“A trai­tor to his own peo­ple!” says Dron­aja. “Asham, help us…”

Jaruna still stands there, dazed, hold­ing his bow in one hand and a loose arrow in the other. He slowly puts the arrow back in his quiver.

“What was that in his hand?”

Dron­aja picks it up off the dusty ground. A bolt-wand. Tipped with blue-white astrate. The chief holds it in his shak­ing hands for a moment and then drops it like a dead rat.

“Hat­van was cor­rect,” he says. “Some man­ner of Akka­dian weapon.”

“Asham have mercy,” says Ayan. “We have brought sin into your own Tem­ple.”

“Yod­hana came in from below,” Dron­aja says. “That means the tun­nels are com­pro­mised. Kripa, Hatvan—check the win­dows. Look for impe­r­ial move­ment. Pro­tect the mujasha­triya. I shall return.”

 

The old native runs past us, grabs a few bags from the ante­room, tears the rug from the floor and leaps straight down into the dark­ness.

Kripa and Hat­van burst into action. They run around the perime­ter of the main sanc­tu­ary, peer out from each of the thin win­dows and then slam their shut­ters. Kripa goes to the main door and hefts the huge wooden cross­latch up and over its hinge, bar­ring it shut.

Jaruna stands in the mid­dle of the sanc­tu­ary. He rewraps his fin­ger­guards and flexes his bow­string.

“Dust clouds from the west,” says Hat­van. “A pha­lanx moves.”

“Damn!” Kripa says. “It is a trap! The sin­ners must know all about our plan! They mean to fin­ish us off in this Tem­ple!”

“But how could they think to attack a Sun Tem­ple?” says Ayan. “Even for the Akkadians—do they not also wor­ship Asham?”

“Do not be a fool, woman!” says Kripa. “There is noth­ing the sin­ners would not defile! Curse Yod­hana, that despi­ca­ble trai­tor! May Asham trans­form his corpse into a chandelier—to hang by day and burn by night!”

The ground shakes beneath our feet. Dron­aja appar­ently just col­lapsed a tun­nel. Actu­ally, it sounds like he blew up a tun­nel. That explains what the bags he grabbed are—flamecraft.

“Jaruna,” Kiddu says. “What do you want us to do?”

The mystic’s atten­tion snaps from his bow. It’s not com­fort­ing how young and afraid he looks.

“Go with my sis­ter,” he says. “Take cover behind that pil­lar.”

 

We obey, run past the thresh­old and into the main sanc­tu­ary and hud­dle behind the left-rear pil­lar. It’s pretty thick, good cover from the direc­tion of the Temple’s main door. But we’re still exposed to the open hole at the top of the domed ceil­ing.

“Mujasha­triya!” Kripa says. “There are arrows and other weapons in the other room. What would you have us do?”

Jaruna ges­tures to his sis­ter. “Guard her.”

He runs behind a pil­lar, kneels, aims his bow towards the ceil­ing hole. Now I feel a lit­tle more secure.

We wait. My teeth won’t stop chat­ter­ing and now I’m wor­ried it’s annoy­ing to the oth­ers. I won­der, skep­ti­cally, if the Akka­di­ans have rules pro­hibit­ing them from storm­ing a native Tem­ple.

Ayan begins mut­ter­ing prayers to Asham. Kripa takes a guard posi­tion next to our pil­lar and hefts his big club. Hat­van joins his larger com­rade, expertly twirling his rope-and-weights around in a deadly gyre.

 

Even through shut­tered win­dows I can hear thun­der­ous march­ing out­side, crush­ing against the build­ing. Another under­ground explo­sion rocks the floor like a minia­ture earth­quake.

“Lord Asham,” says Ayan, “deliver us—”

A huge voice, echo­ing, dis­torted, mag­i­cally ampli­fied:

MYSTIC.
WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE.
DROP YOUR WEAPON.

