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her hear or smell better. “Something chittered.”
     

     
    A chitter—or maybe the rattle of claws or something else hard, one upon another: it was hard to say definitively. But Bijou was pleased to note that Riordan and Maledysaunte fell neatly into the back-to-back circle that she and her own partners established. The prince left his rifle slung across his back, but an automatic pistol appeared in each of his hands. Bijou knew those were not the only weapons concealed in the voluminous drape of his robe.
    As they made their defensive circle, Salamander backed slowly towards them, her hands raised and empty. Bijou knew there were Sorcerers in the east who could throw light and fire, manipulating energy directly in a manner that no Wizard of Messaline had ever mastered. It was a different school of magic entirely, though one with its own roots in science. These northern barbarians were supposed to have derived their arts from the writings of medieval Messaline and Uthman Wizards—they even took their craft-names after the Messaline or Uthman fashions—but watching Salamander now, Bijou wondered.
    “I see them,” Maledysaunte whispered. “Dog-men. Along the cliff faces.”
    “Ghuls,” said Kaulas. “They’re more like jackals, actually.”
    “Oh. We don’t have jackals where I come from.”
    Bijou risked a glance at the woman, a vanishing shape in the moonlight. “I’m going for Salamander. They’re less likely to come after two.”
    Curtly, Maledysaunte nodded. Something gleamed darkly in her hand—a pistol Bijou had not known she was carrying.
    “Whatever you do,” Bijou said, in a louder voice, “don’t bleed on the sand.”
    “Because it’s cursed?” Riordan asked.
    Prince Salih answered matter-of-factly. “Because it draws more monsters.”
    Riordan moved right, closing the gap as Bijou called Ambrosias to herself and stepped forward. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re monsters too.”
    At least he has a sense of humor about it . The dead horses and the ass were still slumped upon the sand behind them. Bijou reached out with her will and raised them, bringing them forward to flank her. It was harder to maintain the necessary concentration with her every sense straining into the darkness, but she did it. Ambrosias led her forward, its zills shimmering an incongruously cheerful sound within the cage of his jeweled skeleton.
    The moons had not moved, but the shadows of the cliffs spread across the earth in inky blackness. Pooling. Reaching. 
    “Coming up behind you,” Bijou said to Salamander. Prince Salih fanned out to her left, toward the nearer cliff, his scimitar snaking moonlight along the bezel like a bead of mercury. He’d have her flank. He always did.
    Bijou said, “Have you a torch?”
    Sand whisked in the gloom of the reaching shadows. They seemed to writhe forward. Bijou knew it was ghulish sorcery that made it so.
    “Two,” Salamander answered, without turning her head. “Should I use them?”
    “If the ghuls come at you,” Bijou answered. “The bright light will dazzle them. That shadow-weaving trick protects them from the suns, somewhat…but it can be pierced. Otherwise, don’t use the torches. Who knows what they would attract?”
    “Right,” Salamander agreed, quite reasonably. “One nightmare at a time, then.”
    Her calm courage sent a pang of respect through Bijou. If she were to compete, not for Kaulas, but for Salamander’s friendship—
    But such a decision would tear the Beyzade’s little party of adventurers apart as surely as a man quartered between horses. And what they did was important. They conquered dangers no one else could even approach.
    One of the dead horses stalked up. Bijou was only a few canes distant from Salamander now. “Keep backing up,” Bijou called. Another four steps, five, and they would be side by side.
    “They’re almost upon you,” Kaulas called. Ambrosias reared up and rattled itself mightily, sending a warning shiver of