Something had attracted Dabir's eye, and he reached for the doors. They, too, were rich with the words of Allah, the merciful, the compa.s.sionate. To my surprise, Dabir pulled one of them open. There was a thick lock inset in the door, but someone had unlocked it, or a thief had broken in and looted the place.

I did not mean Dabir to walk unguarded into a breeding ground of evil spirits, and grabbed his arm. "I shall go first." I thrust open both doors and peered within.

There were but three bodies laid out in the dozen niches carved into the walls of the tombs. I sorrowed to see that one was an infant. The plaques below the level of the shelf where the other two shrouded bodies lay declared one as a man and the other a woman. I looked then toward where the body of the infant lay. Surely Marid had not been married to an infant, though it was not completely improbable. And then I espied an empty niche, inscribed with a woman's name, Kahlya.

"The woman's resting place is empty," I said. And then I beheld a stranger mystery, for beside her name, in a long row, were four others. They had been scratched out with a stone or other sharp implement, with no great skill, and stood in stark contrast to the well-carved letters beside them. Further, a line had been drawn through the first three.

"Dabir," I said, feeling a chill creep over me, though I knew not why, "there are four more names here-"

Dabir came suddenly to my side and stared at the letters. "This third is the murdered girl we found," he said. "I expect the first two are the others."

The fourth name was that of Iamar, sister of Marid.

"It is not yet drawn through," I said.

Dabir turned quickly back to the door and crouched beside the lock.

I stepped around him, liking not to stand within the tomb any longer. "The a.s.sa.s.sin must be moving against Iamar-should we not protect her?"

Dabir rose. "Fool that I have been!" His face had taken on a peculiar ashen look. "Curse me for my arrogance, Asim!"

It was often hard to know how to respond when one of Dabir's moods seized him. "Nay, it was writ in the book of fate that you should make whatever small oversight-"

"The lock has been broken from the inside, Asim."

IV.

Dabir commandeered two mares from the nearby garrison and we rode through the wide streets of Mosul, galloping when we could, and disturbed so many folk that they shouted curses as we swept past. No doubt the house servant was surprised to find us, panting and reeking of horses, just outside his door, but we had no extra time. I pushed through him, demanding that Dabir be allowed to speak with Iamar.

Scowling, the old man led us once more to the shadowed courtyard. Once again the pleasant aroma of baking bread wafted from the oven, but this time Iamar already waited within the garden, weeping beside a body beneath a brown sheet. Captain Fakhir stood nearby, looking uncomfortable. He and Iamar glanced up at us in the same instant. Iamar's tears abated somewhat, but her expression was a sad thing to behold. It did not warm me to have to convey what we had learned.

"What has happened?" I asked.

"Officer Marid died of his wounds," the captain explained. "I brought him here with two men, and have remained to try and console the lady."

"Your hakim let him die," Iamar said spitefully.

The captain opened his mouth to respond, but Dabir stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Marid is innocent, but we must act quickly lest a horror befall him."

"He is dead," Iamar explained softly, as though addressing an idiot child.

"There are worse things." Something in Dabir's voice silenced her sobs. "He has been stalked by the ghul of his former betrothed," Dabir continued. "She has attacked and killed all others whom she considered rivals, and removed their hearts so that they, too, will not transform into ghuls. For it is written that those slain by such a creature become like unto it."

Iamar only looked piteously at us.

The captain laughed. "You cannot clear his name with this child's fable. He is dead now, and the stain of his crimes will not shame his family. It can be forgotten, but do not claim that he is innocent."

Knocking sounded upon the door. The servant sighed and left the courtyard.

"He is innocent!" Iamar cried, her aplomb shattered.

I picked up Dabir's line of thinking and hastened to clarify. "We must cut his heart from his body, or he will rise," I said. "By G.o.d, I am sorrowed by-"

Iamar's eyes widened in shock. "No!"

There came a horrific masculine scream and the sound of smashing wood. Dabir and I whirled toward the archway that led to the door.

"What was that?" the captain asked.

A voice cried out from the front of the house. It was feminine and light, yet there was something strained and awkward about it, as if it had not been used in some time. "Marid!"

Some rasping, unnatural quality in its tone set saddle on my heart and spurred it to gallop.

"That is likely to be Kahlya," Dabir said tightly.

"She's dead!" Iamar objected.

"Lady," I said, "she is coming for-" But before I could warn her, there came another eerie cry from the front of the house. It was closer now.

"Marid!"

The sheet fell away from Marid as he sat up.

Iamar let out a glad little cry and started for him, but his appearance gave her pause. His head hung at an odd angle to the left and he did not bother to correct it as he turned to take us in. The eyes were vacant, and fixed upon the doorway leading from the courtyard. He did not blink.

"Back!" I cried, drawing my sword. "Get behind me, lady! You are in danger!"

Iamar struggled against my arm. "No! He lives!"

"He is dead!"

What had been Marid rose with astonishing speed. Dabir had told me ghuls had great alacrity and strength as well, but I would rather not have seen him proven right.

The captain was no coward. He let out a roar and swung hard at his former officer. Incredibly, the corpse moved beneath the flashing steel and grasped his arm. Still its head was c.o.c.ked at that uncomfortable angle.

There was a snapping sound, as of breaking bone.

Captain Fakhir cried out. He dropped his sword, and the corpse s.n.a.t.c.hed it from midair.

There was no time for pleasantries. I shoved the woman back and leapt forward to block a downward swing toward the captain, who'd sunk to his knees.

Instantly Marid's unblinking eyes were fastened upon me, and on came the rapid sword strokes. Half a swordsman's tactics rely on watching his opponent's face and body, and so I was immediately on the defensive. No cues came from those dead eyes; no body language betrayed his movements.

