved his hands about his head, then he whipped his wrists and the sorcery, shining like molten silver, sprayed into the dune.

Nothing happened for a long moment, and then Elise heard her mare stamp in the sand. The dune elongated on the right, like a caterpillar walking, and the left end caught up to it. Again it slid, the right end leading and the left end following. Elise was impressed despite herself, and when Tulen grinned at her his childlike satisfaction was infectious enough that she briefly smiled in return.

Lightning showed them the immense lion-headed men carved into the face of the revealed stone, flanking open stone doors. Their mouths were parted in snarls.

"He's gone in there," Tulen said, stepping closer. And then he cursed.

Elise supposed he must have read the writing above the tomb, and was mildly surprised that a man from the northwest knew the curling characters of old Feydan. She read it easily, for she'd understood the desert tongues since childhood. This tomb was the abode of Amaharaziad, high king and mage, and all who dared enter against his will would receive his undying curse.

Tulen turned his head back to look at her, then quickly looked back to the open doors, as though reluctant to let them out of his sight.

Elise stepped over to him. "What does the killer want in here?"

"He must have taken the key to Amaharaziad's tomb." Tulen's tone was abrupt, his accent thick again. He paused as if gathering his thoughts, then shaped a circle with his thumbs and forefingers. Once again his voice was controlled. "It was a stone disk, about this big. Verdan had it stored under wards. I didn't notice it was missing."

He hadn't had much time to look, Elise remembered.

Tulen was still talking. "It never did anyone any good because no one knew where the tomb was--but it looks like this fellow did--"

"All this just to loot a tomb?" Elise asked bitterly.

Tulen shook his head. "You don't understand."

Elise had little patience left. Her tone was short. "Explain it to me."

"Amaharaziad, the wizard king," Tulen explained. "He ruled the whole of the coast and desert four hundred years ago. He lived for three lifespans, and was the master of dark magic--"

"I've heard of him." Elise absently traced the thin scar along the side of her face. Who would want access to the tomb? A wizard? A Feydani agent seeking an edge over Archatain? Surely a Feydani would have had an escort waiting on the other side of the border. "What are we likely to find inside there?"

"It's hard to say. There might be all kinds of things that we wouldn't want the wrong people to get a hold of. Tomes, potions--I can't say.  If there's one wizard who had plenty of dark secrets, it was Amaharaziad."

Elise wondered briefly why the murderer had sealed his exit, then supposed he had expected pursuit. Perhaps he even knew of another way out.

Tulen squared his broad shoulders and cast his cloak back. His collared shirt was embroidered with gold tracings, as were his sleeves. "Well, we'd best be at it. Are you ready?"

Elise surprised herself by handing him one of her pistols. "Here, wizard."

He stared at it in wonder.

"A pistol blast works faster than magic," she said gruffly.

Tulen grinned and then stuck the weapon through his belt. "You must be worried about me."

"You do know which end the musket ball comes out of, don't you?"

He grinned. "I'm not like the wizards you raise in these parts, Elise."

"Marshall." Her correction was stern.

"Marshall Elise?"

"Just Marshall, thank you." She fought back a smile. Nerves, she realized. Elise would have thought herself too seasoned for nerves. She peered into the dark recess between the open doors. "I knew a wizard once that could make light in the darkness. Can you--"

"A simple matter," Tulen said.

"Will it last if you're dead or injured?"

Tulen's brows rose at that. "Yes," he admitted. "Of course, I'm not planning on getting dead or injured, but thanks for asking."

"Then let us go."

Tulen smiled wistfully. From an inner pocket he pulled what looked to Elise like a handful of dust and flung it between the doors with a quiet incantation. Suddenly the air was alive with light, as though tiny fireflies had sprung to life. Tulen continued to speak in a soft, melodic tongue, and the light spread further. It drifted down onto a swath of sand that lay across the entry way, and on over mosaic tiles decorated with swirling green-stemmed flowers with purple blossoms. Four pairs of fluted columns marched the length of the room beyond, which ended in a smaller set of double doors. One door stood ajar.

Settled on the floor, Tulen's light sent strange lurching shadows up to the roof. He grinned at Elise. "Ladies first."

Elise preceded him, pistol leveled, but he caught up to her quickly.

Side by side they advanced to the doors.

"Mages first this time," Tulen said, peering through the opening.

Wide stairs of blue marble stretched down into the gloom. Elise and Tulen descended them, and light spread from a second sprinkling of the mage's magic sand revealed faded wall frescoes--images of burning cities and routed armies, of a proud bearded man with a cruel smile driven in a chariot, standing upon battlements, standing upon a hill with uplifted arms while a great violet and cinnabar storm loomed behind him.

"The dead man himself," Tulen said, and Elise wondered if Tulen hesitated to invoke Amaharaziad's name in his tomb.

At last they reached the foot of the stairs and passed through an archway into another hall.

