Star wrinkled her forehead; her tiara itched.
"Must we stand here?" Gheqet, who had also spotted some interesting young women, whined. "I'm bored."
"I know we crashed the party, but-oops! Pucker up, Princess. Cursrah's flanks are penetrated by a scouting probe from Oxonsis and a butterfly brigade from Zubat."
Courtiers fell back as two large entourages converged on Star's small throne. From the right marched Samir Pallaton's military escort in lock step, with the dark prince the point of the spear. From the left flowed Samir Nagid's entourage, light and colorful as wax paper balloons. The two princes stopped, an arm's length apart, before Star's throne. The samira smiled carefully, flattered at their attention, but recalled that the two heirs should be kept apart, lest their kingdoms' impending war explode here in the palace.
"My compliments, Samira." A military man, Pallaton got off the first shot, saying, "Cursrah shows its riches are its strength of mind. Oxonsis too knows knowledge is true power."
"Which makes one wonder, Fair Amenstar," the sprightly Nagid interjected, "why Oxonsis shut down its college and banished its scholars? What did their military elite fear to hear?"
"Oxonsis fears nothing, but our college proved a viper pit of treason." The swarthy Pallaton looked only at Amenstar as he continued, "In times of trouble, citizens should support their rulers and join in the mutual defense. It's different in Zubat, I hear. In that city, fops and fools spend their time stargazing and reciting poetry, while enemies infiltrate the streets and poison the minds of the populace."
"I'm amazed Oxonsis has any populace left," Nagid breezed. "Trumped-up criminals and enemies of the state hang along the city walls like rotten fruit. Soon the civic butchers will be forced to recruit sheep into their burgeoning army, but then, that's appropriate isn't it? Sheep never know the shepherd's plan until their throats are cut…"
Star's head oscillated between the two bickering princes.
"I know› some throats that need cutting," Pallaton's voice rose as his face darkened. "The soft-headed populace of Zubat will scream for blood when they learn the city council secretly plots to make them slaves to Coramshan!"
"That's not true," a jarred Samir Nagid hedged. "Zubat exchanges diplomats with Coramshan, as does everyone, but we'll never submit to thralldom by-"
"Mush-mouthed lies. Pap," sneered Pallaton. "Coramshan seeks to conquer all of Calimshan. Zubat is the first stepping-stone in their path, but rather than fight like men, Zubat flops on her back and lifts her skirts for the almighty Bullies of Bhaelros-"
"Excuse me, I'm still hungry."
Amenstar rose from her throne and pushed between the quarrelers, who didn't notice. Gheqet and Tafir slipped behind her. Star wasn't hungry, but her male friends piled their plates high for a second round. Hovering courtiers paid Star compliments, but she made only vague answers and watched the argument escalate.
Mouth full, Gheqet offered, "Neither samir seems to really care about his people. They seem more interested in banging heads and increasing their personal power."
"Same way in the army," Tafir mumbled as he munched squid. "Politics never change."
"Politics bore me," huffed Amenstar. "Look at those two. They're supposed to court me, and instead they bluster like puffed-up gamecocks."
"They'll duel soon," chuckled Gheqet, "then you'll only have one choice for a husband."
"My husband would need to stay close and have a sense of humor." Star studied the two princes, who now shouted in each other's face and added, "I wonder if they qualify…"
"What are you doing?" asked her two friends.
With a wicked leer, the princess grabbed a honey roll from Gheqet's plate. Taking aim, she pegged it at the two princes and laughed as it bounced off Pallaton's shoulder wing. Startled, the samir jumped back from his enemy. Both princes goggled at Amenstar, who returned a gay wave.
"Are you mad?" asked Gheqet.
"No, I'm… politically savvy," giggled Star. "I was told to keep the two princes apart. Besides, it's my party, so join in!"
Grabbing a spiral-sliced orange, Amenstar lobbed it at Nagid, but missed and splattered one of his retainers. Tafir chucked a stuffed peacock egg that exploded amidst Pallaton's grumbly soldiers. Gheqet skipped an oyster shell that ricocheted into Nagid's knee. The music faltered, and a stunned silence fell.
"Then again…" Amenstar stood very still, trying to shrink from sight. Perhaps if she apologized for her rash act-
A glob of red sugared ice whisked overhead. It bombed a pair of aged diplomats in gray and gold. People gasped, but the elder dame, an old hand at diplomacy, stood, snatched up a stuffed crab, and winged it across the room.
Someone roared. An almond cake zipped past Tafir's ear. A lamb chop smacked a man to Star's left. Shrills and laughter exploded from a distant table as every occupant rose, dug their hands into their plates and hurled the lot. Within seconds, the air was full of flying food.
Star shrieked with laugher as she dodged a smoked duck. Gheqet slung a handful of rice and caught a melon rind with his forehead. Let off the leash, Tafir hurled a mountain of pineapple and cherries into the air like a volcano. People screamed, laughed, shouted, and called names as they grabbed whatever they could and threw it. A few cowards scurried to the walls, a few servers tried to block the deluge, but most guests just pitched in and pitched. The fabled Palace of the Phoneix was upended like a market in a hurricane.
Star was splatted by an octopus, splashed with gravy, pelted with olives. Her friends fared the same, and she shrieked with laughter at their food-smeared faces.
"See?" Star howled. "Politics can be fun!"
7
The Year of the Gauntlet
In the depths below the city, the mummy found itself trapped.
There was no exit from the tiny room holding the sarcophagus. Bricks, sloppily laid by inexpert hands, sealed the chamber.
Lying in a trance for centuries, with its body neither living nor dying, the mummy's powers had increased, as an oak tree grows larger and stronger century by century. Laying hands against the bricks, the mummy flexed fingers harder than granite. Dried clay crumbled like old leaves. Lashing out, the mummy smashed both fists through the brick wall. Rending, tugging, shattering bricks and mortar, the mummy tore away the upper wall, then kicked the remaining bricks into powder.
Shuffling forward, the mummy escaped its tomb of the ages.
And stopped.
Dimly it recalled these corridors, last seen ages ago. Sifting memory, like recapturing ancient dreams, the mummy remembered its purpose, the task for which it was created, and who had given it this dark and twisted unlife that burned in its brain and bones like a poisonous fog.
Along with the imperious commands of its long-lost masters, the mummy recalled ever more. Odd thoughts skittered through its shriveled brain, like ghosts shrieking through an empty house, like snakes infesting a skull, like spiders spinning a web in a dead man's helmet.
Yet the pull of duty overwhelmed these distracting thoughts. The creature hadn't been created to think, but to act, to protect.
Slowly, the creature turned, head craned upward on a stiff neck from which dust trickled. It knew why it had awakened. Attuned to the ancient and almost silent heartbeat of Cursrah, the mummy's revival had been triggered by the city's unearthing. Far above, rods and rods distant, the undead guardian sensed that human feet desecrated the palace flagstones.
The mummy's irrevocable duty, pressed upon it for thousands of years, was to protect the palace's lowest level-and the greatest treasure Cursrah could boast. Invaders venturing into the palace would travel downward, as surely as water ran down a drain, and eventually reach this lowermost cellar. The mummy's duty was clear: to lure intruders, to punish them, and to snuff out their lives.