The Emperors Knife by Mazarkis Williams Page B

sunset.
    â€œShe comes.” Aherim spoke again at last, his voice the dry whisper of fingers on silk.
    â€œIs she pretty? Is she kind? Does she smell good?” Sarmin sat up and leaned forwards.
    â€œShe is sad, she is strong, she smells of horses.” Aherim fell silent. He only ever answered three questions, and generally not the ones Sarmin asked.
    â€œShe is riding to me. That’s why she smells of horse.” Sarmin picked up his dacarba and sighted down the blades at one of Aherim’s faces. “But why is she sad? Perhaps they have told her bad things about me. Maybe I’m ugly. Or is she worried that she will have to stay in this room with me? Maybe she will miss her horse.”
    Sarmin remembered camels, though not with fondness. His father had horses, but the princes were never allowed among them. “They kick worse than camels,” he remembered a groom telling him. Still, he liked the way they looked. Perhaps a horse would be a good pet.
    â€œI will make her happy, Aherim.” Sarmin tilted the knife so that light danced along the blade’s edges. “I will…” He tried to think how he might entertain her. When they came at all, people came to him with a purpose. He couldn’t recall a time when someone had come to his room simply to speak, simply to be with him. “Perhaps I will not make her happy, Aherim. Maybe I will share her sorrow. I will listen and hear of her life in the sandless wastes.”

    Eyul took one uncertain step, then another. Under his feet a thin layer of sand covered something solid: old stone, undisturbed by the passage of time or the magic that brought it to the surface. Amalya kept by his side, moving so close her sleeve rubbed against his. Eyul touched her elbow with his fingers and they each took another step forwards.
    â€œNothing could be alive in here,” she whispered.
    Neither of them wanted to test that idea too quickly. They took two more small steps. Sandstone houses lined the road. Square gaps in the walls showed where carved window-screens once had been mounted. Eyul could see nothing but darkness through them. Like Carriers’ eyes, they watched their guests with quiet malevolence.
    The sun was sinking towards the west, but still it blazed with heat. They wandered, separate from their shade and water. Eyul’s leg ached with every step. This was a fool’s game. He shook his head. “Let’s get our camels and leave this dung in our wake.” They turned in unison, for the first time moving with speed.
    A stone wall had risen behind them, ten feet high and scoured by sand. It stretched to either side, curving out of sight in an unbroken arc.
    Amalya let out a breath.
    â€œIs there nothing you can do?” he asked her.
    She blinked at the wall as if it had slapped her. “I can’t touch my elemental here,” she said. “It’s as if he’s gone.” She said it the same way Eyul would tell her that every well in the desert had gone dry.
    I have my Knife.
    â€œCome on,” he said, gripping her elbow and pulling her away from the wall. “They want us here, we’ll be here. But it won’t be that easy for them.” With his right hand he pulled his weapon free. They turned again and walked up the street, the sun now in their eyes.
    At a corner where the road split three ways, Amalya stopped.
    â€œI feel something,” she said. She leaned over and Eyul watched, spitting some fine grains from his mouth, as she ran the sand through her fingers. After a few seconds she said, “This way,” and set off to the left. He glanced behind, then followed her.
    They walked a hundred feet more. The road grew narrower.
    â€œDoes this look familiar to you?” Amalya asked.
    Eyul shook his head before taking another look around. “Maybe.” He wiped the sweat from his face, leaving a layer of sand. They walked some more. The sun slipped further down the