"Guard yourself, Dabir!" I cried.

Dabir did not respond. The corpse and I spun with a furious exchange of blows, and I caught a brief glimpse of something slim, in tattered white garments, gliding into the courtyard. Iamar screamed.

"Beloved!" came the rasping voice.

Marid paused a moment, and I drove my sword into his neck.

Immediately he struck back. I jumped backwards, but even so, his stroke cut through my jubbah and nicked my skin. I realized then I needed a wiser course. The only way to finish him was to cut his heart from his body. Clearly I could use no conventional attacks, for wounds caused no harm, despite the blood that trickled down his shirtfront. I would have to disarm him.

There was a blur of movement beside Marid, and the corpse staggered.

"Strike, Asim!"

Dabir had thrown himself at Marid's legs, trapping them with his arms. Marid's sword turned from me and raised to come down through my friend's skull.

I cried out to G.o.d to guide my hand as I swung, and the flesh eater's head sprang from his body. It struck the fountain with a dull thunk, like a melon falling from a cart, then splashed into the water.

The corpse wobbled a moment, then fell over.

Dabir looked up from the ground at me, and I down at him.

"I thought you needed to cut out their hearts."

"That seemed to work just fine," Dabir said.

The thing in white screamed and rushed for us. Dabir scrambled to his feet.

It had been a woman. Her hair was long and beautiful, and the remnant of her dress was sewn with lovely pearls and fine lace. Here and there it was splattered with mud and grit and darker stains. Her veil was still fastened about her ears, though it hung in tatters. Her skin was gray and dry, like parchment, and tightly drawn over the bones of her skull. Her eyes were dead, like Marid's, but they burned with unholy fire and rage, and her thin, dark eyebrows drew into a storm cloud.

She rushed upon me, her arms extended, bony fingers splayed like talons.

"He was mine!" she cried, and her breath smelled of stinking bodies and offal.

If Marid had been as swift as a tiger, she was fleet as a gazelle, ducking and weaving effortlessly about me. Ai-a, my reach was greater, but so was her speed, and more than once did I dance away from those hands.

"Hold her, Asim! I will be there!"

"Mine!" she shrieked. "Mine!"

At least, I reflected, she had not advanced against Iamar.

I swung at an arm, but she moved it, leaned in to me to gouge at my eyes. I ducked and stumbled over something that groaned. I fell backwards over Captain Fakhir and onto the stones and my sword clattered across the pavement. Fakhir screamed in an unmanly way as the thing leapt over him. Its inhumanly sharp teeth were bared behind its veil.

"Dabir!" I shouted.

Dabir raced up from the left, brandishing two burning objects I recognized curiously for bread loaves.

The creature spun toward him. I summoned all my courage, for my instinct was to flee, and aped my friend's previous act by encircling its legs. It was swift, but I caught one foot, which felt more like textured wood than skin.

From above came the sound of fire taking flight, and I looked up to find one of the ghul's arms ablaze. It screamed. Dabir tumbled away, and the bread, trailing fire and smoke, fell to either side.

The eater of flesh burned well. It broke from my hold and ran this way and that as fire worked across its garments and up its torso.

Dabir kicked my sword to my hand and I rose, poised.

At last the ghul realized its salvation lay with the water, and it raced for the fountain. I cried out for G.o.d to guide my hands, and my aim was true. I sliced through one burning, upflung hand, then through the dried neck and an upraised arm. The head and limbs hurtled away in flaming arcs, then the eater of flesh fell, moving spasmodically until fire consumed it.

I gathered back my breath in great gasps. The captain sat huddled by a pillar, cradling his broken arm and staring with wide eyes.

"Iamar fled into the house," Dabir said as he stepped up to me.

"Flaming bread?" I asked.

"It was all that I could find on or near the stove," Dabir explained, a trifle embarra.s.sed. "And it took a moment too long to catch ablaze."

"Nay, you arrived in time. Though I really think you ought to get into the habit of carrying a sword."

"Perhaps it was apropos," Dabir ventured with a sly smile. "Bread is the staff of life."

He was adept at many things, but his humor was often wanting.

Dabir later speculated that Kahlya had been attacked by a ghul in Raqqa, precipitating the whole affair, but was never fully satisfied with that explanation, for ghuls almost never attack the living-they prefer their meat more pungent. "Perhaps," Dabir once said, "Kahlya had been cursed, or it may be that love for Marid drove her on, even after death. I cannot say."

More immediately, the old manservant was found alive but stunned near the shattered door. Dabir put in a word for the captain with the governor, and he received a month's leave to heal both his mind and body. Thereafter he was our firm friend, and often asked our aid. A fine fellow, Fakhir, though from that day on he had a tendency to a.s.sume anything peculiar was the fault of ghuls.

As for my font of beauty, I expected some word from her after Dabir and I made our farewells, but days pa.s.sed without a single message. When no word came after a week, I went to her door, only to find it opened by a stranger. He told me that Iamar had left Mosul, and he, who had purchased her home, did not know where she had gone. He wondered if I knew what had caused the peculiar burn marks upon the courtyard flagstones, but I said simply that G.o.d had willed it, and left with heavy heart.

The Slayer's Tread.

I.

Dabir's knock was answered by a short woman in black. It was difficult to guess the age of someone so heavily clothed, but the smoothness of the skin above her thick veil and the uncertainty in her eyes suggested youth.

"Your pardon, Lady," Dabir said. "We seek the scholar Azzam ibn Yacoub. Is this his home?"

"It is," she answered in a soft voice. Her eyes searched ours. "Who are you?"

Dabir bowed. "We are Dabir ibn Khalil and Asim el Abbas, come from Mosul to fetch him."

Her gray eyes drifted back and forth between us. "Wait here," she said, then shut the door.