I’m helping his cause.

Every single person I kill is one less person living on earth.

All thoughts of respect dissolve away as an acute sort of devastation sinks in. I sway a little on my feet, and for a moment, I think I’m going to be sick.

I assumed I was actually doing something useful.

War finishes putting on his armor and comes towards me. Outside the tent I can hear a few muffled footsteps as soldiers quietly leave their homes, readying themselves for a day of fighting.

“Ready?” he asks.

I almost say no. I’m still reeling from that revelation. The last thing I want right now is to play into the horseman’s hand by killing more people.

But then I remember those soldiers who liked to use raids as an opportunity to rape women or commit other atrocities. Someone still needs to keep them in line—War’s words be damned.

I nod to the horseman, and together we leave the tent.

This time, riding with War doesn’t feel comforting in the least. The horseman holds me close, but he feels remote. I have a horrible suspicion he’s taking his mind to that place where he kills.

The city comes into existence in stages—first with a few decrepit buildings, then several more, then rapidly the city fills itself out. Port Said butts right up against the Mediterranean Sea, every square kilometer of it tightly packed with building after building. At this early hour, the city is quiet, so terribly quiet.

My chest constricts. Only now am I beginning to realize what it truly means to be at the front of War’s army. I’ve only seen battle once it’s been raging for a time. I’ve never seen what ignites it. And now I’m having visions of War storming into homes and killing people right in their own beds.

“I need to get off,” I whisper.

If anything, War’s arm tightens on me.

“I need to get off,” I say louder.

The horseman utterly ignores me, but when I start to struggle, his grip becomes unyielding. I might as well be pinned in by a steel band.

War makes a clicking noise with his tongue, and Deimos begins to speed up until we’re hurtling forward at a gallop. My dark brown hair is whipping behind me, and the dagger holstered at my hip is bumping into my thigh over and over again.

“What are you doing—?” I’ve no sooner asked it then I start to see a couple figures come out of the darkness, weapons gripped in their hands as they stare at us. It takes a little longer to notice the uniforms in the darkness.

The Egyptian military.

One of them nocks an arrow into his bow, pointing it at us. “Stop and state your business,” he orders. The other soldier beside him likewise raises his bow.

War reaches behind his back, and I hear the ominous zing as he pulls his sword from its scabbard.

“Don’t, War,” I say, staring at the men as they begin to shout. “Please don’t.”

He ignores me.

In the next instant, an arrow comes whizzing by my face, so close I hear the hiss of it cutting through air.

All the while, War keeps galloping onward, heading straight towards the uniformed men. He leans to the side of his saddle, his enormous sword gripped in his hand. Another arrow whizzes by, this one hitting the horseman in the chest. I hiss in a breath.

And then War’s upon the men. He swings his sword, cutting a soldier down like he was swatting away a fly. I swallow my scream, even as I feel a few droplets of blood hit me.

The other Egyptian soldier turns on his heel and runs, shouting at the top of his lungs, “The horseman is here! War is here!”

I struggle against the warlord all over again, trying to get away.

“Stop it, Miriam,” he orders.

Um, fuck that.

“If I let you down now, the civilians will attack you—so might my riders if they don’t recognize you.”

That makes a certain amount of sense. I mean, when you’re at the front of the army entering a town to raid, the only person you have to avoid killing is the horseman himself. Everyone else is fair game.

War runs down another soldier, cleaving his head from his shoulders.

He’s not going to stop. He won’t ever stop.

I start fighting him in earnest, even as the shouts carry down the city and more uniformed men come running in our direction.

“Miriam.”

“Let me go.”

He doesn’t want to, I can feel it in his stubborn grip. Especially not now when people are starting to wander out of their houses and the Egyptian military unit is mobilizing.

“Damnit, Miriam.” He sheathes his sword. “I cannot protect you if you’re fighting me.”

I swivel around. “You can’t protect me at all right now.” As if to enunciate my point, another arrow whizzes by.

His eyes widen a little as he realizes probably for the first time that yeah, I might be right.

“You don’t get both me and your precious battle,” I say.

His jaw clenches, his eyes stormy.

Behind us, I hear an otherworldly sort of howling rise up.

I glance over War’s shoulder in time to see his phobos riders storming into the city, whooping and howling like animals as they descend.

The horseman looks behind him, following my gaze, and I use the distraction to shove off him.

“Wife!” he shouts after me. I slip off of Deimos and dart away, weaving into the darkness.

I don’t glance behind me, but I can hear the clatter of arrows and then the sound of War unsheathing his sword again.

“Miriam!”

Now people are beginning to leave their houses, and the screams are starting to catch on. The phobos riders thunder down the street, their howls becoming almost deafening, and I have to duck to avoid getting gouged by an axe-wielding rider.

“Miriam!” War’s voice rings out again, but I don’t dare tear my gaze away from the fighting to look at him.

Another phobos rider singles me out, breaking away from the group to hunt me down. Rapidly I grab an arrow and nock it. I release the string, letting the arrow fly. It misses the rider, but pierces the flesh of his mount. As I watch, the horse rears back, and the man falls off.

My hand itches to grab another arrow and finish the soldier off.

You’re making my job easier.

I curse under my breath and run.

Chapter 37

Find the aviaries.

If I can get there, maybe I can at least do some good.

Around me, dozens of flaming arrows are arcing through the sky. I never thought cities like Jerusalem or this one could burn. There’s nothing so obviously flammable about them. But now that this city is catching fire right before me, I notice that there are canvas awnings and lines of clothes and curtains and shrubbery and wooden carts and stalls and so many other flammable things that can catch fire. And as I run, they do.

People are beginning to swarm the streets as they try to escape. Children are crying—hell, grown men and women are crying—families are fleeing and it’s all so, so hopeless.

I almost miss the aviary. The birds aren’t making much noise and everything on the streets is drowning out whatever sounds they are making.

I rush inside, and nearly get beheaded by a middle-aged man with an axe.

I jerk back just in time to miss the blade, but only just.

“I’m not here to hurt you!” I say.

He grips his weapon tighter. “You look like it to me.”