War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) by Joseph Robert Lewis Page A

back to punish the wicked, and he’ll punish us too if we’re not careful.”
    Iyasu frowned and glanced up at Zerai, whispering, “Nidar is a spirit of justice, a punishing god from the south.” He turned back to the women. “Where is this Nidar?”
    “No one knows,” the gray-hair said. “He just appears, makes his violence on the world, and disappears again into the night.”
    “Ha! Now I know it’s not any Nidar,” the white-hair said. “It’s not a he , it’s a she !”
    “Pfft!”
    “Don’t you pfft me!”
    “Ladies, please.” Iyasu smiled and touched them each on the hand as he studied their yellowing, wrinkled eyes. “When was the last time this Nidar appeared?”
    “Last night, I hear.” The gray-hair paused to frown at the children in the river, and then turned back to him again. “I hear he found some Maqari soldiers near a Vaari caravan at the edge of the city, near the Red Well.”
    “You hear, you hear.” The white-hair shook her head. “You hear a lot of things for someone who sits on this blanket all day. And I told you, it’s a she .”
    “Hush up, you.”
    “Thank you, ladies.” Iyasu stood up slowly. “We’ll be sure to heed your advice.”
    “Take care, young people.” The white-haired lady waved as they left. “Don’t have too much excitement. Save some for when you’re older!”
    Iyasu saw Zerai and Veneka exchange a grin and he hurried up the road away from them.
    They followed wide boulevards, passed broad red temples with tall round towers, and paused to stare up at the white pyramids of the palace where lush green gardens surrounded the mysterious homes of the Elladi royalty who dwelled with the spirits, and the bodies, of their ancestors. After an hour of snaking their way through the city streets, and criss-crossing back and forth over the Leyen a handful of times on its many bridges, they finally came to a field at the northern edge of the city where the larger caravans gathered to feed and water their camels and horses, and struck their tents together in a small city of linen, wool, and silk.
    “What now?” Petra asked, tapping her foot. “Start asking around? It’s getting late.”
    “It is.” Iyasu looked up at the bloody sun sinking toward the edge of the world. “We should find the Vaari caravan and see if we can spend the night with them.”
    “Do you think they’ll know something?” Zerai asked.
    “Maybe.” The seer started walking toward the pale blue pennants snapping in the breeze. “Though mostly I’m thinking that they’ll have something decent to eat.”
    They found the Vaari encampment to be a pleasant, welcoming place where every inch of the ground was covered in heavy carpets and the tents stood closely together in a ring around a central courtyard, so that once inside they could no longer see the dusty towers and swaying lanterns of Sabah. The Vaari traders and artisans were stern and wary of the newcomers, but only until Iyasu introduced themselves as clerics of the holy mount. Then the cry went up all around that the magi of the east had come among them, and the travelers were welcomed with smiles and open arms.
    Zerai laughed and shook Iyasu’s shoulder. “I forgot how many people still call you magi.”
    “You used to be one of them,” the seer pointed out.
    “I wonder what they would say if we told them about the djinn.”
    Iyasu squeezed his friend’s arm. “Don’t even joke about that. Remember, back when you called us magi, you also called the djinn demons.”
    Zerai’s smile faded and he nodded.
    Everyone gathered around the fires in the center of the carpeted courtyard, and the clerics and djinn sat down among the potters, glaziers, weavers, and painters from the western desert. The Vaari wore light blue robes and dresses and cloaks that hung in loose folds from their shoulders, giving the men and women all the same flowing shapeless forms.
    Just like the djinn walking through shadows. Hopefully no one will