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Master’s throat and escaped through his crooked teeth. “I’m pleased to have earned your approval.” He drew close to Damus and whispered, “The first priority in a business arrangement is that all parties have complementary aims. I have a venture in mind that is both compatible with your mission and staggeringly profitable.”
    Damus leaned in to catch every word. “Say on, then.”

    Nahel crouched beside the stockade fence, sifting through gritty soil in search of the ephemeral. A man had been slaughtered without a struggle. A dozen animals had been drained of blood—the smell of fresh deaths confirmed it. Yet no one at the house had heard a sound. Most disturbing in Nahel's opinion was the total absence of tracks. None could be found at the pen or on any approach to the ranch. The place had all the signs of a murder scene except for any trace of the killers.
    The malakh stood with one arm propped against the low stone barrier and looked out over the plain. The band of short grass clinging to the Water’s banks withered quietly in the sun, belying the previous night’s violence. “This is bad.”
    “The worst is yet to come,” said the shrine guard. “Rumor of this crime will sweep through town. Unless the perpetrators are caught soon, the people may riot.”
    Nahel turned. “To be honest, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Me and Damus have been traveling for a while. The desert’s cold at night, but the guides who led us from Vale wouldn’t build fires. When we asked why, they muttered about whole camps vanishing. Now they’ve dug in and won’t leave town.”
    “Heathens fear the night,” the guardsman said, “but Medvia has God’s protection. The Water is proof of his favor—as are you.”
    “Look,” said Nahel. “You Middle Stratum folks always think you’ve got the world figured out. The Guild told you they did, and their Wheels and Workings made you believe it. Then the Cataclysm turned their world inside out.”
    “The Guild provoked the Almighty. We’ve renounced their pride.”
    “Seems to me you traded it for another kind.”
    The guard folded his arms. “Do you have the killers’ trail?”
    Nahel bent to the ground and inhaled. His powerful nose told him of sweet dry grass, alkaline dust …and something foul beneath it all.
    “This way.” Nahel crawled along on all fours, following the rotten scent. At the fence bordering the property, he stood and set his face to the horizon. “They went northeast.”
    “Then why wait?” the guardsman asked. “Let’s hunt them down and spit them like pigs!”
    Nahel looked at the guard with his mail and shiny spear before considering his own shirt of banded leather and the short swords sheathed at his sides.
    “Well okay,” Nahel said at length, “but stay close unless you want to end up like that ranch hand.” Without another word, the malakh and the guardsman set out on their quarry’s invisible trail.
     
    Nahel set a relentless pace across the dry plain. It was hours before he stopped and pointed at a wind-scoured ridge to the northeast. “Our bloodthirsty friends went up there.”
    “I know those hills,” said the shrine guard. “There are no trees to speak of and little brush, but they’re rife with tunnels.”
    The barren ridge—its rocks as white as bleached bones—made Nahel uneasy. He considered heading back to town for help, but it would be near dark by the time he returned with reinforcements.
    And whatever had bled twelve cattle and a man to death, it worked by night.
    The guard shifted his weight. Fear stole into his scent. “Should we continue?” he asked.
    A wind blew out of the north, bringing a feverish odor like the den of a bear that’s developed a taste for human flesh.
    “Yeah,” said Nahel. “Let’s get this over with.”
    The cave’s mouth was a black triangle framed by two rocky slabs. Nothing moved within, but Nahel kept his guard up.
    “You’re