I didn't answer. In truth, I had no idea what to expect.

After some days of travel, we reached the Great Falls.

Tifari Amu had described them to me, but he knew them only by legend and nothing could have prepared me for the sight of them. There is nothing in Terre d'Ange to match it; no, nor anywhere else in the world I have travelled.

It was the Nahar river we had regained, and here, near to its source, it was broad and placid once more—until it reached the Falls. Long before we saw them, we heard the tremendous sound. At last we came upon them from above and stood at the edge of the tree-lined gorge, staring in open-mouthed awe; eagles must feel thusly, gazing down from on high. The Falls were as wide as the river itself, far too wide to bridge, and formed a sheer drop of a hundred feet or better. Water cascaded off the edge in a solid sheet, churned white as foam, plunging impossibly far, down and down and farther still, until it plunged into the greenish waters of the basin below with such force as to raise a constant mist, sun-shot and shimmering with rainbows.

"Name of Elua!" Joscelin whispered.

I swallowed and pulled Imriel back from the edge, as he clambered over moss-covered rocks for a better view.

'Tis a poor description I have given of the Great Falls, but it is not something words can compass. The raw force and beauty of it are too great. And so we stood for a time, all of us, drinking in the sight of it, the roar of the falling water filling our ears. Even at this height, wind blown spray dampened our faces.

I daresay if the Falls had not been so stunning, we would have heard the hunting-party.

They were Shamsun, although I did not know it at the time; Tifari Amu told me, after. There were ten of them, armed with crude bows and javelins; agile and strong to a man, with skin the color of ripening olives and hair braided close to their skulls. Hunters—and bandits. It needed no one to tell me that. I saw it in the way the leader's gaze flicked over our laden mounts and donkeys.

And the way it flicked over me, astonished and avid, his tongue wetting his lips. In a swift motion, he nocked an arrow and drew his bow, aiming at Joscelin, who made the tallest target. The others fol lowed suit, and I drew Imriel behind me.

"Hold," the Shamsun leader said in a recognizable dialect of Jeb'ez, addressing Tifari Amu and Bizan, who'd already begun to fan out. "Let us take what we will, and no one will die."

"What will you have?" Tifari called, his sword half-drawn.

"Your goods. Your weapons. Whatever you have," the Shamsun replied. Let it be that, I prayed; let it only be that. We are near enough now that it makes no difference. There is water, and fish, if we can catch them—surely the Habiru laws of hospitality must hold true in Saba. The leader's gaze slid over me again, and I saw his breath quicken. "And the woman."

Joscelin had learned enough Jeb'ez for that.

It took them by surprise when he bowed, his crossed vambraces flashing in the verdant light. It took them harder when he straightened with daggers in his hands, throwing both in quick succession.

He missed with the left. Not the right, which killed the leader.

Arrows filled the air. I flung myself down on top of Imri scarce in time, feeling a line like a red-hot poker scored across my back. Pain, unexpected, blossomed in me like an old acquaintance come to visit, the scent of crushed ferns filling my nose. Imriel made a muffled sound of protest and I moved cautiously off him, turning my head to see the mêlée.

It wasn't pretty. If the Shamsun had been farther away, they'd have held their advantage, but after the first rain of arrows, it had gone to hand-to-hand combat. Bizan had the shaft of an arrow standing out from his thigh, but he fought undeterred, hobbling fiercely and swinging his sword. One of the bearers had managed to free Tifari's camelopard shield from the baggage, and I got a glimpse, then, of the full skill of Jebean soldiery.

And Joscelin . . . Joscelin had blood pouring in a stream down the right side of his head. For all that, he fought as calmly as if he were at his exercises, wielding his two-handed sword with careful grace. Not like he had before, no. But he was right. He could still do it.

The Shamsun had come prepared for a hunt, not a battle. It was over in minutes. The last one, who tried to flee, Tifari Amu slew with one of his own javelins, picking his mark through the trees and heaving a mighty cast. The man fell, pierced from behind.

"He would have gone for his tribe," Tifari said to my shocked expression, lowering his shield to wipe his brow with his forearm. "And then we would have blood-debt to settle."

To that, I could make no reply. We were alive.

I went instead to see to Joscelin, who winced when I touched him. An arrow had nicked his ear, taking a chunk of flesh from its upper curve. Since it was not a dangerous wound, I washed it and applied a tincture of snakeroot, giving him a clean rag to press against it until the bleeding stopped.

"Well?" he asked.

"It won't show if you wear your hair unbraided," I said. "I always did like it loose."

He laughed, then stopped as I turned to tie up the water-skin. "You're hurt."