"This looks more like a palace than a tomb," Tulen ventured.

The narrow rug spread from door to raised dais thirty feet on was frayed and torn, but Tulen's sorcerous light showed it woven with threads of gold. Lions and horses were worked into its length. Fluted columns supported the ceiling. Archways opened on either side of the throned dais. The one on the left was dark, but a dim, shifting green light blossomed beyond the right arch.

Tulen held up a hand and leaned toward her. "I've a confession," he said softly.

Instantly her pistol was leveled at his chest and he stepped back, palms raised. His eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Wait--wait, you don't understand!"

"Your confession?" Elise prompted cooly. Her eyes did not leave him.

Tulen cleared his throat. "Uh, my confession was that I, uh, didn't make a habit of walking into dark places without a kiss for good luck."

Elise stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Are you going to shoot me, or point that thing somewhere else?"

"I'm sure as blazes not going to kiss you, you fool. What's wrong with you?" Elise lowered her gun.

"In Irakai," Tulen ventured hesitantly, "we live without regrets. And if I were to die without kissing you--"

She advanced on him and snatched his collar with her free hand. He looked surprised at her strength as she yanked his face up to her own. "My friend is dead," she hissed, "the Gods alone know what's around the corner, and you want to write me sonnets! Get your mind out of your pants, mageling!"

She let go of him and he averted his eyes. "I want this man dead too," he said softly. "You're not the only one who mourns."

"I hadn't noticed any mourning on your part. But we don't have time for this. Get moving."

Tulen reached into a pocket and held more leaves before him. He looked pointedly away from her as he started through the archway.

Elise followed. She never failed to be amazed by men, for whom sex was a possibility that loomed large at all times. Only a few of the old ones had any sense about them--save for the king, who had always had more sense than almost anyone.

As they neared the hall's end Elise heard the roar of flame and felt heat waft from the room ahead. She and Tulen stepped forward.

They entered a chamber with walls and floor of inlaid mosaics. On her right stood a table weighed down by vases, beakers, and glass vials. A silver cauldron hung over a flickering emerald fire.

Behind the table stood what she first took for a sandstone statue of Amaharaziad, dressed in a plain brown khalat. An amber stone hung on a silken cord about its neck.

But the statue smiled the cruel smile shown in the reliefs. It lifted its hand.

Tulen pointed his fingers and spat out an incantation.

Elise leveled her pistol and fired, unsheathing her blade before the smoke cleared.

A hole now hung where the statue's heart would have been, but the statue only smiled, speaking quietly. It waved one hand negligently and Tulen halted in mid-word. Some unseen force hefted him into the air and hurled him into the darkness. He did not cry out, nor was there the sound of impact.

Elise brandished her saber and her opponent held up a finger. "I have no quarrel with you," he said in flawless Archanar. His voice was sonorous and commanding. "Yet."

"What did you do to him?"

"I silenced him. No mage is of use without speech. And then I hurled him into a pit beyond the shadows there. Do you wish to follow?"

What Elise desired was time to think, "You are Amaharaziad?"

The sandman laughed patronizingly. "I am pleased that I am still remembered."

"Where's the mage who woke you?"

Again he laughed. He sounded genuinely amused. "I am that mage. I took a more human semblance for a time until I could find my key."

"To break into your own tomb?"

"This was not meant to be my tomb!" Amaharaziad  bared sandstone teeth. "This was an outpost where I was surprised by assassins! My flesh," he added, "was trapped within."

Then how, she wondered, had he gotten out? And how would she stop him?

"The traitorous sons of dogs could lock out my spirit, but they could not destroy me, though it took centuries to assemble a semblance of form." One hand brushed over the glowing amber jewel about his neck. "This body is troublesome, but it has its uses." He glanced down at the blackened hole burned through his khalat. "The sand through which your bullet passed has now reformed, and I am as I was before."

Elise shoved her pistol back through her belt and considered her opponent. He stood on the other side of the table, and a dozen glass vials and foul-smelling pots separated them. Even so, if he were human she could kill him with a quick saber thrust.

Unfortunately, he wasn't currently human.

"I know of you," Amaharaziad said with snake-like gentility. "You are Elise Devareux, Grand Marshall of Archatain, scourge of Rakour. You are the King's most trusted advisor, and have earned the wrath and respect of the Caliph of Feydan; an amazing feat, especially for a woman." His eyes were hooded, but Elise had the sense that whatever looked out from the sand that made up the wizard's body scrutinized her more intently than ever. "There is no need for us to be enemies. I could use a general of your talents. I mean to restore my throne just as soon as I clothe my spirit in living flesh once more." His gaze settled briefly on the cauldron above the green fire, as though he were a cook checking the progress of his stew.

"You're awfully ambitious for a man with little more than an empty tomb and a cauldron."

