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talk.”
    Qurong threw the priest a dirty look. “Is that so?”
    “A rare occurrence, my lord,” the priest assured, his staff turning in his hand. “It’s the mongrel he last gave me he’s so irritable about. But she was worth nothing.”
    Marak’s attention snapped back. His hand curled around his hilt.
    “Now, on to this albino and Shataiki business,” Qurong growled. “Speak, General. Don’t allow a priest to outdo you.”
    Marak remained unwilling to give his superior the satisfaction of a reaction.
    “Oh,” Qurong taunted. “The general doesn’t like my assessment.” He chuckled. “Of course, if that whelp succeeds, he’ll have made fools of you both. You are supposed to be my best. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”
    “He found a harach, my lord,” Sucrow interjected. “He has no idea what to do with it on his own.”
    “So you are holding out on me,” Marak growled.
    “Maybe you aren’t as perceptive as you used to be, General,” Sucrow sneered. “Your vision seems blurry these days. Losing your edge, perhaps? Your captain certainly thinks so.”
    Cassak .
    Marak knew better, though. Or did he? What was Sucrow up to? His eyes narrowed. He forced a direct gaze, sizing up the man with the staff. Sucrow had never, to his knowledge, performed any sorcery on him.
    But this strange sense of unease . . . Was Sucrow threatening or taunting him?
    Finally Marak answered, choosing to pretend nothing was suspicious. “Keep it up, Priest.”
    He could have sworn Sucrow blinked.
    Unaccustomed to being suspected so early, aren’t you, Priest?
    The priest broke eye contact. The constricted, numbing sensation left. “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “Try me.” Marak’s hand remained on his sword.
    “Stand down, General,” Qurong warned. “Priest, speak.”
    A dark look crossed the priest’s face. What was he plotting now? Would Sucrow have Cassak killed just to demoralize Marak?
    Cold fingers slid up his back. It would work, too.
    “I fail to see where the medallion comes in.” Qurong glared. “Get to the point.”
    “The point, my lord,” Sucrow replied, “is that while little is known of these things, the legends themselves exist.”
    Marak narrowed his eyes. He had no desire to run all over the desert chasing a legend. But he’d given Josef and Arya his word. And they were convinced they could finish off the Circle in three days. Sucrow wanted in, and that was all the convincing Marak needed.
    He would do whatever it took to get Qurong off his back and put the priest in his place. Most curious was that not even Qurong had heard of the Leedhan.
    Qurong spoke, his eyes wide with conspiracy, as if some ancient favor had come to him from the sky. “So there really is an amulet that controls these . . . things.”
    Sucrow handed Qurong his book. “The kind of tree that produced the wood it’s made from supposedly no longer exists. He showed us the harach earlier, and I thought, perhaps if it does exist, we can be rid of the vermin more quickly.” The priest sneered. “Be rid of our general’s hesitation.”
    Marak white-knuckled his belt, fighting the urge to bash in the priest’s head. “Why involve a human?” he asked.
    Sucrow laughed hard and loud. “We are catalysts. We live in two worlds, Marak. Haven’t you realized that?”
    Marak didn’t comment.
    “An expedition may well be worthwhile, to rid ourselves of them once and for all. It is quite simple. We gain control of this Shataiki amulet guardian, invoke a ceremony on Ba’al Bek, and unleash the Shataiki on the albinos.”
    Qurong was so lost in thought he didn’t seem to hear them anymore. He turned to go. “I will do this: you will both go, with equal authority and equal standing. You will mount this expedition, and—provided you don’t kill each other—both return with the Shataiki on a leash and a solution for your stupidity with the rebels. If either of those directives fail, I will hold you both responsible. You have two