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WINTER 2009

Joel Jenkins and Martin Edward Stephenson

Nick Andreychuk
Jack Mackenzie
Lee Beavington
E. P. Berglund
David A. Hardy
G. W. Thomas
C. J. Burch

Interview:
Interview:
JOSHUA
JOSHUA REYNOLDS
REYNOLDS

Feature
Feature Story:
Story:
THE
THE TOMB
TOMB OF
OF THE
THE AMAZON
AMAZON QUEEN
QUEEN
by
by Michael Ehart
Michael Ehart
The following pages
represent a brief
preview of
Dark Worlds
issue #3.
 Dark Worlds
DARK WORLDS WINTER 2009 ISSUE THREE
Cover artwork by Aaron Sidall (www.aaronsidall.com)
NOVELETTES
THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN..................Michael Ehart 2
A sorceress and her daughter on the run team up with the deadly
Sisterhood of the Spear to find a forgotten treasure.
IMMORTALS OF THE CANNIBAL COAST...................................
..............................Joel Jenkins and Martin Edward Stephenson 88
Terajel must save herself and her band of pirates from unearthly peri!

SHORT STORIES
ROADBLOCK..........................................................Jack MacKenzie 32
Running a roadblock on a disused spaceway didn’t seem serious to Eddie
Pennington and his partner, but a deadly killing machine has other ideas!
THE STORMING OF BIG SPREE...........................David A. Hardy 44
Getting his man is not a problem for Mountie Thomas Gatewood, but
keeping the man’s death a secret is more of a problem!
BAYOU MIRAGE .......................................................E. P. Berglund 52
Does the spirit of a woman haunt the Bayou or protect it?
LAOCOON ..................................................................G. W. Thomas 65
Brett Hope follows a trail of death that leads to an unexpected evil.
LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE ..................................Nick Andreychuk 76
A corpse, a diner and a sleeping dog are ingredients for a mystery.
COMMUNICATIONS DELAY.................................Lee Beavington 82
An astronaut must communicate with Earth about a mysterious object.

Articles
Review: BURY ME DEEP..................................................................112
INTERVIEW WITH JOSHUA REYNOLDS.....................................114
THE DARK WORLDS CLUB ...........................................................117

DARK WORLDS issued occasionally by the Dark Worlds Club, British Columbia, Canada. Copyright 2008.
All Rights Reserved by the Editors and Author/Artist Partners. All copyright remains with the authors and
artists. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission. No submissions will be accepted without invitation of the Dark Worlds
Club. Letters of Comment can be sent to darkworlds21@gmail.com. Each story in this anthology is a work of
fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents in this anthology are either the product of the author's
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people (living or dead) places, business
establishments, locales, and/or events is entirely coincidental.
G. W. Thomas & M. D. Jackson, Editors
a novelet by
O
NLY NINE Temple soldiers
ha d em er ge d fr om th e
desert, and Ninshi had cut
the throat of one three nights before.
There were two on guard tonight,
nervous and alert. Miri waited until
they were both facing out from the
camp, away from each other. Her first
arrow caught the nearest in the throat,
and he dropped soundlessly. Her
second shot was less certain. The
moon was largely hiding her face, and
the over-large fire in the center of the
camp had flickered down to embers.
She decided on the center of his back,
2
MICHAEL EHART
and had another arrow in flight
almost before the first struck him
squarely between the shoulders. The
second arrow struck less than three
fingers' width from the first, and the
soldier fell forward with no more than
a grunt.
Miri watched as the small form of
her mother flitted from shadow to
shadow, into the camp, bending over
each cloak-wrapped figure for a
moment, then silently moving on to
the next. Miri lost sight of her for a
few heartbeats, then was startled
enough to jump a little when Ninshi

An ancient warrior and her daughter on the run
join with a fierce sisterhood to find a fabled treasure
THE TOMB OF THE
Amazon Queen
reappeared a few paces away.
"Did you kill them all?" whispered
Miri.
Ninshi shook her head. "I left one.
We will speak with him in the
morning."
She led the way out of the wadi
where the soldiers had sheltered from
the night wind to the far side of a
hillock a few hundred paces away.
Their horses were tethered to the lone
tree there. Both mares stirred and
twitched at the smell of blood on
Ninshi's knife, still carried uncovered
at her side. Ninshi bent, plucked a
handful of the saw grass that grew in
small clumps at the base of the tree,
and wiped her knife with it. The
bronze of the blade flashed dimly in
the pale moonlight.
They made a cold camp. Ninshi
slept little anyway, and so kept watch.
The long centuries of her murderous
3
Illustrations by M. D. Jackson
life filled her dreams with too many
ghos ts. Miri was only four teen
summers, and had far less of her
adopted mother's acquaintance with
violent death. She propped herself
against the bole of the tree, and though
she tried, sleep eluded her as well. At
first it was the trembling which
followed every fight that kept her
awake, and then it was a reflection on
the men they had killed. They were
soldiers sent by the Priestesses of the
Temple of Ishtar to kill them or worse,
she knew that much. But it surprised
her that in spite of the fact that they
had been running from and fighting
these soldiers and others for some
time, she knew very little about them.
