The Ring of Solomon

plaster into the storeroom. Dust rained down upon her hair.
    The king was methodically scanning the shelves. ‘Any joy?’ he said.
    ‘Not this time.’
    ‘Here.’ Solomon flipped open the lid of a small oak casket. Inside, neatly stacked, were six glass spheres.
    As he handed her the casket, a bolt of magic ricocheted through the arch, shot over her head and blew the storeroom roof asunder. Stonework melted, lumps of wood and rubble fell. With a cry, Solomon collapsed upon the floor.
    Asmira dropped to his side. ‘Are you hurt?’
    His face was grey. ‘No … no. Do not worry about me. But the demons—’
    ‘Yes.’ Asmira got to her feet, ran through a rain of little falling stones, and threw three spheres out through the ruined arch. Explosions followed, and plumes of green fire, then shrill, indignant sounds.
    She crouched in the shadows, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and put her hand in the casket again. At that moment something struck the other side of the wall with such force that she was knocked off her feet. The casket fell from her grasp; the three spheres rolled out of it, bounced gently on the floor.
    Asmira froze, staring at them, at the little cracks spreading on their surface.
    She flung herself back into the room just as the arch erupted with green fire.
    Flames poured through; heat buffeted Asmira as she jumped, lifting her up and forwards with great speed. She crashed into the shelves in the middle of the room, and fell awkwardly among the mess of upturned chests. A tide of artefacts cascaded on her head.
    When she opened her eyes, she saw Solomon gazing down at her.
    He extended a slow hand. Asmira took it, allowed herself to be helped to her feet. Her arms and legs were bleeding, her robe was singed. Solomon was in a scarcely better state. His robes were torn and he had plaster in his hair.
    Asmira stood silent for a heartbeat, looking at him. Then she said suddenly, all in a rush: ‘I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you.’
    ‘Sorry?’ the king said. He smiled. ‘In some ways I should be thanking you.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’ She glanced towards the arch, where the green witch-fires were slowly fading.
    ‘You have awoken me from sleep,’ King Solomon said. ‘For too many years I’ve been trapped up here, enslaved by pain, obsessed with my burden, keeping the Ring safe. And what was the result? I simply grew ever weaker and more complacent – and blind to the deeds of my own magicians, who have been busily extorting riches from my empire! Yes, thanks to you, the Ring is gone – but the result is that I feel more alive than at any recent time. I see things clearly now. And, if I’m going to die, I intend to do it fighting on my own terms.’
    He reached out to the tumbled treasures on the floor and picked up an ornate serpent. It was made of gold, with ruby eyes, and had several little hinges hidden on its feet. ‘This,’ the king said, ‘is evidently a weapon, controlled by the studs here. Come, we’ll use it now.’
    ‘You wait here,’ Asmira said. ‘I’ll do it.’
    Solomon ignored her outstretched hand. ‘Not just you this time. Come.’
    At the archway the fires were gone. ‘One other thing, Asmira,’ Solomon said as they stepped through. ‘I’m not your master. If this should be the last hour of your life, try not to need one.’
    They walked out into the central chamber, stepping over steaming holes and gashes in the floor, and almost collided with three of the demons which, in the form of macaque monkeys, had been sidling cautiously towards the arch. At the sight of Solomon, the monkeys yelled and bounded away across the room. The magician Khaba, leaning dourly against an upturned couch beside the pool, also jerked bolt upright in consternation.
    ‘Wretch!’ Solomon cried, in a voice of thunder. ‘Bow down before me!’
    Khaba’s face had sagged in horror. He wavered; his legs began to buckle. Then he controlled himself, his thin lips tightened. Gesticulating at the cowering monkeys on the far side of the hall, he sprang forward with an oath. ‘So what if the tyrant lives?’ he cried. ‘He doesn’t have the Ring!’
    Solomon strode forth. He flourished the golden serpent. ‘Dismiss your slaves! Bow down!’
    The Egyptian paid no heed. ‘Do not fear that golden trinket!’ he shouted at the monkeys. ‘Come, slaves, rise up and kill him!’
    ‘ O Khaba … ’
    ‘Wretch!’ Solomon said again. ‘Bow