Clayton Emery - Star of Cursrah

Struggling to rise, Amber gasped, "Hak, the mongrel talks just like-"

"I'm all right," piped Hakiim's voice. "Keep talking so I can find you."

Amber had lost her capture staff and couldn't find it, so she clutched her billy.

Crouching low, scooching on her heels, she snapped, "No, because you're not Hakiim!"

Lashing out, she hooked her left hand and billy hard. She almost broke her wrist on the mongrelman's thick leg-which bent backward and might have ended in a hoof-but she snagged the limb, grabbed her billy in her right hand and yanked hard. Its leg whipped from underneath it, and the mongrelman crashed hard on its back. Its head smacked a stone with a noise that was gruesome to hear. A light appeared suddenly in the tunnel, winking on like a firefly. Amber flinched and squinted, and Hakiim gasped.

Reiver crouched, a splinter of wood sparkling in his hand, his garrote chain winking in the other. He'd shielded the light until he was almost upon them.

Frightened, huffing for air, Amber snapped, "Where in the name of nine devils have you been?"

"Exploring." Juggling the candlewood, Reiver reached down his shirt front to pull a string. His silver garrote chain slithered up his sleeve like a snake into hiding. "Let's go," he said. "The way is clear, for the moment."

Frowning, Amber looked to the two bandits. The man was a simple nomad in typical black robes. The mongrelman showed little, for it was layered in rags, but one foot was clubbed and hoofed like a donkey's, and one hand had two fingers and two dog claws. Amber shuddered, but also felt a surprising sympathy. What kind of life could a half-human monster, hideous and unique, expect? Only shunning, slavery, and an early death.

She felt a hot anger against both bandits. She had no desire to fight these people, or anyone, and would rather be left alone. Some of them had manhandled her over a fire without a qualm, and her face still cracked and peeled. The angry memory overwhelmed her, and without thinking she inverted her capture staff and walloped the two bandits on their skulls. The heavy blows left them twitching.

Panting, breast heaving, she realized her friends were watching. Hakiim looked on in horror, Reiver in calm understanding. The thief nodded toward the distant glow. Legs suddenly weak, Amber used her capture staff like a cane to push erect, and the three skulked away.

"There was a woman with them-" Amber started.

"Taken care of," cut off Reiver.

Amber remembered the garrote chain hanging from his hand and asked, "Did you kill her?"

Without turning, the thief countered, "Did you kill those two?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"The same."

Reiver would say no more.

Torches flared throughout the tunnels, islands of light marking turning points in long corridors of gloom.

The White Flame had ordered torches erected at intersections to better hunt treasure, a sign of good organization, yet moneylust had wiped away discipline. Alone or in pairs, bandits fanned throughout the tunnels to tap walls, probe cracks, and ferret out niches. Amber, Hakiim, and Reiver were free to risk their necks picking past the danger spots. They had two advantages because they'd been here before, and Amber possessed a mental picture of the tunnels being used long ago. Yet to avoid raiders, they had to double back and retrace seeming miles of passage. Reiver kept scouting ahead, disappearing more than half the time. Still, they had descended to near the lowest levels before they were spotted.

Two bandits looked their way, dismissed them as comrades in desert robes, then looked again and came trotting.

"Go," hissed Amber.

Skipping, she drew up the rear, keeping a hand on Hakiim's back, and pushing not a little. Tramping into light, they rounded a corner that looked familiar and suggested danger. Hakiim suddenly stalled and Amber plowed into him.

Hakiim gargled, "Gluefloor!"

By the light of a sconced torch, Amber saw the tiny bones of rats and snakes gleaming before Hakiim's dusty toes. If they'd been any hastier…

"Hak, get across on the stepping-stones," Amber said. "I've got an idea."

"Where's Reiver, curse his eyes?" Clutching the wall, Hakiim paced across the bricks they'd laid to one side saying, "He's usually not away from us this long."

"Probably picking a mummy's pocket," Amber said, stepping gingerly over the staggered bricks.

She intended that to be a joke, but the memory of the undead creature waiting in the depths made her shiver, even more now that she knew it was one of her friends, or an ancient counterpart. How had Gheqet or Tafir been made a mummy? Why? How did they all die? Amber's stomach churned for worry about the three friends, though they'd been dead for centuries-or weren't yet, in the mummy's case. Still… no, it was too confusing, so Amber shook it from her mind.

Hopping off the last brick, Amber shoved Hakiim and said, "Get out of sight and wait."

Thankfully he didn't question but skipped into darkness. Just past the dark, glossy patch, Amber dropped to one knee as if she'd fallen. Capture noose under one hand, she peeked behind under her armpit.

The two bandits still pursued. Seasoned outlaws, they didn't bumble down the corridor's center, but slipped around the corner in single file, silent as shadows. Their scimitars were sheathed to keep two hands free, but now each pulled a crook-bladed jambiya. The man and woman split, one leaping across to hug the other wall. Seeing their quarry down and struggling to rise, they never noticed the wet-shiny floor but launched themselves before Amber could escape.

Half skipping, the woman planted a sandal, felt it snag as if in tar, put down her other foot and stuck. Losing her balance, she jerked one foot from a trapped sandal, then slapped her bare sole on the magic glue and stuck permanently.

The man fared worse. Lunging, he stubbed both toes, stuck, and crashed on elbows and knees. Mostly his clothing and dagger caught, but his left hand smacked so his palm held fast. Cursing, he yanked and tore skin. Pain froze him, then fear dawned as he realized his dilemma.

Amber jogged to catch Hakiim, but he threw out an arm to block her.

Ahead, Reiver talked to a stranger at a torchlit intersection, or rather, listened. The thief slouched with slack hands. Before him stood a squat, almost hunchbacked man with rags strung across his shoulders and hips. His skin was ruddy as a sunset, his nose a square blob, his hair grizzled. He spoke low, so the friends couldn't hear, but familiarly, resting a grubby hand on Reiver's shoulder.

"Who's that?" asked Hakiim.

"I've no idea," said Amber. "Some thief Reiver knows from town?"

"More like a ragpicker, and he couldn't have walked all the way from Memnon. He's got no waterskin… or anything else." The three wayfarers were hung like peddlers with packs and water bags and weapons, but the stunted man had nothing.

Amber peeked behind to see if the White Flame's cutthroats followed and asked Hakiim, "What shall we-"

Reiver spotted them and waved a hand. "Hoy." he called, "come hither."

Reluctantly, the two friends joined the thief. Reiver blinked owlishly, as if drunk, and grinned, "Meet my new friend."

"New?" Amber wrinkled her pointed nose. Up close, the stranger stunk like a dog kennel, rank as the ogres. He didn't look friendly. Crooked teeth champed side to side, and baleful brown eyes bored into Amber's soul.

"What's his, uh, your friend's name?" Hakiim hung back.

"Name?" Reiver goggled like an idiot. "Uh, he doesn't…"

Amber found herself staring, unable to pull her eyes from the stranger. The eyes grew bigger, filling her vision, big as desert suns pouring on her head, and just as hot. Those eyes drilled into her mind, making her thoughts grow fuzzy.

"Reive!" yelped Hakiim.