She knew the weaknesses of their
armor, and the quality of their
equipment and training. But she knew
nothing of the men themselves.
The sky lightened, and Ninshi
4 DARK WORLDS
stirred from where she had sat still for
the last few hours. She reached into
the pack against which she had
leaned, and produced two small
pieces of dried meat and a citron. She
divided the fruit with the same knife
she had cut throats with the night
before, and handed a portion to Miri.
They ate in silence, fed a little grain to
the horses, and broke camp.
They led the horses over the rocky
hillock, and across an open space.
Miri tied the horses to a small bush at
the mouth of the wadi. The course of
the vanished stream that had formed it
was clear here, with its rocky bottom
striated in recurved lines of ancient
waves. They walked to the edge of the
camp, where the lone living man
stood, bare handed and with his head
uncovered.
"Wh y hav e you spa red me,
Mistress of Death?" The man's voice
was tight, and high-pitched. He spoke
the Akkadian dialect of Nineveh, with
its distinctive dropped word endings.
He was clearly trembling, and his face
was pale white against the black of his
beard and his tousled hair.
"I have questions," Ninshi said
after a few moments.
The man gulped, and nodded.
"Come then, and we shall sit among
the dead."
They walked into the camp. The
figures of the dead men, rolled in their
cloaks seemed peaceful. The only
evidence of violence was the dried
pools of blood around the head of
each. Even those had mostly sunk into
the thirsty dust here at the bottom of
the wadi.
The fire at the center of the camp
was dead. The soldiers had fared very
poorly in the desert, and their camp
was little more than a fire and a
sleeping circle. Just a few weeks ago
they had been a hundred strong or
more , wit h cam els, hors es an d
elephants. Less than two hands-full
had emerged from the desert, with
little more than their arms.
Two large rocks had been rolled to
the edge of the now-dead fire, and
Ninshi and the soldier each sat. Miri
stood alert at her mother's shoulder.
"Tell me why you pursue us,"
asked Ninshi.
The soldier's eye widened further.
"You do not know? The priestess
cannot let the Temple be burned, even
by someone…" he trailed off ,
frightened and uncertain of what
words might awaken the monster in
front of him.
"…someone like me?" Ninshi
rasped. "You have no idea of what I
am. The priestesses no doubt raised
you on dark tales of The Betrayer.
Kept you awake nights, starting at
every night sound? Gave a name to
your fears."
The soldier nodded.
Ninshi leaned forward. Her heavy,
greased braid slid over her shoulder
and hung between them as
punctuation. "What I am is worse
than you could ever imagine. I need
your fear. I need you to return to your
Temple and tell them that any who
pursue me will die. And then…"
She looked around at the silent
figures around them, figures that had
once been men. Using gestures and
very few words, she instructed the
shaken soldier to assist her and Miri as
they stripped the dead of their clothing
and weapons. They laid them out
naked, side by side in a line.
Miri gestured to the soldier, and
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
led him up and around the bank of the
wadi, and motioned him to hide
himself and watch. Miri crouched
beside him. Below, Ninshi stood
silently at the end of the line of
corpses, her scarred face blank.
Judging that they were a safe distance
away, Miri brought her fingers to her
mouth and whistled softly.
She tapped her forefinger on the
man's forehead. "You will be silent
now, and not run. No matter what you
see, you must not be seen or heard.
When the beast feeds she sees nothing
else, and cannot defend us."
The soldier gulped, but said
nothing.
"On your life and mine. Not a
sound." Miri settled a little lower, and
waited.
For what seemed a long while
nothing happened. In the wadi below,
Ninshi stood staring at a broken tooth
talisman at the end of a strap hung
around her neck. The wind blew
lightly through the wadi, stirring up
small twists of dust and pushing a few
brown fronds from a dying palm past
the edge of the camp. Somewhere, a
sunbird faintly cried, and behind them
the rising daylight warmed their
backs.
The soldier stirred beside her, and
Miri turned to repeat her warning, but
her whisper died in her throat. There
was a sound like the rushing of a great
river, and at that same moment she
was blinded by pain. It felt as if her
eyes and ears were pierced by great
needles. For a moment she knew
nothing but her agony, and then as
quickly as it came it was gone, leaving
a foul weakness of limb in its place.
She had seen the Manthycore feed
before, and had no desire to see it
5
again. Beautiful and terrifying, he
stood man-high at his bull's shoulder.
His lion-shaped head towered above
Nishi's small rigid form. The early
morning light glistened gold off of his
enormous wings. The Great Beast
rumbled some inquiry at Ninshi, and
she answered in the same harsh
tongue. Seeming satisfied, the
monster turned and began his ghastly
feast, beginning at the end of the line
farthest from Ninshi.
Beside her, Miri heard the soldier
whimper and choke. She grasped his
arm, pinching down hard, and with
her other hand turned his stricken face
to hers. His eyes were wild, and his
mouth agape in horror. She shook her
head fiercely.