"Some." I peered over my shoulder, shrugging at the gouge. "A scratch, no more. I need to see to Bizan."

Over his protest, I went to supervise the extraction of the arrow, which was not so bad as it might have been. The Shamsun were poor. Their arrows were beautifully fletched — how not, with the birdlife that abounded? — but they were only fire-hardened wood, sharpened to a point. If it had been forged steel and barbed, we'd have had to cut it out. As it was, I had Nkuku withdraw it in one swift yank, and clapped a wad of clean cloth in place lest it had pierced an artery. Bizan was lucky, for it had not. I cleaned and dressed it.

"Phèdre." Joscelin had Imriel in tow. He took the jar of snakeroot from my hand. "Sit down," he said, shoving me forcibly onto a rock. "Imri, you're deft. See it cleaned, and put some of this on it."

"A lot you know about medicine — " I began.

"Oh, hush." Joscelin handed a damp rag to Imriel, who moved behind me and dabbed carefully at the graze through my rent gown. "Do you want it to fester?”

"I heal clean," I said, then drew in my breath as Imriel applied the snakeroot. Kaneka had said it was effective; she hadn't mentioned it stung like seven hells. For an instant, my vision was veiled in crimson, and the surge of the Great Falls was like brazen wings buffeting in my ear. "Ah."

When I blinked, the world cleared. Joscelin's expression had changed. "So," he said softly. "That, too, is unchanged."

"Yes." I held his gaze. "So it seems. Are you sorry, now?"

After a moment, he shook his head. "No," he said, stooping to brush my lips with his. "I'll just have to catch more fish, that's all."

I was still laughing when I saw them.

Unlike the Shamsun, the Sabaeans had come ready for battle. They wore armor in an archaic style, or so I thought — bronze corselets over cotton tunics, pleated leather skirts and brightly woven cloaks. At second glance, I realized 'twas not the style, but the armor itself that was old, worn thin and bright with the patina of generations of polishing, traces of gilt lingering in the crevices here and there.

Tifari Amu had spoken truly. No one had traded with Saba for a long, long time.

We sat frozen, all of us, about our makeshift campsite, strewn with medicaments and the corpses of slain bandits. One of the Sabaeans stepped forward, frowning. Like the others, his skin was the hue of polished mahogany, and his bearded face was stern. He wore a helm like a pointed bronze cap, and only the leather straps were new.

"You," he said in Habiru, pointing to Tifari, who had risen, grasp ing his shield. "What passes here? Who has killed these men?"

Tifari shook his head in a gesture of incomprehension.

They spoke Habiru. After so long, they still spoke it. "Barukh hatah Adonai, father," I said, getting to my feet. "Yeshua a'Mashiach . . ." My voice trailed off. Whatever else these men were, they were not Yeshuite. I cleared my throat and continued in his tongue. "We have come seek ing peaceful converse with Saba."

He stared at me unabashed, for which I did not blame him. We made an odd sight altogether, and while he might not know me for the most famous courtesan in Terre d'Ange, I was hardly what one expects to find in a Jebean forest surrounded by corpses. "You," he said slowly. "What are you?"

"I am Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève of Terre d'Ange," I said. "It is a land very far away, farther even than the homeland of Shalomon.

These are my companions," I added, introducing them. Joscelin gave his Cassiline bow; the Jebeans nodded warily. Imriel kept still, seeking to read the Sabaean's expression.

"From Meroë." The Sabaean captain frowned. "We have no friends in Meroë."

I translated his comment to Tifari Amu, who shrugged. "They have no enemies, either. The quarrel is an ancient one. Our wise Queen would see it laid to rest if Saba willed it. But we are not here to parlay, only to aid you in your quest. It is a favor to the gods, and to the Lugal of Khebbel-im-Akkad, nothing more."

When I relayed his words to the Sabaean captain, he gave a bitter smile. "Our memories are long, foreigner. The quarrel is not ancient to us, and we have no fondness for the Akkadians. As for the gods of Jebe-Barkal, they are foul and bestial monstrosities."

"And yet," I said, "I have heard you use the grief of Isis to hide something from the eyes of Adonai Himself."

He sucked in his breath as if I'd struck him, his bearded cheeks flushing darker. "It is no business of yours, foreigner!" I said nothing. The men behind him stirred. After a moment, he spoke again. "We have tracked these poachers for many days without success," he said reluctantly, nodding toward the slain Shamsun. "For this, if no other, you may claim hearth-friendship. Is it your wish?"

"It is." I inclined my head.

"So be it." His bitter smile returned. "I am Hanoch ben Hadad. I will lead you to the city of Tisaar. Whatever your quest may be, you may present it to the Elders."