As the Dartar riders came abreast of her, that youngest's eye met the oldwoman's. Her stare was hot and sharp, accusing. The youth blushed and lookedaway. The old woman muttered, "Well you might be ashamed, turncoat."

"Oh, Mother. He's not responsible. He was a child when the Dartar tribesbetrayed us."

"Dak-es-Souetta," the old woman hissed as she looked up at her daughter, whohad come from the house with a child on her hip. "Never forgiven, neverforgotten, Laella. Herod is a passing wind. Qushmarrah is eternal. Qushmarrahwill stand when the invader is dust. Qushmarrah will remember the Dartartreachery." She spat toward the mercenaries.

"Why don't you go burn a memorial tusk at the gate of the citadel of Nakar theAbomination, Mother? I'm sure the Witch will appreciate the gesture."

Laella retreated into the house. The old woman sputtered curses under herbreath. Another symptom of the conquest. Children showing no respect for theirparents.

She glanced uphill. The citadel of Nakar the Abomination could not be seenfrom her vantage. Even so, chills tramped her spine.

Some good had come of the occupation. Even she would admit that much. Even shethought Ala-eh-din Beyh a hero. Before his sacrifice no one would have daredcall Nakar "the Abomination" in any voice but the most breathless whisper.

The old woman pointed and Zouki's gaze followed the spearthrust of herwithered arm.

The Dartar riders were like something out of the nighttime monster stories theolder boys told to scare their little brothers. All in black, with nothing buthard eyes and a bit of dark, tattooed cheek showing.

He spun and ran into the crowd, alternately yelling, "Yahoud!" and apologizingto the adults he jostled. With everyone taller, and the dust so thick at hislevel, it was impossible to see his friends. He thought he heard his name.

Baml He ran into Yahoud, who had just lifted the skull from the dust. "Youdope!" Yahoud said. "Look out where you're going."