"What is your name?" she
whispered into his ear, with breath
only.
He shook his head,
uncomprehending.
She pinched down harder and
asked again, "What is your name?"
He sobbed back a whispery gasp,
and nodded his head. "Dant."
"Watch, Dant," she whispered.
"Watch it all, but make no noise, or I'll
kill you myself." She emphasized her
words with the point of her knife
against his side. She felt fierce, and
faintly ridiculous. Dant was twice her
size and likely twice her age as well.
He turned his head and
shuddering, kept his face toward what
was happening below. Miri could not
tell if his eyes were open or even if
they were that he was watching, but
she could tell he was terrified, which
was what Ninshi wanted, after all.
After a terrible, long while, the
Beast finished and was gone. Ninshi
was still standing in the center of the
6 DARK WORLDS

camp when they got there. Of the line

of bodies there remained no trace.
"Take food, and whatever you
need there." Ninshi gestured toward
the pile of clothes and weapons. "Go
quickly, and tell your mistresses what
you have seen here. Tell them that
Nin-Sinuss, Lady of the Song,
Servant of the Manthycore has no
desire to continue killing the servants
of the Temple of Ishtar, but has no fear
of it, either. And if they continue
sending companies of men after me, I
will burn every Temple of Ishtar from
Great Ur to Carcamesh."
Miri glanced across at her mother,
but her face betrayed nothing other
than ferocity. Miri was certain that her
mother could do nearly anything she
set to do, but even for her this seemed
a little more than was believable. A
glance at the face of Dant, though,
showed he had no doubt that Ninshi
was serious.
"Go then," she commanded. Dant
scrambled to stuff a pack with food
and a few small items, and then, not
looking back, started walking toward
the mouth of the wadi, and the long
road back to Nineveh.
"How did you become a soldier of
the Temple?" The words were out of
Miri's mouth before she thought about
speaking.
Dant stopped, and without turning
said, "I was an orphan. I could do
nothing else." After a few moments,
his shoulders dropped, and he walked
out of sight.
Miri turned to find her mother
staring at her strangely. Miri held her
palms open, and shook her head. "I
don't know. I just wondered."
For a moment they looked at each
other in silence. A series of
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
expressions crossed Ninshi's face,
each faint enough that no one but Miri
would have known that her visage was
anything but blank. Finally Ninshi
nodded. "Your burdens are yours, I
think. But the more you know of a
man, the more there is to remember
and regret once you have killed him."
THE wind dropped to nothing.
Ninshi tucked one leg between the
other and the blanket, and rose up on
the back of her horse to look around.
They were on the long sloping plain
that ran down from the Zagros
Mountain foothills to Eshnunna, and
the slight elevation this gave her was
enough to see for two days' travel
ahead. She shook her head, and settled
back astride her horse.
"Shamal," she said. "We must find
shelter, with water if we can."
Miri felt her eyes widen. Twice in
the six years before they had passed
through the Shamal, the fierce desert
sandstorms that raced up the Tigris
and Euphrates rivers from the sea, but
this time they were in the open, at least
two days travel from the nearest
village.
"How much time?" asked Miri.
"A quarter day, no more."
"This should at least make us
ha rd er to fi nd ," offe re d Mi ri ,
hopefully. Miri did not know if Ninshi
actually believed they were still being
followed, but the long centuries had
made her mother cautious.
"There was a caravansary, once,"
Nishi said. "Off the road now, but not
far. Perhaps it is still there. We will go
this way. Even if it is no longer there,
there will perhaps be ruins, and if we
are very lucky, a well."
Ni ns hi 's es ti ma te ha d be en
7
generous. They were barely a few
hundred steps when the wind began to
rise, and the first hints of dust and faint
clouds of powder-fine sand began to
wisp across their path. In a very few
breaths they were forced to cover their
faces. This was the false storm, just a
hint of the true Shamal to come, but
the horses would not walk into the
dust-laden wind, and so they
dismounted and led them, clucking
and murmuring in their twitching ears
to calm them.
They were almost through the
small collection of buildings before
they saw them. Nins hi shou ted
something, but her words were swept
away by the now howling wind. She
motioned to a low building to the
right, and they led the balking,
panicky horses through the gateway
to the door. It was broken, and aslant,
the aged wood grey in the uncertain
light. Ninshi pushed it open with her
shoulder, and led her horse inside.
Miri followed.
It was dark inside, but
imm edi ate ly qui ete r. The roo m
smelled of goats. As Miri's eyes
adjusted she realized that the smell
came from actual goats present, rather
than previous. She shook the dust
from the scarf she had wrapped
around her face and peered about. In
the center was a fireplace, unlit, with
the small amount of light filtering
down from the smoke hole above. The
room looked to be the common area of
th e ca ra va ns ar y. No t en ti re ly
abandoned. A stringy toothless man
stared at Ninshi from the corner where
he sat, behind the dozen or so goats he
had sheltered with.
