Chapter 2

The Sultan was—as the Captain had foreseen—charmed with Auda ibn Jad. Nothing would do but that the Sultan and his current favorites among his wives and concubines must leave the palace and traipse outside the city walls to pay homage to the dead. The women cooed and sighed over the handsome young Prince. The Sultan and the nobles shook their heads over the wasted beauty of the women. Auda ibn Jad told his story well, bringing tears to many eyes in the royal court as he related in heartfelt tones the final words of the redhaired wife as she fell dead across her husband’s body.

Following this, there was a sumptuous dinner that lasted long into the night. The wine flowed freely, much of it into the Captain’s mouth. Ordinarily, the Captain did not take to strong drink, but he felt he had to warm himself. There was something about Auda ibn Jad that chilled his blood; but what it was, the Captain couldn’t say.

Deep into his sixth cup of the unwatered vintage that came from the grapes grown in the hills above Idrith, the Captain stared at the man, seated crosslegged on silken cushions opposite him. He couldn’t take his eyes off ibn Jad, feeling himself caught by the same terrible fascination a cobra is said to exert over its victims.

It is Auda ibn Jad’s face, the Captain decided muzzily. The man’s face is too smooth. There are no lines on it, no traces of any emotion, no traces of any human feeling or passion—either good or evil. The corners of the mouth turn neither up nor down. The cold, hooded eyes narrow in neither laughter nor anger. Ibn Jad ate and drank without enjoyment. He watched the sinuous twistings of the dancing girls without lust. A face of stone, the Captain decided and drank another cup of wine, only to feel it sit in his stomach like a lump of cold clay.

At last the Sultan rose from his cushions to go to the bed of his chosen. Much pleased with his guest, he gave Auda ibn Jad a ring from his own hand. Nothing priceless, the Captain noted, staring at it with bleary eyes—a semiprecious gem whose glitter was greater than its worth. Auda ibn Jad apparently knew something of jewels himself, for he accepted it with a flicker of sardonic amusement in the cold eyes.

In answer to the Sultan’s invitation to return to the palace tomorrow, ibn Jad replied regretfully that he must not tarry in his sad journey. His king had, as of yet, no knowledge of the death of his son and Auda ibn Jad feared lest it should reach his ears from some stranger, rather than a trusted friend.

The Sultan, yawning, was very understanding. His Captain was overwhelmed with relief. In the morning they would be rid of this man and his wellpreserved corpses. Stumbling to his feet, the Captain—accompanied by a cold sober ibn Jad—made his way through the winding passages of the palace and stumbled drunkenly down the stairs. He narrowly missed tumbling headfirst into a large ornamental pool that graced the front of the palace—it was ibn Jad’s hand that pulled him back—and finally weaved his way through the various gates that led them by stages back into the city.

Once in the moonlit streets of Idrith, Auda ibn Jad glanced about in perplexity.

“This maze of alleys confuses me, Captain. I fear I have forgotten the way back to the arwat in which I am staying. If you could guide me—”

Certainly. Anything to get rid of the man. The Captain lurched forward into the empty street; ibn Jad walking at his side. Suddenly, inexplicably, the man in black slowed his pace.

Something inside the Captain—some old soldier’s instinct— screamed out a desperate warning. The Captain heard it, but by then it was too late.

An arm grabbed him from behind. With incredible strength, it wrapped around his neck, choking off his breath. The Captain’s fear sobered him. His muscles tensed, he raised his hands to resist. . .

The Captain felt the stinging pain of the knife’s point entering his throat just beneath his jaw. So skilled was the hand wielding the blade, however, that the Captain never felt the swift, slicing cut to follow. There was only a brief tremor of fear. . . anger. . . Then nothing.

The Captain’s body was discovered in the morning—the first in a series of grisly discoveries that left the city of Idrith in the grip of terror. Two streets over, the body of an old man was found lying in a gutter. Ten blocks to the north, a father woke to find his young, virgin daughter murdered in her sleep. The body of a virile, robust man turned up floating in a hauz. A middleaged mother of four was discovered lying in an alley.

The disciplined guards surged outside the city walls to question the strangers, only to find that the funeral cortege of Auda ibn Jad had disappeared. No one had heard them leave. The sunbaked ground left no trace of their passing. Squadrons of soldiers rode out in all directions, searching, but no trace of the man in black, his goums, or the bodies in the rattan litters was ever found.

Back inside the city, the mystery deepened. The dead appeared to have been chosen at random—a stalwart soldier; a decrepit old beggar; a beautiful young virgin; a wife and mother; a muscular young man. Yet the victims had one thing in common—the manner of their dying.

The throat of each person had been slit, neatly and skillfully, from ear to ear. And, most horribly, by some mysterious means, each body had been completely drained of blood.