He should get into the shade, but he did not want to stop searching. If
Nicetas were hurt and lying out in this sun, it would burn him to death.
Daoud saw a line of sharp-pointed hills off to his left. There was shade
there, and Nicetas would try to reach shade. He tapped his pony's
shoulder lightly with his switch and turned its head toward the hills.

Nearly there, he saw what looked like a black rock half-buried ahead of
him. Could it be a body? For a moment his heart hammered. No, it was too
big. His pony floundered on through the sand till they reached the dark
shape.

It was Nicetas's pony, dead. Windblown sand half covered it, but he was
sure of it. Nicetas's pony was black.

Daoud swung down from his horse, looping the reins around his wrist so
it could not run off, and knelt to examine the dead pony. He brushed
away sand from the forehead. Three white dots; he knew those markings
well.

He scooped sand away from the dead pony and found an arrow jutting out
of the chest. In spite of the fiery sun his body went cold. Wild
Sudanese were said to prowl this desert.

He jerked on the arrow. It had gone in deep, and the head must be broad.
It took him long to tear it free.

The head was wedge-shaped and made of steel, with sword-sharp edges.
Sudanese tribesmen had no such arrows. Even Mamelukes had only a few.
Each Mameluke carried two or three, to use against a well-armored
opponent.

"Oh, God, help me find Nicetas," he prayed.

Nicetas was out there somewhere. Daoud pushed out of his mind the
thought that he might be dead.

Was this punishment for their sin of loving each other, he wondered as
he mounted his little horse. God frowned on men lying with men, the
mullahs said, but everyone knew that men, especially young men far from
women, often took comfort in one another.

He pulled his burnoose farther down over his eyes to shade them better
against the sun. He wanted water, but he would not let himself drink
until he had reached the hills. He might find Nicetas there, and Nicetas
might need the water.

The hills thrust abruptly out of the sand in long vertical folds. Half
blinded by the glare, he could see only opaque blackness where the sun
did not strike them.

He thought he saw movement in one shadow. He kicked the pony, driving it
to struggle faster through the sand, keeping his eyes fixed on the spot.

A deep crevice sliced into the hillside. Daoud rode into it cautiously.
Whoever killed Ni