There was nothing much else in
the room. The caravansary had been
8 DARK WORLDS
abandoned long enough that little
remained other than the uncertain roof
and the mud brick walls. The doorway
at the rear, which must have led to the
rest of the building, was choked with
rubbish, broken bricks and slivered
beams.
"Fire? Miri asked.
Ninshi coughed and spat. "No.
Smoke will make it worse. There was
a well just inside the wall. Be careful,
but be quick. Fill our water skins; we
may be here for a few days. I'll tend to
the horses."
Outside the wind was noticeably
stronger, and the howl had risen in
pitch from a cry to a full voiced
scream. By the time she had filled all
four skins she could barely see the
corner of the building, and the actual
doorway was curtained by the dust
that flew fiercely between. She slung
the water skins over her shoulders,
two on each side, and staggered
toward where she knew the door must
be, her steps unsteady as she was
buffeted by the wind.
She was almost to the door when a
dark figure formed in front of her. She
dropped the skins on her right, and
pulled her knife, but the figure
remained hunched and moved to the
entrance of the caravansary hall. It
was followed by five others. She
slowly lowered the other two skins,
and with her knife held at ready, crept
to the door and followed them in.
Ninshi stood at the center of the
room, silhouetted against the faint
light of the smoke hole. Six figures
crowded the doorway side of the
room. The one in the front reached up
and pulled down a dusty hood,
revealing dark hair bound up in an
elaborate knot.
She held her hands empty and
level. "Will the storm make of us
allies, for this little time? My sisters
and I seek shelter, as have you." Her
voice was smooth and melodic.
"There is room enough, I think,"
replied Ninshi. "And water in a well
just outside."
The tall woman nodded. "I shall
send my youngest sister, then, to
accompany the young warrior who
followed us in. He will want to
retrieve the skins he left outside."
"She," snapped Miri, annoyed that
her stealth had been wasted. "I am a
she."
The tal l wom an tur ned and
nodded . "Why so you are. My
apology." She motioned at the cloaked
figure nearest the door, and Miri
followed her out.
Even in the few moments that she
had been insid e, the wind had
noticeably risen. It took a great deal of
concentration just to stay upright, and
the fine, powdery sand that blew off of
the desert blinded her. With Miri's
help, the girl was able to fill the six
small water bags she carried, and
together they stumbled back, on their
way picking up the larger water bags
that Miri had dropped.
The door partially blocked out the
howl of the wind as it shut behind
them, but already the room was
darker, and now quite crowded.
Someone had found a lamp, but its
small light was not nearly enough to
illuminate the large room. The air was
filled with fine dust, further obscuring
vision.
From her size, the sister who had
gone for water with Miri was little
more than her age, though size could
be deceiving. Miri was not much older
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
than fourteen winters, and already
was about the same size as her mother,
who, if the caravan songs were correct
had to be at least fifty times that age.
Miri made her way through the
gloom to the corner where her mother
sat quietly, watching as the
newcomers laid down bedding in a
circle and made make-shift camp in
the large room. She shifted the water
bags to lean against the wall, and sat
beside her.
Ninshi took one of the bags, and
carefully spilled a small amount of
water onto her scarf. She motioned
Miri to do the same with hers, and then
showed her how to cover her mouth
and nose with the damp cloth. It made
breathing a little more bearable. At no
time during this did Ninshi take her
eyes from the women in the center of
the room.
There were six of them, but they
only laid down five pallets. One of
them crouched in the center, watching
both the door and Ninshi watching
her.
Ninshi leaned into Miri and said
something in her ear, but even inside
the howl of the storm was too loud.
Miri shook her head, and Ninshi tried
again. "What do you see?"
Miri looked hard and thought
harder. She had anticipated the
question. It was a game they often
played, a deadly serious one, as
Ninshi tried to impart to Miri a portion
of the knowledge gained by a
centuries-long, dangerous life.
"They are setting up like soldiers."
Ninshi shook her head, and pointed at
her ear. Miri nodded, and tried again,
louder. "They are setting up their
camp like soldiers," she shouted over
the howl of the wind. "Look, a circle
9
camp, all facing out from where the
fire would be. They are all armed,
with long knives, bows, some sort of
spear, and little crescent shields.
Women, but warriors. The leader
seems to be wearing some sort of
armor under her robes. Do you know
who they are? Could they have been
sent after us by the Priestesses of
Ishtar?"
Though unusual, Miri and Ninshi
were not the only women who bore
arms in the lands between the Tigris
and Euphrates rivers. There were cults
whose priestesses practiced the art of
war, and occasional body guards for
those whose religions would not
allow the creation or service of
eu nu ch s bu t ne ed ed wi ve s or
concubines guarded. There were even
a few women, mostly former slaves,
who had been trained to fight against
ani mal s or eac h oth er for the
amusement of their owners. Some
cities trained their women as archers,
to stand at the walls if the city were
attacked. And, though rare, there were
even a few women bandits.
"Ishtar? No. From their speech,
they are from the east. We shall see.
Rest now. The storm will be long, and
soon make speech impossible."
