"The south, then. My powers will find us a path through the sand!"
The Queen quelled herself again, stilling a wild urge to cry out, or run. The sorcerer's tone verged on something like fear. What horror could strike caution into that black heart? Wild speculation churned in the Queen's mind, but thought was dangerous, and she focused, again, on inconsequential matters.
"Can your powers draw water from the sand?" Shahr-Baraz was curious again. "Each step we take from the sea and our barges means water, food, fodder must be carried for leagues across the desert… all exposed to Roman attack while we toil slowly through the wasteland." The King of Kings sighed, and the Queen felt his attention turn upon her for a moment. She remained still. It seemed, for a moment, as if he was going to speak to her. He turned back to the sorcerer. "Can you?"
Dahak did not answer. The cold grew. The Queen began to shiver uncontrollably. At last the sorcerer said, "I cannot. But I will not reveal myself to the enemy, not yet. It is too dangerous!"
"Why?" Even with such a short utterance, the Queen could hear the hint of a mocking smile in the king's voice. She began to wonder why he'd taken such a long walk, in darkness, with the two of them. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting some brilliant flare of destruction to light the rolling dunes. "You have been very wary, sorcerer, since we captured Constantinople. Furtive, even."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Shahr-Baraz said in a musing tone, "you once feared to cross the narrow strait before Constantinople, demanding a bridge of saplings, layered with earth. Yet you later rushed to board a ship, the Queen's ship, to be carried across to Chalcedon-without a single precaution. I know full well you can summon powers and servants to carry you great distances in the blink of an eye-yet you hide in your wagon, surrounded by the army, moving at a snail's pace across the land. Indeed, you have abstained from your usual violence, your usual hunger." Shahr-Baraz paused and now the Queen knew he was laughing at the sorcerer. "Who are you hiding from, old snake?"
There was no answer, only a crack of frozen cloth as the sorcerer settled on his haunches, squatting on the ground like a common tailor. The Queen did not move-indeed, now she wondered if she could move, so cold had her limbs become. After a minute there was a muted, soft muttering. The Queen realized the sorcerer was arguing with himself.
Something touched her shoulder and she started. Shahr-Baraz loomed over her. "You're freezing," he said quietly, mustache white with frost rime. The Queen could see the stars around his head, burning very cold and bright, like a crown. "Here…" He lifted her gently, powerful arms making light work of her thin frame. The Queen felt faint, her head throbbing. The king folded her in his cloak, and she swallowed a gasp, feeling the warmth of his body-hot as a furnace, it seemed-against her frigid hands. Curling herself up, the Queen pressed against his chest. The cloak folded around her.
"You are rash," Dahak said, rising up from the sand. His voice was brittle in the darkness, bottled fury straining against a tight leash. "Endless torments await those who have displeased me… your shell, stripped of will and thought, will serve as well as this living body! I thought you a wiser man, Baraz, a wiser man…"
"Huh." The king lifted his beard at the sorcerer. "I have listened to Khadames and his stories of your plans and plots, your secret fortress in the east, your ever-growing strength. You are strong, but I see you are afraid of something. Something you found, something you saw, in the Roman city. I will tell you now, sorcerer, I am not afraid. Of you, or what you fear." Shahr-Baraz stopped, waited a beat of his heart, then said, "We must attack or leave. You must choose."
"Sssshhhhh!" Lightning flickered in a clear sky, the stars rippling. The Queen heard a grinding sound. "We cannot go back." Anger, fear and defeat mixed in the sibilant voice. "We must go forward."
"Then you must reveal yourself, for we cannot advance without your strength to break the Roman wall!" The king's voice rose sharply.
"I will not!" hissed the sorcerer. Around the three figures, the sand was suddenly whipped by a fierce wind, swirling around them. The air blurred, filled with flying grit. "Not yet! I am not ready!"
"Then-" Shahr-Baraz stopped. Cold, frost-streaked fingers pressed against his lips. The Queen turned her head, barely able to draw breath in the chill air. She felt weak too, as if the power rising in the air drained her life out like a leech.
"There is a way," she croaked, rich contralto ruined by the thin atmosphere. "Lord Prince, you could exert your power through another. You need not appear yourself, where men might see. They would see another face, and-being men-draw false theorems from poor evidence."
Dahak paused, eyes narrowing, and the pale radiance surging across his flesh brightened. Shahr-Baraz looked down, a slow smile growing in his face. His mustaches tickled her face and the Queen sneezed. Embarrassed, she wiped her nose.
"Can this be done?" The king sounded pleased.
"Perhaps…" the sorcerer growled, expression turning sour. "The jackal is biddable… I can see through his eyes, move his limbs." A sardonic, foul smile grew on his face. "Oh, sweet Queen, you are filled with excellent advice. Yes-I can move dear Arad like a puppet-pour my will into his shell. He will be the very figure of power! Little Zoe and Odenathus can be at his side…"
"Then," the king said, cutting off the sorcerer with a sharp tone. "We will attack in two days."
Dahak nodded, turning away. The night swallowed him up immediately, shadow on shadow.
The King of Kings climbed another dune, one of an endless succession stretching off to the south. A thin moon crept up the eastern sky, shedding a furtive, distorting light. The Queen was in his arms, carried as easily as a child, head leaning against a broad chest. The strange chill had fallen away and the desert night-cold by any other standard-seemed warm in comparison. The Boar's boots dug into the sand, which spilled away behind him in long trails. Ahead, the lights of the Persian encampments were beginning to sparkle.
"Why did you command our presence, my lord?" The Queen was still weak, but her voice was recovering. Feeling was beginning to creep back into her hands and feet.
Shahr-Baraz looked down, distant firelight glinting in his eyes. "I wanted to speak with you and with the sorcerer, in private, without witness or hungry ears at the door."
The Queen licked her lips. "We are… allies, my lord. You have but to ask."
He nodded. They reached the top of the dune and he paused, rolling his shoulders. "Our other… ally… recently expressed his extreme displeasure with you, my lady. In my hearing."
The Queen tried to muster a laugh, though it came out more a rasping croak. "The lord Khalid does not love me today."
"No," Shahr-Baraz allowed. "This matter is none of my concern, save I am puzzled by your desire to send a troop of his horsemen to garrison a town previously held by your soldiers. I have not been king for very long, my lady! I would be loath to give up such a rich prize…"
The Queen tried to laugh again, but this time nothing came out. Her thoughts crystallized like the dying air. Could he guess? But how? He cannot read minds… For a moment, she couldn't think of anything to say. She was only conscious of the man's powerful arms and the heat of his body.
"I… saw trouble, my lord. There was bad blood between the two men-between Lord Khalid and the Ben-Sarid chieftain, Uri. I heard… rumors… Khalid would use the Ben-Sarid rashly in this campaign. So Uri would be killed by the Romans and Khalid's hands would be clean."