Amaharaziad stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "I admire your candor. Do not be deceived by my current condition. Once I am human again I will have command of my full powers. There is little then that will stand in my way. The clans of Feydan quibble amongst themselves, and a blind man rules crumbling Archatain. Two empires are mine for the taking. And you, my dear, could lead my armies."

She did not deliberate long. "Very well." So saying, she turned her saber so that it rested lengthwise in both hands. She stepped forward to the table.

Amaharaziad smiled.

Like the autocrats Elise had known before, he was used to supplication from all who stood before him.

So his eyes widened when Elise tossed the saber onto the table top. Bowls and beakers and decanters went sliding.

Amaharaziad let out a cry and instinctively tried to catch the most crucial of them. In that brief moment Elise sent a throwing knife through his mouth.

The weapon hit his face with a sucking noise and sank into the sand, swirling his features along with it so that his mouth became a gaping slit.

His sandstone eyes narrowed, but his mouth could not reform fast enough to shape words. Elise vaulted the table, grabbed the cord from which the amber hung, and yanked.

The necklace tugged through his neck with a spray of sand.

Amaharaziad's fist struck her in the head with the force of stone and she cried out. She fell to her right, striking the table with an upthrust arm that scattered more mystical implements.

The sand of the wizard's face reformed into a snarl as Elise tore open her powder horn.

"Give the amber to me!" The first of Amaharaziad's words were a roar of mumbled sound, the last clearly enunciated. He shouted an incantation, and needle-sharp pain pierced her every muscle. She arched her back and shut her eyes to it. Dimly she was aware that the keening wail she heard was her own voice, and the low thrum was Amaharaziad's laughter.

Then came a pistol blast and the scream and laughter ceased. So too did the pain, though its aftereffects still stung her.

Amaharaziad reached up to one side of his face, through which a hole had been blown at head level.

Elise did not question--she crammed the necklace into the powder horn and tossed it into the eldritch fire beneath the cauldron.

"No!"

As she again vaulted the table she heard Amaharaziad screech behind her, and then came a terrible explosion. She fully expected to be blown to pieces by the earth-shaking blast, but a soft gold translucent bubble formed around her.

The room glowed a vibrant green. Elise spun at the roar of energies behind her, her eye catching a host of things: the table flying into the wall beside her to splinter into fragments, a beaker caroming off her magical shield into the floor, Amaharaziad with arms shielding his face disintegrating into a stream of blowing sand. There came a second explosion and Elise threw an arm over her eyes to shield against the brilliant white glow suffusing the room.

Then there was only a dull crackle as fire consumed splintered planks of wood. The bubble about her shimmered and dissolved.

Of Amaharaziad there was no sign. His cauldron lay smashed against a wall, amid a pile of cracked green tile. Huge fissures split the floor and small fires ate greedily at chests, bookshelves, and warped and twisted furniture.

The flickering firelight showed her a round pit encircled by turquoise stones on the room's far side. Beside it lay a motionless figure.

Her heart, already tremulous, drummed faster against her breast as Elise hurried to Tulen.

He was scarcely recognizable. He lay on his back amid smoldering clothes, a blackened caricature of a man. His skin was ebony, his lips parched ruin. A foot long splinter of wood stood out from his lower chest.

She knelt beside him and felt the heat of the floor through her trousers.

Incredibly, he was still alive, still conscious, and his eyes met her own. They were red, and gone was the spark that had danced within them. Before it had annoyed her. Now its lack stole her breath.

She looked away from the burnt-out face, saw the twisted scrap of metal in his hand and recognized it for her pistol.

"Are you all right?" Tulen's voice was a hoarse whisper.

She nodded once. "Thank you."

"I'm surprised the shield spell held," he croaked.

"I thought he'd killed you... before."

"Silence spell," Tulen wheezed. "Irakaiyan sorcery's a little... different. I had a trick or two left." He tried a smile. A hand flickered feebly, and he raised it toward her cheek. She leaned closer so he could touch it. "I can't feel anything," he said. "I suppose that's good."

"Why didn't you shield yourself as well?"

"Not enough time."

"You should have saved yourself."

"As you said," he said weakly, "I'm a fool." He smiled, and was ghastly. "What do you think, Elise? Might you have come to love me?"

"Not the way you wanted me to," she answered gently. Elise even ventured a faint smile. "You are so young." She choked on the final word.

"It's true, isn't it--that the king has your heart?" He shuddered, gulped, refocused upon her. "But you do like me, don't you?" His voice was a sleepy whisper now. "Else why would you weep?"

"Because you were a fine wizard, Tulen."

"Detail a troop," he said, "to spread powder through these rooms. Blow them. . ." His voice trailed off, and he was still.

Elise sat beside his body for a long moment, mastering herself, then closed his eyes and straightened his limbs. She fed him to the fire, for she remembered that Irakaiyans burned their dead.

It was a long walk back to clean air and starlight, and the ride home was longer still.