The storm was long. Miri spent the
next two days in a sort of stupor,
periodically shaking out her clothes
when the dust piled up, drifting in and
out of an uncomfortable sleep. She
was constantly thirsty, but knew
enough to take only small sips of
water, and make sure that the horses
got the bulk of it. Even still, one of the
horses died the second day. Its
wheezing breath had gotten steadily
louder, and then it simply stopped
breathing, and fell straight down
10 DARK WORLDS
where it stood hobbled. The other
horse knew that something had
happened, but Ninshi had blindfolded
both horses when she had hobbled
them, and the surviving horse was
probably too weak at that point to do
more than snort and roll her eyes
under the strip of blanket Ninshi had
tied over them.
Miri was vaguely aware that the
women in the center of the room were
faring much the same. They would
change guard periodically, with even
the youngest and eldest taking turns.
They kept their faces covered with
elaborately embroidered cloths,
dampened in the same fashion as
Ninshi and Miri's plain scarves. One
sister would constantly sharpen the
head of her spear while on guard, the
sound of the stone against the bronze
lost in the roar of the storm. Another
did some sort of needlework, with her
knife on her lap as she worked, eyes
constantly shifting in the gloom
between Ninshi, the goatherd, the
door and her work. The rest just
grimly sat, waiting out the storm in
stoic misery.
The goatherd kept the lamp filled
with oil. He was small, withered and
quite old. He seemed uncertain what
to be more frightened of; the grim
band of well-armed sisters, the
equally well armed mother and
daughter in the corner, or the storm.
He carefully made himself small,
scrabbling sideways with an
inoffensive gape on his toothless
mouth when he got up to refill the
lamp. His expression was most likely
intended to display harmlessness, but
instead conveyed something closer to
idiocy. Miri's thought he looked like
one of his goats, with the same
irregular coloration to his clothing
and the same straggly beard.
To Miri the storm seemed to last a
lifetime. Not an ordinary mortal's
lifetime, either, such as may be
endured by a scrabble-land farmer or a
bored mistress of some rich merchant,
with the endless days of sameness
stretching out into the vague and
formless future. No, the storm seemed
to last the long hopeless centuries of
her adopted mother's lifetime, only
devoid of the occasional splashes of
vi ol en ce th at pu nc tu at ed he r
existence. It seemed that long, but
eventually the roar of the wind
lessened, the air became slightly
clearer, and by the morning of the
third day actual light shone through
the holes in the roof.
They all began the weary task of
cleaning the fine, clinging dust from
themselves and their possessions. It
had worked itself into every pack, no
matter how tightly bound, and into the
tightest crevices. Miri caught the eye
of the sister who had gotten water with
her, and the girl nodded, her eyes dark
over the scarf across her face. They
gathered the now-empty water skins.
At the door they discovered that the
dust had piled up to block the door, but
together were able to shoulder it past
the drift.
Outside the light was blinding.
Miri blinked and looked down. She
was unable to see much but kept her
companion's boot toes in sight. Her
mother had taught her watch the edges
of things, and she knew that any
hostile move from this girl would
mean shifting her feet. Slowly her
eyes adjusted, and she was able to
look up again.
She raised her eyes, blinking
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
furiously, to see the girl doing the
same, heavy dark lashes batting
rapidly as she looked to see Miri's face
clearly for the first time.
In spite of her intentions, Miri
st ar te d to gi gg le . Th er e wa s
something completely ridiculous
about the two of them cautiously
regarding each other as they fanned
the air with their eyelids. The girl
started giggling too, seemingly struck
by the same image. Soon they were
lau ghi ng alo ud, the gir l's fac e
covering puffi ng out with each
choking laugh.
They stumbled giddily to the well,
and took turns scraping the debris and
scum from the surface of the water as
they filled the skins they carried. Full,
Miri bent to pick hers up, but the girl
shook her head, and grasped Miri's
wrist with her hand. With the other she
uncovered her face, and smiled with
regular, white teeth. Her face was
dark, far darker than Miri's sunburnt
visage, but her skin was smooth,
unmarked and soft looking.
"Derinoe, I am called, a Sister of
the Shield." She spoke the language of
Khett, with an accent Miri had never
heard before.
"I am Miri, a traveler." Derinoe
dropped Miri's arm, and they picked
up the water skins and hauled them
into the caravansary.
Inside, someone had built a fire in
the remains of a central fireplace.
Ninshi finished shaking out her
garments and took a grateful swallow
of fresh water from the well. She spat,
drank and coughed. "Much better,"
she said.
Miri finished arranging the water
skins while Ninshi moved over to
where the goat herder sat, combing
11
sand from his beard with his fingers.
She spoke to him in Khettish, and he
nodded vigorously, and pointed to his
mouth. He made a few blatting
sounds, then he opened his mouth
wide to reveal that as well as having
no teeth, he had no tongue. Ninshi
nodded, and with the use of signs soon
was able to arrange the purchase of
one of his goats. The old man
immediately grasped her selection by
one horn, and pulled its head to one
side. With a quick, practiced motion,
he cut the goat's throat, and in short
order had it cleaned, skinned and
skewered over the sister's fire.
