Chapter 72

As Merlin and Cassandra ventured away from Qarth, they were away from city which was in chaos after thr explosion in Memnon's palace. While walking through the sand dunes, Cassandra was now wearing washerwomens clothing with top piece being short, ruffled sleeves adding a touch of whimsy that enhanced her shoulders. The snug fit around her midsection highlighted her waistline perfectly, while the cropped length offered a tantalizing glimpse of her midriff. The deep V-neckline plunged daringly, showing off just the right amount of cleavage, framed by loose ties that draped elegantly, adding an element of fluidity to her movements.

As she turned slightly, the bottom piece of her outfit came into view. The long skirt was nothing short of breathtaking, with a high slit on one side that boldly displayed her leg up to the thigh,single panel of fabric down the middle, leaving her legs and hip bones completely exposed. She glanced at Merlin, her curiosity piqued. "So, can't you just magically take me to Lady Mohiam?" she inquired.

Merlin sighed, his gaze steady. "First, we must find Balthazar's tribe, Lady Mohiam is with him." he explained. "From what I understand, Queen Isis's tribe was attacked. She and the surviving members are likely under his care. Balthazar is constantly on the move to evade Memnon's forces, so locating them will take some time."

Unbeknownst to Cassandra, Merlin already knew Balthazar's location. He was waiting for all the remaining tribes to converge under Balthazar's leadership, ensuring that their combined forces could stand united against Memnon.

Merlin summoned forth a portal with a sharp whistle. From within the swirling vortex emerged a magnificent sight: a sleek black horse with eight powerful legs.

This was Sleipnir, created by Eru himself for his Avatar's exclusive use. With its eight legs and supernatural speed, Sleipnir was unparalleled in swiftness, capable of reaching the speed of light. Loyalty flowed through its veins, bound to serve Merlin or any other Avatar of Eru without question.

Cassandra looked at eight legged black horse in awe, while Sleipnir came to a stop at his master's side, and Merlin reached up and scratched the animal's neck. "Good girl," Merlin said.

As Sleipnir pawed the ground eagerly, its obsidian coat gleaming in the sunlight, Merlin mounted effortlessly, a grin spreading across his face. With a nod to Cassandra, he beckoned her to join him, knowing that their journey would be swift and their destination.

Merlin glanced back at Cassandra, his expression resolute. "Now, we have to get you back to your tribe."

The sorceress nodded, understanding the urgency in his voice. The lovely woman stepped forward, the feminine shape of her playing wonderful tricks under the loose robes.

With a gentle but firm grip on her hips, Merlin lifted her onto Sleipnir's broad back. The powerful steed shifted slightly, accommodating the added weight with ease.

Merlin swung up into the saddle, behind Cassandra; the nomadic affair was large enough to accommodate them both, if snugly. With his grip firm on the reins.

Night had fallen on Qarth, and in the majestic throne room of Memnon, the warlord's two most trusted military advisers awaited his orders. That faithful servant, the scarred Thorak, stood by, waiting, hanging on his master's every word, every movement. That more recent addition to the inner circle, the patricidal Takmet, lounged at a table, sipping wine, as if disaster had not fallen.

But it had. Troubled on his throne, the Great Teacher sat studying squirming arachnids, they are physically similar to scorpions, but can grow almost as large as a lobster. They possess six legs and a larger stinger-tail, which curves up over the body and hangs over the head. They have a series of threatening looking spines on each body segment, running up the sides of the body and tail. They are mostly green in color, with an iridescent sheen.

Their most recognizable features are the designs on the plates of their bodies, particularly the marking on the final plate of their tails which resembles a human face. Because of this design they are also sometimes referred to as the "Death's Head Manticore".

Manticores are highly aggressive and extremely venomous scorpion-like insects from the continent of Essos.

They were in a glass bowl on the wide stone armrest beside him. He withdrew from his belt the dagger and he sent it lancing down, spearing one of the wriggling arachnids. The deliberateness of that act now seemed at odds with his facial expression, as the warlord lifted the dagger with the writhing, dying scorpion impaled there, watching it with seemingly idle interest.

"Take a dozen of your best men," Memnon said suddenly, and Thorak snapped to attention and Takmet looked up, "track him down ... kill him ... and bring Cassandra back to me."

Thorak nodded a curt bow. "Yes, my lord." Memnon drew the thin sharp blade down the abdomen of the scorpion, splitting it open to the tail, ending its struggle. "Send our fastest rider back to me, with word of his death," Memnon said. "And of her safety." Memnon reached into a quiver next to the throne and withdrew an arrow, the tip of which he poked into the venom sac of the dead scorpion. He twisted the arrow's tip, turned it, thoroughly soaking it in the poison. "My lord," Takmet said, rising finally, "rumors have spread to our armies that Cassandra has been taken." Memnon turned sharply to Thorak.

"Is that true? Do such rumors fly?" The scarred commander glared at his fellow adviser, conveying his aggravation at Takmet's stirring up trouble; then his gaze returned to his master, and he said, "Yes, my lord. Of course, our generals, and our officers in the field, will need to know of her abduction ... in order to rescue her."

"They will not rescue her—you will. And the men you ride with need not know, until the sorceress has been restored to our custody."

"Yes, my lord." The warlord frowned in thought. "Silence these rumors. Kill those with traitorous tongues, at your discretion. The people must believe the prophetess is here, even if we can only sustain the deception a short while."

Thorak nodded. "And when you see the Wizard," Memnon added, "give him this for me." And the warlord handed his adviser the poison-tipped arrow, which Thorak handled judiciously, shielding the tip in a leather cover. Within the hour, Thorak and his personal cadre of his toughest, most trusted men—chosen from among the red-turbaned royal guards—galloped from the fortress city, into the night. Into the underworld, if necessary. And in his imperial chamber, the Teacher of Men stood ponderingly at a heavy stone tablet, displayed in a golden frame near his throne. This inscribed slab was ancient, even in these ancient times, and bore a crude form of symbols only the most learned scholars could decipher. It was made by thr first Sorcereress of Mystic Tribe, Delphi.

The warlord's fingers ran slowly across the symbols, his touch respectful, almost tender, his expression that of a man in a spell. His fingertips lingered on an etching of a man, whose raised a flaming sword in triumph, he was riding a horse with army behind him raiding what looked like a map of Essos.

Then Memnon's fingers came to rest upon an etchings of burning sword, at the very bottom of the inscribed tablet. A very short time now, he thought, and all would be his .. . starting with the woman, Cassandra, and ending with the world itself.