The Ring of Solomon

battlefield was still a blackened waste, a field of bones.
    3 He was.
    4 Ghul : a lowly class of djinni, a frequenter of cemeteries, a devourer of unburied morsels.
    5 Skriker : an unpleasant sub-type of imp, with large flat feet and creeping tread. Follows travellers in lonely places, whispering and calling, and drives them to their death.

15
    S oon afterwards two bearded travellers could be seen trudging forth upon King Solomon’s highway. One was young and handsome, the other thick-set and dishevelled; both were stained with the sand of many miles. Each wore a dyed wool robe and had a heavy pack slung across his shoulders. They supported their steps with staffs of oak.
    Trudge, trudge, hobble, hobble – that was Faquarl and me doing our best to project an aura of human vulnerability. To cloak our actual potency, we’d made the change on five planes, and used Glamours to shield our true natures on the other two.
    Shoulders drooping with weariness, the men scuffed southwards through the dust and watched the dark hills draw in on either side. Here, as we’d judged while still aloft, were cliffs and overhangs that offered opportunity for ambush, if you were that way inclined.
    Faquarl and I had decided on an ambush of our own. Somewhere above were the hidden djinn we’d glimpsed from afar, but for the present we saw no sign of them. Everything was still, save for two vultures drifting slowly in and out of view against the sky. I snatched a look at them. Genuine, as far as I could tell. I lowered my gaze; on we went, step by weary step.
    In the middle of the range of hills, the cliffs receded a little and the road entered a wider defile, surrounded by scree slopes topped with jagged spurs of basalt.
    For the first time, the lonely and ever so vulnerable travellers stopped. Faquarl made a pretence of fiddling with his pack. I pulled at my beard, looked all around me with narrowed eyes.
    Quietness.
    Grasping our staffs more tightly, we set off again along the way.
    From behind, somewhere remote among the cliffs, came a tiny rattling of stones. Neither of us turned our head.
    At our backs sounded a skittering of pebbles, louder, halfway down the scree. Faquarl scratched his bulbous nose. I whistled tunelessly as I walked along.
    A heavy thud sounded on the road, the click of claws on rock. Still we trudged on, weariness itself.
    And now came the rasp of scales. The stench of sulphur. A sudden swathe of darkness filling the ravine. A cackle of demonic—
    All right, now was probably the time.
    Faquarl and I spun round, beards jutting, staffs raised, ready to attack – and saw nothing.
    We looked down.
    There at our feet stood the smallest, most rubbish foliot we’d ever set eyes on, frozen guiltily mid-path with one foot raised. It wore the terrifying guise of a shrew in a baggy tunic. In one furry paw it carried a weapon that resembled a toasting fork.
    I lowered my staff and gazed at it. It goggled back with its big brown eyes.
    On all seven planes the shrew looked the same, though to be fair on the seventh it did have a set of fangs. I shook my head in wonder. Could this be the hideous monster that had carried out such rapine on the desert road?
    ‘Hand over your valuables and prepare for death!’ squeaked the shrew, flourishing its fork. ‘Make haste, if you please. There is a camel train approaching the other way, and I wish to dispose of your bodies and join my fellows.’
    Faquarl and I glanced at one another. I held up a hand. ‘Please, if I may: one question. In whose name do you act? Who summoned you?’
    The shrew’s chest swelled. ‘My master is employed by the king of the Edomites. Now hand over your goods. I don’t want blood all over them.’
    ‘But Edom is a friend to Israel,’ Faquarl persisted. ‘Why should its king seek to rebel against great Solomon?’
    ‘This would be the same Solomon who demands a vast yearly tribute from the king, so that his treasury is emptied and his people groan beneath the burden of their taxes?’ The shrew gave a shrug. ‘Were it not for the Ring he wears, Solomon would find Edom rising against him in war. As it is, we must be content with simple banditry. Well, so much for international relations; we come now to your sad demise …’
    I smiled negligently. ‘First, a detail. Check out the planes.’ So saying, I made a subtle change. On the first plane I was still a dusty traveller leaning on his staff. On the higher planes, however, the man was gone,