The throne hall of Kar-Mahran was soaked in soft light that seeped through silk screens. The air smelled of mint and sandal resin. From the east, beyond columns carved like twisted date fronds, day was lifting. Harzad sat straight upon the black throne, hearing reports in silence.

  He had no need to linger. The decisions were obvious. Send more wardens to Dalar. Close the roads to Eshen until the matter was clarified. Summon the chief commanders to the palace; tell them to bring only those they trusted without reserve. Have them ready.

  All of that was only setting pawns upon the board. The true game had yet to begin.

  “Today we send Samir,” he said. “He’s my heir—it’s time he did something harder than drills in the yard. Talim goes with him. If he spends so many hours over old books, perhaps his tongue or his mind will be of use.”

  “And the priest?”

  “Our old Elmir can no longer lift a sword. Let him choose a younger man from his order. I’ve always put my faith in Tynos’s faithful.”

  “How many men?”

  “Thirty of the best guards. No more. We’re not making war we’re seeking truth. But they are to be ready to fight, should they find a shadow that breathes.”

  Merim bowed and scratched a note onto his wax tablet. He cleared his throat delicately, as ever.

  “One last matter, Your Brightness,” he said, bending over a scroll. “It comes from the southwest from the Emirate of Liham.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Harzad slanted him a look. Liham was always late with its taxes, never sent enough soldiers when called, and its merchants’ guild more often reported loss than profit. That didn’t stop its lord from wearing so much gold he had begun to stoop beneath it.

  “Under the suzerainty of Sultan Mahrid,” Harzad said through his teeth. His hair would grow back before he ever received good news from there.

  “Yes, my lord. Informal but confirmed by two independent travelers.” Informal piqued his interest. Perhaps he would at last have to discipline a defiant vassal.

  Merim read from the parchment.

  “On the fifth day of the Month of Winds, in Liham’s prayer square, a man in black robes was hanged. He said little only laughed. The sultan had him executed for heresy.” The counsellor rolled the sheet and looked up. “They say he wore the symbol of a rabid dog and spread vile words in a tavern. His body was gone before dawn. No culprits.”

  Silence fell.

  The king did not move an inch.

  “The sultan did not bother to question him?”

  “No, Your Brightness. They judged him possessed. None of the priests would touch him.”

  “And this is news worthy of my time?”

  “The vanishing of a body from a public square guarded by soldiers is not an everyday affair,” Merim replied evenly. “And the symbol they described has not been seen in an age.”

  Perhaps the servant was right, but this was a poor season for such events. They could stoke greater unrest.

  The mark of the Accursed Hound whose shadow does not fall upon the earth. Whose howl wakes the dead but brings no salvation. Harzad had read that once in the archives the sign of Tynos’s wicked brother. He knew little more, and that was enough.

  “This man did he have a name?”

  “If he did, he never gave it. The papers list him as an unknown stranger.”

  “Issue the orders. Send a new reconnaissance south to Liham the quietest men we have. And tell my wife we’ll hold prayers together today. Have the children brought. I will bless my sons before they depart.”

  Merim bowed deeply.

  King Harzad looked down at the floor. Some servant had left a streak of incense ash, imperfectly wiped away. To him, it seemed a line not straight, but coiling. Like the trace of a serpent slipping through darkness, leaving no track.