Derinoe and her sisters huddled in
one corner, arguing quietly. They
reached some consensus, and the
eldest stood, and approached Ninshi,
hand outstretched. As Derinoe had
done, she removed her face covering,
and smiled.
"We have shared shelter, and will
soon share meat. Let us share salt, as
well, and call each other companion,
at least as long as our paths run
together." Over Ninshi's shoulder
Miri could see that she was dark-
skinned, with dark hair and eyes.
There were lines on her face, but she
was not yet old, though a bright white
streak ran though the lock of hair that
escaped from her head cloth.
Ninshi nodded. "I am sometimes
called Ninshi, and this is my daughter,
Miri. We travel to Eshnunna, at least."
"As do we. I am named Antiope,
Eldest. My sisters are Melanippe and
Thermodosa of the Spear. Bremusa
the silent stands there staring at the
roasting goat, Molpadia is the tall one,
and my sister and niece Derinoe is
Youngest. Here then is a measure of
salt."
12 DARK WORLDS

Nishi took a pinch, and placed it on

her tongue, as did Antiope. They
clasped hands, and then sat discussing
the road ahead.
"My sister says you have a
callused wrist, like someone who
practices with a bow might." Miri
turned to see the tall sister, Molpadia,
eying her with measuring glance.
"I have drawn a string," Miri
admitted.
"Good. Then perhaps after we
have eaten you can demonstrate to us
the use of such as this." She held out a
small, recurved bow, similar is size
and shape to those carried by the
steppe men of the north.
"Molpadia," Antiope said over her
shoulder. "We are among friends, for
now. Please do not bully the child into
doing something she does not care to
do."
Miri flushed with anger, whether
at the implied challenge or at being
called a child she was unsure. "I will
shoot," she snapped.
Molpadia grinned and clapped her
hands. "See sister? No bullying. Just a
contest of skill with bow, is all. Let us
see what she is made of."
"Leave her alone, Molpa."
Derinoe was at Miri's elbow. "Come,
let us go to the well and see if we can
get some of this dust from our
clothes."
Outside, Miri was calmer. Though
there was still a light breeze, the
clouds of dust no longer obscured the
sun, and this little patch where the old
caravansary stood was showed bits of
green under a coating of dust. It must
have been a restful and cool place,
once, in the years before trade with the
cities of the mountains had slowed.
The storm had stripped the palms, of
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN 13

course, but there were a few patches of

low growing plants that had been
sheltered by larger objects and so
were spared.
They sat by the well, and Derinoe
undid her head scarf to reveal thick
dark hair done in the same sort of
elaborate knot that Miri had seen on
her aunt the first night of the storm.
The head scarf was plain and dark, but
well woven and little stained.
Miri undid her scarf and quietly
tucked it behind her, suddenly
embarrassed by its tattered
appearance. Ninshi traveled hard and
fast and there was seldom time or need
for fine dress. Miri reached into the
bag at her waist and produced her one
vanity, a fine comb given to her by
traders soon after she had started
travelling with her mother. She shook
her hair free, and started combing the
dust out.
Miri was used to Ninshi's near
silence, so Derinoe's gossipy chatter
was overwhelming at first. She was
sixteen, two summers older than Miri.
Her and her sisters were travelling to
meet with another of her aunts, who
awaited them in Eshnunna.
They were from Harap, a city far to
the east. They had come by ship to the
Tigris where they had traveled upriver
as far as Assur before the ship could
go no further, having been battered by
the steady harsh winds and barely
surviving a spring typhoon. They sold
it for a small fraction of its value and
had traveled by riverboat to Nineveh,
where they had expected to find her
aunt. Instead, they found a city in
turmoil, with visitors unwelcome and
the Priestesses of Ishtar, who ran half
the city, in near civil war.
A handful of years before someone
14 DARK WORLDS
had burned down the temple at the
center of the city and murdered the
High Priestess. She had never named
a successor, so of course several
factions had formed around the
various contenders. Five years later,
the temple remained only partially
rebuilt, and the factions had come to
nearly open conflict.
Though her aunt had fled the chaos
of the city, she had left messages for
them, and tired of the monotony and
potential for drowning of travel by
boat, they had decided to travel
overland to Eshnunna. They had hired
a caravan master and half-dozen
guards, but the caravan master had
betrayed them, leading them far astray
with the intention of murder and
robbery.
He had seriously misjudged the
Sisters of the Shield. What the
treacherous caravan master had
intended as a midnight throat-cutting
and extended rape had only succeeded
in leaving him and his cohorts
stretched dead in the desert camp. The
would-be bandits had killed the
Sisters' servants, but a lifetime of
training had left them over classed by
the Sisters.
That same soldier's training had
taught them how to travel light. They
had abandoned the tents, set the
camels free, and six days later
marched in good order into Nuzi, and
then from there to the north road to
Eshnunna, where they had been
caught in the storm with Miri, her
mother, and the goatherd.
