Nighteyes’ Fifty had silently positioned themselves in a semicircle around the burial pit while the sun still bled on the horizon behind them. They left only the river for the ghouls to retreat to. While ghouls were capable of swimming, they did not excel at it, and would be easily picked off by arrow fire from the bank if any did make it into the water. All of the Eternal Guards were proficient bowmen; the Subori empire had been won, and was kept, on the strength of its archers.

In addition to the powerful recurve bows that were the standard issue of the Eternal Guard, each was armed with a short sword, the curved khopesh that was popular with the Subori and their near neighbors. Some carried an axe in addition to this basic armament, while others were armed with javelins or spears. And each carried the short bronze dagger with which their tongues had been severed. Ceremonial and symbolic they might be, but the Eternal Guard kept them close, and kept them sharp.

The Fifty lay flat on the sand, waiting for the sun to set, and the ghouls to rise. They were disciplined. Only their eyes moved, scanning the ground that the ghouls had claimed.

Sunset became dusk, became night.

Minutes dragged by. Nothing stirred in the sand that they so carefully watched.

Nighteyes waited half an hour before rising. The slight noise of his movement was enough to draw the attention of his men. He signaled them to stand and draw their bows and then, laying his own bow down on the sand, took up his spear and approached the burrow closest to him.

Quiet as his movements were, he knew that a ghoul’s hearing was acute. If one were still in the burrow past sunset, it should already have detected his approach. When he thrust his spear into the slightly raised hump of sand, it was without any expectation of a response.

The spear’s tip met flesh – he knew the sensation. He drove the spear deeper in, twisted it, and then pulled it back with considerable effort.

A corpse came with it, appearing reluctantly from the sand. A desiccated, human corpse.

~ ~ ~

While the rest of the Fifty ensured none of the other ‘burrows’ housed an actual ghoul, Nighteyes conferred with Hummingbird.

“What is your assessment?” Nighteyes asked his second.

“Someone has a strange sense of humor.”

“This is no time for your jokes. Be serious.”

“I am. Ghouls don’t play tricks. They aren’t smart enough. All they care about is eating and not dying, you know this. So if it wasn’t ghouls who laid out the false burrows, it was done by humans. But don’t ask me why.”

“There are no human tracks anywhere in the vicinity, Hummingbird.”

“I know. But what else could it be?”

Nighteyes hesitated. If it had been anyone other than Hummingbird, he would not have exposed his wild thought.

“It might be an ifrit.”

Hummingbird raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s joking?”

Ifrit were powerful, capricious desert spirits. They were also exceedingly rare. Some believed they were nothing more than creatures of folklore. But Nighteyes had seen one, once. In a battle against the Sea People, he had watched from a distance as one of the imperial sorcerers had unleashed an ifrit upon the enemy. The scene of devastation it had caused was something that would stay with him until the day he died.

Hummingbird had not seen that battle; he had been injured in a previous skirmish and had spent the time recuperating.

Nighteyes merely shook his head. “I do not say it is one. I only say that there is more at work here than we understand. We should not mistake what we think for what we know.”

“Yes, Greatest. So what are your orders?”

“Finish here. Search well for any tracks. If any are found, we will follow. If none are found, we cross the river and investigate the cave entrance.” It was unlikely they would find any tracks they hadn’t already noted. The desert breeze was sufficient to fill any made in loose sand.

~ ~ ~

“Krrsh.”

“Builder.”

“Your pack is settled and well?”

“Pack is good, Builder.”

“I am gladdened to hear it. But now we have things to discuss.”

Krrsh grunted acknowledgment. He was tired. His head was tired more than his body, but his body was tired, too. It was nearly day, and much had happened that night. But talking to Builder was important, yes.

“First, I must know if you will let your pack decide if they wish the curse lifted, or if you will decide as pack leader.”

It was a good question. A hard question, yes, so also a bad question. Good questions should be easy, Krrsh felt. His brow furrowed in concentration.

“Pack do what pack leader say. That is ghoul way. But… pack leader cannot make ghoul do all things. Cannot mate unless other says yes. But ghouls will not understand about curse. Not like Krrsh. Maybe Wrna, maybe Chrrk understand. Other Ironclaws not understand.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

No, it was definitely not a good question. It was making his head hurt. He stopped himself from beating at his head. He was pack leader now; he must look like he knew what to do, always.

“Do ghouls like the curse? Do they think it is fair?” Builder asked, and Krrsh huffed in response.

“Builder not understand. Ghoul do not like curse. Ghoul do not not like curse. Curse is curse. Think about curse for what?”

“So you believe your people couldn’t imagine the curse not existing, save perhaps for Wrna and Chrrk.”

“’S what Krrsh said.”

“In that case, it seems to me it is your duty, as pack leader, to decide for those who cannot decide for themselves.”

Krrsh considered that. Reluctantly, he decided Builder was not wrong. It made his head hurt more. He settled for massaging it instead of beating at it.

It was not nearly as satisfying.

“There is more,” Builder said. Krrsh groaned.

“When I lift the curse from a ghoul, it is only for that ghoul. Any children, any pups will still carry the curse. I believe I can heal that as well, but again, I will only do so with your assent.”

Krrsh slowly worked through Builder’s words to get to the marrow of his meaning. When he did, Krrsh looked around furtively. None of the other ghouls was paying him much attention that he could see, so he allowed himself a few quick knocks to his skull.

He had to decide not just for the Ironclaws, but for all Ironclaws, forever.

And no curse was a good thing. He knew it. Just as an adult ghoul might draw a thorn from the paw of a pup despite its howling and its fear of further pain, so too he knew that taking away the curse from ghouls would be best for them. He had decided for himself, it was done, and he had not died. But a new worry had risen in him since then, pushed back and unrecognized because of all else that had happened. He could see it now, though; now that the choice was in front of him for all the others.

