elbow, yawning.
They ate a hurried meal. “We shouldn’t have any problems,” Tomas said once they’d eaten. “But for the first couple of hours I want every man ready. After that, we can take it in shifts.”
Harkeld looked out over the canyon. Dusk was rapidly falling, the shadows deepening, spreading. Broken-open tombs stretched as far as he could see along the base of the cliffs. The holes looked like dark mouths.
He narrowed his eyes. Was that movement?
“I want three fires,” Tomas said, pointing. “There, there, and there. Now move; we haven’t much time.”
They built a fire at each of the three points where the outcrop jutted, prow-like, into the canyon. The light they cast illuminated the entire outcrop. Harkeld stood at the edge and looked down. Nothing would be able to climb up without being seen.
Night slowly enveloped the canyon. The shapeshifters became owls and swept up into the sky. Harkeld stood listening, his sword clenched in his hand, his ears straining for the first sound—
A stone rattled in the distance.
“Harkeld, get back,” Tomas said, from his position by one of the fires.
“But—”
“Back!” His voice was hard. “You too, Justen.”
Muttering, Harkeld obeyed.
He stood in the middle of the outcrop, sword in hand, ready. All around him, men faced outward. Firelight turned their faces ruddy. The sword blades gleamed red-gold. He heard the rattle of dislodged stones, a rustling sound like dried leaves, the whisper of wings as the shapeshifters kept watch from above.
A minute passed, and then another. Nothing changed. Several more minutes passed. Harkeld’s arm began to grow tired, holding the sword aloft. “Well?” he asked.
“Come and have a look,” Tomas said.
Harkeld lowered his sword. He walked across to Tomas and looked down.
The firelight cast its illumination over a mass of corpses. He saw gaunt, hollow-eyed faces, brittle thatches of hair, leathery skin stretched tight over bones. The creatures were in constant movement, jostling one another. Those in front scrabbled at the outcrop, plucking at the rock with bony fingers, trying in vain to haul themselves up.
“They can’t climb,” Tomas said.
The only excitement during the first hour was an unattached hand groping its way up the side of the outcrop. The soldiers watched as it climbed and chopped it to pieces when it reached the top.
Tomas turned away from the edge, sheathing his sword. “We’ll take it in shifts, six at a time, half the night each. Who wants to go first?”
Harkeld raised his hand.
“You don’t have to,” Tomas said. “We have enough—”
“I want to.” Last night, men had died for him; tonight, he would pull his weight.
“It’ll be boring,” Tomas said. “Cold—”
“Tomas, go to sleep.”
His friend grinned. “Yes, sire.”
TOMAS HAD BEEN correct: it was boring and, as the night progressed, increasingly cold. Harkeld alternated standing by the fire with Justen. Even so, he was shivering by the time the second shift relieved them. His fingers were numb. He almost dropped his sword, sheathing it.
Rolled in his blanket, the sandstone cold and hard beneath him, the shivering gradually eased. Justen was warm on his right.
Despite the constant, dry susurration of movement from the canyon floor, despite the cold, Harkeld slid into sleep.
“STILL COLD?” A voice whispered. Arms came around him. A body pressed against his back.
“That feels good,” Harkeld murmured, turning, gathering her close. He didn’t open his eyes, but the scent of her black hair was familiar, the slenderness of her body.
She nestled against him, soft and warm.
Contented, Harkeld slid into sleep again.
INNIS WOKE AT dawn. She sat up, rubbing her face, feeling Justen’s stubble on her cheeks. Prince Harkeld still slept. His face was relaxed, the grimness gone; he merely looked exhausted.
She looked out across the canyon. The sand was churned with thousands of footprints. Even as she watched, a breeze began to smooth the tracks. A low wail rose from the walls.
Innis pushed aside the blanket and walked to the edge of the outcrop. A few fragments littered the sand: a skull, its eye sockets staring up at the sky, a bony leg. “Any trouble?” she asked the closest soldier.
He shook his head.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THEY ATE BREAKFAST on top of the outcrop and then lowered everything to the ground. Prince Harkeld scrambled down. Innis was crouching on the edge, ready to jump, when she felt a light touch on her elbow. It was Dareus.
“Change with Petrus once you’re down.”
She nodded.
It wasn’t easy to swap places without being seen. One of the soldiers, coming around the outcrop to empty his bladder in private, almost interrupted them. Innis shrank to