Kripa is bewil­dered. He looks over to Hat­van but the other warrior’s atten­tion is focused on the main Tem­ple door.

There’s a new sound com­ing from the door. A low, puls­ing hum. I peek around the pil­lar to look.

Then the door shiv­ers sud­denly, unnaturally—and its giant latch lifts itself up and over the lock as if thrown by an unseen hand.

 

The door bursts open and hoplites stream in, shields and spear­points like a mov­ing spiked wall.

Some­thing flies towards the hoplites. It’s a spark­ing flamecraft—lobbed by Dron­aja.

 

A tall hel­meted fig­ure behind the shield­wall raises a scepter stud­ded with black gems.

The flame­craft arcs through the air, slowly, slow­ing—and stops. It hov­ers above the ground.

The man with the scepter flicks his weapon and in the same instant the flame­craft flies back towards its thrower and explodes. The con­cus­sion blasts Dron­aja across the floor. The heat­wave knocks against my face. Hat­van and Kripa both stum­ble, and Jaruna rolls away from the flames.

The mys­tic had been train­ing his bow on the ceil­ing hole. When he gets up and takes aim again, there are two sor­cer­ers loom­ing over the sky­win­dow, staffs pointed straight down upon him, hel­met gems glow­ing bright against the dark sky.

DROP THE BOW.

 

The man with the scepter, now safely out of Jaruna’s aim, steps for­ward from behind his wall of hoplite shields. I rec­og­nize the dis­torted voice now, and the hel­met with four gems. It is Satrap Nim­rod.

Jaruna keeps point­ing his bow at the sor­cer­ers on the ceil­ing.

ARE YOU DEAF,
SAVAGE?

“Sin­ners!” says Ayan. “Asham will never for­give you for defil­ing his Tem­ple!”

With his free hand, Satrap Nim­rod adjusts the face­plate on his hel­met, expos­ing his bare mouth.

“Does the Sun God for­give the natives when they stock­pile weapons in his Tem­ple? Or when they dump mur­dered corpses on the Tem­ple floor?”

Across the room a few of the hoplites have bro­ken off from the pha­lanx and are now drag­ging Yodhana’s corpse back behind their lines. I can’t see what hap­pened to Dron­aja, or if he’s even still alive.

The flame­craft explo­sion has ignited two tapes­tries on the far wall and smoke begins to fill the air.

Jaruna does not lower his bow. He seems to be mut­ter­ing some­thing to him­self.

“Let it be said clearly!” says the satrap. “It was your peo­ple who brought the bat­tle here, not ours. Now sur­ren­der, and we can end this, with no more killing or destruc­tion. I would pre­fer not to harm the princess of Har­rappa.”

 

Ayan’s hand shoots up over her veil.

Princess Ayan.

Well. That cer­tainly explains some things.

“When were you plan­ning on telling us, your high­ness?” Kiddu says softly.

“Who is that?” Nim­rod says.

I grab her arm and shush her. I want to smack her for draw­ing atten­tion to us. Ayan glares at her too.

“Is that the beast lib­er­a­tor girl?” Nim­rod chuck­les, sound­ing almost kind-hearted. “So you really did turn trai­tor. Well, my offer extends to you as well.”

“Girl!” Kripa says, with­out tak­ing his eyes off Nim­rod, “If you sur­ren­der, I will kill you before you take three steps.”

“Good,” says Kiddu. “I’d rather get killed than get tor­tured by the Empire.”

Jaruna ignores all this, still mut­ter­ing to him­self, still aim­ing at one of the two sor­cer­ers high above, his bow­string drawn back to his ear. I squint and try to piece together what he’s say­ing:

“What do you see? I see the bird. What do you see? I see the head of the bird. What do you see? The eye of the bird. What do you see? Only black­ness.”

“Enough of this absurd stand­off,” Nim­rod says. “Sor­cer­ers—”

Jaruna lets his arrow fly.