Gods had put the curse on ghouls, almost all of them.

Maybe they didn’t notice one ghoul without the curse. But a whole pack? Wouldn’t they notice that? And wouldn’t they be angry?

Krrsh asked as much of Builder, who was slow to reply.

“I do not know,” was his eventual answer. “I cannot tell you what may happen. I cannot say what is best for the Ironclaws. But if it were my choice, I would risk the anger of all the gods, if it meant righting the wrong they have done.”

“Builder sound… angry,” Krrsh observed.

“I will tell you a secret, Krrsh. I am always angry. I will always be angry, until the day I kill the emperor. Without my anger, I would already be dead. But forgive me for speaking about myself. Before you is a difficult choice.”

“Yes. Krrsh must think.”

“I understand. Please tell me when you decide.”

Krrsh grunted in acknowledgment, and Builder spoke no more.

Take curse away. Maybe make gods angry. Maybe gods kill Ironclaws.

Don’t take curse away. Ghouls live. But still ghoul. Hunger still hunt ghoul. And no green fields, no forests.

No hope.

But ghouls live.

But no hope.

“Wrna. Chrrk,” Krrsh called across the big open space, and the two ghouls came to him. One with a graceful stride of youth and strength, and the other with the more careful tread of long life.

“Pack leader,” said Wrna. Chrrk said nothing, merely staring at him with her calm, secretive eyes.

Krrsh scratched at his head. “Krrsh ask you: what is better, big hope happen or stay safe?”

“Safe,” Wrna answered immediately.

“Why?” asked Chrrk.

“Chrrk forget why. Choose.”

She was quiet for a long time. She looked down at the floor, then up at the big picture of Ironclaw on the wall. Then she looked at Krrsh.

“Chrrk choose hope,” she finally said.

Krrsh nodded. “And if hope bring danger. Chrrk still choose hope?”

She nodded, and there was no doubt in it. They looked at each other, and the look lasted.

“Why Krrsh ask?” Wrna wanted to know.

“Not important,” Krrsh answered. “Old one no worry.”

Wrna frowned at him, and then hobbled away. When he was gone, Chrrk crossed her arms under her small breasts.

“Now Krrsh tell Chrrk.”

“Maybe Chrrk not want to know.”

Chrrk flexed her claws. Her very sharp claws.

“Sit. Pack leader no stare up. Not right.” Krrsh smiled, and Chrrk growled. But she sat. Krrsh pointed a claw at her and his face grew serious.

“Chrrk no tell others. Krrsh only tell you, yes.” He waited for her nod, and then continued.

“Krrsh no more have curse.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again. “How?” was all she said. Ghouls rarely lied. They rarely thought to.

He shrugged. “Builder. Now Builder take away curse from all Ironclaws. All but Wrna.” That simply, he had made his decision.

Chrrk stared at Krrsh for a long time, eyes wide. He could see her thinking about what that meant. Then she looked up at the picture of Ironclaw once more. But once she looked back at Krrsh, her eyes were narrow and hard.

“And then?” was all she asked.

“And then Ironclaws fight for Builder.”

~ ~ ~

Anomus waited until the ghouls slept to make his alterations, resisting the day-torpor once more in order to do so. He took care and took his time. These were not nearly mindless insects; they were sentient creatures. Allies. A people already altered in an act of injustice and, he felt, blatant cruelty.

He could not offer them what the Faceless One had offered him. He could not give them a path to retribution. But he could, and did, remove the shackles that had dragged them down into subhuman status. All except the elderly one.

He understood Krrsh’s decision regarding the ghoul named Wrna, though he did not fully agree with it. The habits of a long life had taught the creature, doubtless painfully, that safety was to be prized above anything else. The old ghoul would not fight, of course, and now he would not, in theory, be liable for any offense the gods might take in throwing off their curse.

Anomus doubted the gods would make such fine distinctions, if they chose to be offended. They had already proven themselves capable of condemning a whole race to a miserable existence due to the actions of a single individual – why would they exclude a single individual from their notional wrath?

Anomus kept his thoughts to himself, however. It had been Krrsh’s decision to make.

It was past noon when he finished rewriting the portion of the secret code that would have passed the curse on to the next generation of ghouls. His task complete, he was almost about to let himself slip into his strange version of sleep when one of his flies returned from the eastern entrance. Almost, he ignored it and whatever it had seen. Likely sand and rock and nothing more, after all. Its memories would be waiting when he awoke.

But he found himself incapable of even such a slight indolence. Conscientiousness had always been a facet of his character, and now that he was no longer merely human, it had been married to a kind of compunction regarding his safety. He sifted through the fly’s memory.

And discovered three – no, five Eternal Guard approaching the Tomb from the desert side.

No. Surely not yet. It is far too early.

Sleep now an impossibility, Anomus waited impatiently for more of his flies to return. He dispatched all that remained in the Tomb as well, from both the Well and the tunnel.

Slowly throughout the long afternoon his spies returned one by one, giving him a clearer picture of the developing situation. Five Eternal Guard had scouted the area behind the Tomb, doubtlessly noting the tunnel’s entrance. Five more had approached the Tomb from across the river, but had halted some distance from where the workers had been discarded in their mass grave. Both groups had withdrawn without getting very close to the Tomb – but they had come close enough to make observations.

Ten Eternal Guard were bad enough, when there should not yet even be one. But as the day drew on, Anomus learned their true number was closer to fifty. And they were not merely passing the Tomb on some other mission.

No. They were an advance detachment, he was certain. They had come to secure the Tomb and its surroundings in preparation for the Concubine’s interment.

In preparation for the emperor’s arrival.

And he was not ready.