Deri's chatter was broken by one of
her sisters, who shouted out the door
that there was roast goat to be eaten, if
any was wanted. An hour later, with a
full belly and a clean face, Miri was
nearly her normal self.
Ninshi brought the surviving mare
out and tied her to a broken rail near
the well, where she found a little grass
peeking from under a coating of dust.
Miri moved the packs from the dead
horse to the live one. With the horse
loaded like this, neither of them could
ride, but at least they wouldn't have to
carry their gear.
She was just cinching up the last
bundle when she heard a step behind
her. "Let's see about this mistress of
the bow," Molpadia drawled. "I have
set up a target on the tree there. Let us
draw strings, you and I, and I shall see
if I can come close to your mark."
"I have made no such claim," Miri
said quietly, but she pulled her bow
from where it was tucked into the
bundles. It was larger than the one
carried by Molpadia, made of bone
and wood in strips, strung with
twisted boar's gut.
She pulled her quiver from the
same bundle, and Molpadia gasped.
There was nothing unusual about the
quiver itself, but the arrows were
exquisite. The black fletching on each
took a half-turn around the perfectly
formed midnight-hued shaft. Miri
pulled three from the quiver, and
walked over to where Molpadia had
drawn a line in the dirt. The dark-
patinaed bronze arrowheads sparkled
in the sunlight.
Miri saw Ninshi standing next to
Antiope, looking at her with no
readable expression on her face. Miri
knew this was foolish, that they
always travell ed quietly. Doubly
foolish that she had shown the arrows,
but they were her prize, next to her
comb. She had taken them from the
bodies of some of the soldiers that the
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
Temple of Ishtar had sent to kill them
after Ninshi had burned their temple.
Not only were they valuable and
distinctive, but it was stupid to use
such arrows for shooting at a mark.
Once broken, they were irreplaceable.
She strode to the line, strung her
bow, and stood for a moment, eying
the mark. It was a scrap of red cloth
stuck to a tree, fifty or so paces away.
The distance wasn't bad, but the mark
was very small. She made no show of
testing the wind. She could feel it
quite well against her cheek.
Two of her arrows she thrust into
the sand next to her foot. The third she
knocked and slowly drew back her
bow, held, and let fly. The arrow
thwacked into the bole of the tree,
knocking loose a shower of bark. It
stood quivering, just under the mark.
A puff of wind had pushed it to the
side a little, or she would have hit it.
As it was, the scrap of cloth settled
back down, its end draping slightly
over the shaft of the arrow.
There was no sound from the
women around her. She looked down,
and slid back away from the line.
Molpadia stepped up, and in one fluid
and beautiful motion drew and let fly.
Her arrow pinned the scrap of red
cloth to the tree, less than a finger's
width above Miri's.
Miri shuffled back, her heart in her
mouth. She could feel her face as it
blazed with embarrassment. How
could she beat that? She had practiced
for so many years, ever since Ninshi
had bought her from slavers as a child.
She had a teacher who had hundreds
of years of experience. And here she
was, being humiliated by this arrogant
woman.
Miri, plucked an arrow from the
15
sand, and knocked it. This time she
drew even slower, held the arrow
drawn against her cheek until her arm
started to tremble, and then let fly. The
arrow thwacked into the bole of the
tree, piercing the mark with not a
hair's breadth between hers and
Molpadia's arrow. Better, but still,
Molpadia had hit it first.
Once again Molpadia drew and
shot with a dancer's fluid grace. No
flicker of wind, this time, but her
arrow struck just above. All four
arrows stood within an area that could
have been easily covered with Miri's
palm.
Miri moved slowly forward, her
eyes on the impossible mark. She
pulled the final arrow from the sand,
but before she could draw her bow
again she felt a hand upon her arm.
She looked up into the face of
Antiope. The Eldest had a half-smile
on her face. "It is our custom, when
two such as you meet, should there be
a tie, that we not resolve it. The
Sisterhood, and I think the world, is
better served by having two who are
master than one held greater and
another lesser."
Miri shook her head. "Are all
contests left undecided, then?"
"No child. Only when there are
two who are far above all others, those
who draw breath with the heroes of
old. Molpadia is the greatest archer of
our land, and she has not beaten you.
For her, and for you, we will leave it
there."
Miri looked across the yard. Her
mother leaned against the broken
wall, saying nothing. She looked
around to find all eyes upon her,
including those of the toothless
goatherd. It seemed that even the
16 DARK WORLDS
goats were watching her, and she felt
the heat rise in her face. She nodded,
unable to speak. One by one, the
sisters clasped her arm and spoke a
phrase in their own liquid language.
Deri hugged her as well as clasping
her arm. Molpadia, who was not in
any way friendly, was at least polite,
and managed something like a smile,
at least in form.
In a short time they were on the
road, Miri leading the mare. The
Sisters walked ahead. The day was
bright, though the sun still had a
reddish cast to it. The storm had swept
the packed earth of the road clear, and
on the occasional rise the dark smudge
of Eshnunna could be seen far away
against the glitter of the ribbon of the
Tigris River that lined the horizon.
