“Run!” Balkis cried, and Anthony shook himself out of his horrified trance to race beside her for the castle.
So it was that they ran and then stopped to throw another nugget whenever they heard the high, mindless chittering of pursuit. At last they were climbing the hill and voices were calling from the wall, calling and being answered, and the gates swung open as they neared. Anthony turned to throw one last nugget, then they dashed into the castle.
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” Balkis fought to keep the sob from her voice.
“Thank you from the bottoms of our hearts,” Anthony said, holding out his hand.
The porter grinned and clasped it. “There would have been little left of you if we had not. Welcome to Castle Formi-gard, young travelers.” His voice was oddly hushed. “I pray you, speak softly, for most of our folk have only now fallen asleep, and we would be loath to wake them. Time enough to tell them of your arrival when they waken this evening.”
He was bronze-skinned, clean-shaven, and hook-nosed, wearing leather armor over desert robes and a turban with a leather neck-guard. Under his arm he cradled a crossbow, cocked and loaded. A quick look around showed Balkis that all the other guards were dressed and armed in the same fashion, though their robes were black, gray, or brown, and his was blue—presumably a symbol of rank.
His words surprised her—not only to find that the people were asleep in the coolness of the early morning, but also because he spoke in the language of Maracanda—a very deep dialect, one that took a great deal of effort to puzzle out, but the language of Prester John nonetheless.
Anthony, however, shifted into the same tongue with no effort at all, though his accent was just as barbarous. “You speak the language of the caravans!”
The porter grinned. “It is the language of Maracanda, young man, and all travelers and merchants learn it sooner or later, for every one of these lands that pay tribute to Prester John and accept his protection speak his language.”
“You are of his empire, then?” Balkis asked.
“Our kings have boasted of their place at his table for two hundred years and more,” the guard said. “His language may not be ours, but we all know it well enough to speak to strangers—as indeed we must in this valley, for each castle holds folk from a different kingdom, each sent here to help harvest the gold of the ants for Prester John. We must league with one another to survive, and admit one another to our castles without regard to nationality, or we would all be ants' meat”
“Praise Heaven for that!” Anthony said fervently.
The guard nodded, his smile touched with amusement. “Otherwise we might not have been so quick to admit you, eh? But the ants are the enemy here, and other rivalries seem to grow dim in this valley” He turned to call softly to a gray-robe. “Ahmed! Take these strangers to the kitchens, for they must hunger!”
Turning back to Balkis and Anthony, he touched forehead, lips, and breast with his fingers as he bowed. “Peace be with you, my friends.”
“Peace be with you, and thank you for your hospitality.” Anthony imitated the gesture, rather clumsily, but well enough so Balkis could tell it wasn't new to him.
She imitated it herself with considerably more grace, echoing, “Peace be to you,” then turned away to follow the guide.
“He is a Muslim!” Anthony whispered to her.
“I would guess they all are,” Balkis agreed.
“But Prester John is a Christian king!”
“All may worship as they please in his empire,” Balkis told him. “There are Buddhists among his folk, too, and even folk whose religion is so primitive that they see spirits in every rock and tree. He has sent missionaries among them, of course, but he will not constrain any to believe as he does.”
“A most prudent emperor,” Anthony mused. “No doubt folk would fight against his rule if they thought he sought to banish their gods.”
Balkis looked up at him with new appreciation. Anthony was showing considerably more intelligence than he had led her to believe, even more than she had seen in him herself.
The guide led them through a vast dining hall into a mammoth kitchen, where cooks and scullery workers were just finishing cleaning up after the morning meal and sitting down to dine themselves. They were quite willing to welcome two more to their table.
Anthony stared at his plate—meat, noodles, and vegetables all mixed together with a fragrant sauce. “What a hearty breakfast!”
The kitchen workers laughed—softly, of course. “This is our supper, young man,” said a wrinkled woman across from him. “When your day begins, ours ends.”
“How odd!” But Balkis picked up her chopsticks without much surprise.
Anthony asked, “Is the daytime sun as hot here as it is in the desert?”
That brought another laugh, and the old woman said, “No, young man, it is the ants! They are our reason for being here, but also our reason for working by night, for that is when they stay belowground, deep in their burrows.”
“I see,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “So during the hours of darkness, they hide in the earth?”
“Not hide,” said a plump man beside him. “That is when they work. From sunset until the third hour of the day, they dig for the purest gold and bring it up to pile in the dirt of their anthills—but when the sun is high enough to begin to heat the land, they come up to hunt and feed.”
“Therefore you must stay in your fortress by day,” Anthony said, understanding, “and if sunrise finds you too far from your own castle, you seek refuge in whichever is nearest.”
The people nodded, and the plump man said, “That is why there can be no enmity between castles, no matter how long the blood-feuds between kings have been living in our homelands.”
“And by night,” Balkis asked, “you can leave your fortified places?”
The others nodded, and the old woman said, “That is when we work, and all take their turns outside the walls as well as in the kitchens or at repairs.”
“None dare appear so long as the ants are aboveground,” said another, “because of their strength and ferocity.”
“So if we were to go to the battlements, we would see ants ranging the valley, but none besieging the castle?” Anthony asked.
“Oh, some,” the old woman said. “There are always a few, like hopeful pups sitting by their master's table, hoping for a bone or a bit of meat to drop—but most know it is fruitless. Mind you, they tried to climb our walls when first our ancestors built these castles, but they fell off, and gave up quickly enough.”
Balkis and Anthony went up to look. Sure enough, there were a few ants hovering hopefully by the gates—but only a few. Balkis looked up at Anthony's frown and asked, “What troubles you?”
“That one.” Anthony pointed to the ant closest to the gate; it seemed to be exploring the wood with its antennae. “I know it is silly, but I cannot help feeling that it is the one who found me taking its gold, the one who was first to chase us.”
Balkis brought up her sleeve to hide her smile.
“Yes, I know it is foolish.” Anthony gave her a sheepish grin. “After all, we cannot tell one from another, and why should that one hold interest in me when none others do?”
“I suspect that the imagination you say you lack is too active.” Balkis took his arm, letting her smile show. “But we must rest while we can, for I've no doubt we shall have to be on our way at sunset. Come, let us find our guest chambers and sleep.”
The dunes rolled below them, Stegoman's shadow slipping over their contours like an iron over wrinkled cloth. Then Matt saw another shadow against the plane of the road.
“Traveler,” he called to Stegoman. “Let's stop and talk.”