"Greetings," the Ben-Sarid chieftain said, showing an empty hand. " The temples are closed today."

"I heard." The young man laughed, grinning like a cat. "I came looking for Mohammed of the Quryash. I heard he might be hereabouts."

"He might be," Uri allowed, "but I think he is seeing to some family business. Perhaps if you come back on another day: he might speak with you."

The young man swung lightly down from his horse and tossed the reins to one of his fellows.

"I can wait," the young man said, striding to face Uri. "I have come a long way to see him, to bring him news I know he dearly wants to hear. I had not expected to find the city in such an interesting state, though. I am Khalid, son of Al-Walid, of the House of Makhzum. Well met, Uri of the Ben-Sarid."

Uri raised an eyebrow again and tilted his head to one side. The smirking, confident young man before him did seem familiar- but Uri was certain he knew the faces of every Makhzum clansman in the valley. And this rascal- well, he was none of them! "Well met, then, son of the Makhzum, but I do not know you, and Lord Mohammed is busy."

The young man grinned again, and shrugged in a galling way. "I can wait all day- here in the hot sun, if you like- Grandfather. Will you wait with me?"

The wooden idol of Baal the Devourer burned merrily, the wood spitting and hissing as pockets of ancient rosin caught fire. Jets of smoke billowed from the cracks in the wood and out of the gaping mouth. The other statues, even the stone or ceramic ones, were burning, too, for a thick layer of dust and paint clung to all of them. Flames roared up, licking at the wooden beams that held up the high ceiling. Smoke, flattened into swirling layers, rose up to be trapped against the roof.

Jalal hunched forward on his hands and knees, trying to keep his head out of the poisonous smoke that curled and eddied above him. The heat from the room beat at him like the mouth of a furnace. Behind him, in the doorway, his fellows shouted in fear and cried out for him to return. He did not.

A statue of Baalshamin, cast long ago in some nameless northern city, suddenly shattered in the heat, spraying smoking fragments of pottery across the room. One sliver slashed across Jalal's forehead, making a stinging cut. Despite this and the chokingly hot air, he swarmed forward around the curved path. There, ahead of him, he saw Mohammed slumped under the ancient wall, his head hanging limply to one side. Despairing, Jalal slithered to his side and dug one arm under the chieftain.

Mohammed's eyes opened, and Jalal paused, seeing some flicker of consciousness. Mohammed's mouth moved, but the roar of the flames drowned out all other sound. The Tanukh shrugged and hoisted his commander upon his shoulders. Mohammed struggled, his arm reaching for the wall, but Jalal ignored him and braced for a run through the flames. The smoke had grown so thick, he could no longer see the door.

"Does Mohammed know you?" Uri remained standing in the sun, though the midday heat had grown intense. The rascal in front of him shook his head no, his dark eyes sparkling.

"Ah, but Uncle, I know him! Who better than one who watched him for months as he strove against the might of Persia? Who is closer to a man: his cousin, or a man with whom he has crossed swords? No wife studies a husband as I have studied the Lord Mohammed of the Quryash. No man respects him more than I, who have seen him draw a match against the greatest general in the world. Can you say, holding this gate for him, that you know him better than I?"

Uri snarled, and his hand gripped the hilt of his saber without thinking. The youth shook his head at the movement, raising both hands- empty- to show the Ben-Sarid and the men clustered in the gate. The mercenaries had dismounted and held back a dozen yards or more behind, but they, too, tensed. Uri's eyes flickered over them, but he saw no drawn blade or strung bow. When he looked back at Khalid, the youth bowed to him, as a younger man to his elder.

"I mean no disrespect, Uncle, but I have come a long way to offer my services- mine and my men- to the Lord Mohammed of the Al'Quryash. I knew he would need men skilled in war to follow him, so I gathered those I could and followed him out of the north. My grandmother tells me there has been some blood spilled already- but not all that needs be. I bring him news, too, from the north, from the city of Yathrib, whence we have just come."

Uri nodded slowly and removed his hand from the saber. A hot wind lapped around his ankles. "You were at Palmyra, then? You served the Persian? What did you see?"

Khalid bowed again, pressing his hands together. "I saw a noble city fall, Lord Ben-Sarid," he said. "I saw the Lord Mohammed strive against impossible odds- outnumbered five to one or more- and come within a day's breadth of victory. For months the Persians strove against the walls of golden Palmyra, and each day they dreaded the stroke of his blade. At every turn he was waiting for them, matching wit and skill and cunning not only with the great general Shahr-Baraz, he whom men name the Royal Boar, but with the thing-that-walks-like-aman as well."

"The what?" Uri scowled at the youth. Many stories had circulated among the followers of Mohammed about the siege of the City of Silk, but Uri had discounted the wilder ones- even when they had come from the mouths of Tanukh well into their cups. Dreadful things had happened in the north, but he could not bring himself to believe all of the stories.

"The dark Prince, my lord." Khalid's face turned grim, and his easy smile faded, leaving him looking old and worn. "The one the Persians name Dahak. The Lord of the Ten Serpents. The destroyer of cities."

Jalal bulled his way through the flames, leaping over a fallen idol that was wrapped in smoke. At the door, the men who had followed him into the warren of the building were gone, and he turned sideways to drag Mohammed through the opening. The chieftain was starting to struggle in his hands, and Jalal was forced to pin the older man's arms to his sides. Grunting, he heaved Mohammed up onto his shoulder.

Even in the hallway outside the burning room, the air was thick with smoke. Jalal staggered under the uneven weight, then righted himself.

"I hear you!" The shout startled Jalal, and he tripped, spilling Mohammed onto the tiles of the hallway. It was dark, only fitfully lit by the flames creeping out of the doorway and drifting along the ceiling. Jalal stared, seeing only Mohammed's eyes, white in the darkness, ahead of him.

"I hear you, Lord of This World!" Mohammed staggered to his feet, ignoring the smoke that curled around him. "I will act! These abominations will be thrown down, and you will be raised into your rightful place!"

Jalal stared around in concern- no one else was in the hallway. The echoes of Mohammed's shouts were swallowed by the darkness and the crackling roar of the flames. Jalal scuttled forward, keeping his head low and out of the slow billowing waves of smoke. Mohammed swayed from side to side. Jalal captured one of his arms again, and yelped as a fat yellow spark snapped between the chieftain and his hand.

"I hear you, O Lord of This World! I will tell men what I have seen and:"

Mohammed's voice faltered, and he suddenly slid sideways. Jalal caught him, cradling the older man close to his chest. The smoke was worse, flooding the hallway. Jalal crawled forward, hoping that he remembered the way out. It was becoming very hard to breathe. Mohammed muttered in his ear, senseless words, rambling and incoherent. Jalal began pushing Mohammed ahead of him, but the air was thinning quickly. Sparks began to dance in front of the Tanukh's eyes and his ears began to ring. He gritted his teeth and crawled onward.