After a long while of walking in
silence, Miri spoke. "At least none of
the arrows broke."
Ninshi shook her head. "No, none
did. Though if there is anyone asking
for us, there now is a good story to be
told."
Miri looked at her boots as she
walked. "I am sorry."
Ninshi clasped her shoulder.
"Don't be, child. At least it is a story in
which no one dies. There are few
enough of those about me, for all the
lifetimes of men I have walked the
earth."
FOR over a day Eshnunna was
visible as a dark smudge against the
ribbon of the Tigris River. As they
drew closer, Miri saw that it was
typical of the cities between the two
rivers. Its walls were of brick, thicker
and lower than the stone walls of some
other places she had been. The reddish
brick stood out against the green of the
fields and orchards around the city.
The air was still, and lines of smoke
stood up from individual fires to form
a grey, hazy cloud above.
Ninshi leaned over to whisper into
Miri's ear. "I think we shall find
lodging outside the city. There is a
Temple of Ishtar here, and though it is
a small one, there is no reason to doubt
that they have resources enough to
cause us great difficulty should they
learn of our presence."
The Sisters grew increasingly
quiet and tense as they drew nearer the
gates. Deri strode ahead to join them
and it seemed to Miri that the others
surrounded her, as if to protect her
from some danger presented by the
city. Outside the gates, amid the
expected hovels, brothels, wine shops
and mark et stal ls, ther e was a
caravansary, low walled and built of
the same reddish brick as the city
walls. It seemed busy. There were the
camels of at least two caravans loaded
an d ro pe d to ge th er, re ad y fo r
departure, and a number of donkeys,
horses and ox carts in the courtyard.
"Here we will leave you," Ninshi
said. The Sisters turned back, and one
by one offered a hand to Miri and
Ninshi.
Deri smiled, and leaned over to
hug Miri. "We will see each other
again, I think," she said. Miri smiled
back, but couldn't speak. She
watched them walk through the gate,
and disappear into the street beyond,
Deri at the center once again.
As it turned out, most of the traffic
was outbound, and so Ninshi was able
to find room for them there, in a corner
near the cistern that served the
caravansary. Sometimes they paid
more and slept inside, but the weather
 THE TOMB OF THE AMAZON QUEEN
was clear, and Ninshi did not want to
draw any more attention than could be
avoided.
Miri stayed with the horse while
Ninshi made her way to a wine shop
she had spotted near the gate. She
carried with her a ruby, one of the
fabled Tears of Ishtar, one of seven
shed by the goddess on her trip to the
underworld. Kubileya, the tavern
goddess, had set them to collecting
them. In exchange, she promised to
Ninshi the location of seven ancient
herbs, which mixed together, might
compel the beast she served, and free
her from its bondage. Few had even
heard of the shappatu, the fabled
herbs given to Noach so he might
command the beasts after the deluge,
and those few who had knew little
other than their ancient names.
Ninshi had served the Great Beast
for over forty lives of men, until she
had forgotten even her own name. She
was compelled by his sorcery, and her
cooperation ensured by the
Manthycore keeping as captive the
love of her youth, unchanged and
timeless. She served in bitter
unwillingness, and despair, her only
hope now that given by the Tavern
Goddess, and the seven herbs which
she might trade for the fabled rubies.
Each ruby needed only to be
dropped into a bowl of wine, in any
wine shop or tavern. And just as the
tavern Goddess hear anything spoken
over bowl or cup, so could she speak
to those who would hear. It wasn't
even remarkable to watch, as there
was nothing uncommon about a
drinker muttering into his wine.
They had found and delivered
three rubies, now. This was the
fourth. Miri sat with her back against
17
the mud brick of the caravansary wall.
She liked to watch the merchants and
guards as they prepared for their
journeys. Ninshi often had them travel
with caravans, especially when they
needed to cross an area that was
espec ially dange rous. Somet imes
Miri overheard something useful.
But this time her heart wasn't in it.
She liked Deri. Her life had not let her
make friends, and sometimes months
passed without her seeing the same
face two days in a row, except her
mother's. She didn't mind, and in fact
Ninshi's act of buying her from the
slavers had been an answer to a
fevered prayer. But it was a lonely life
they led, something she had not really
noticed until recently.
After a time, Ninshi returned. Her
scarred face was unreadable, but Miri
could tell from the firmness of her
stride that she was troubled about
something. Ninshi crouched beside
Miri, her gaze scanning the courtyard
in front of her. Satisfied that none
there meant them harm, or even saw
them, she sighed, and settled lower
against the wall.
"We will wait, here, for a day or
so."
Miri nodded, not understanding.
"Kubileya said that the Sisters will
know of the location of the next ruby."
Miri shook her head, astonished.
"How is this true?"
"It seems unlikely, I know, but
sometimes those who seek the same
objects will find themselves on the
same road. It does seem as if there is
some invisible hand at work here, but
perhaps it is just coincidence. I don't
like either possibility, but we will see.
I think we will wait here. We will buy
new horses, and prepare for a long
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