“Faithfully?” Kalim wiggled back in his seat, and folded his arms. “Faithfully? How can you say that when you have not returned with his head? That was an explicit part of our arrangement. A finger is, well, it’s nothing to prove a man’s identity. Only his face will do.”
The assassin continued to offer the finger, which Kalim finally accepted with a sigh. He gestured that one of his guard’s take the finger.
He now sat staring at the assassin, who remained with his head lowered. His face was nearly purple.
Quite an angry man, Kalim thought. Good thing I have my guards here. I suppose his friend died doing what I asked. But do men like this have friends? He shouldn’t be so angry.
“What prevented you from doing as I asked?” He broke his thoughtful silence suddenly, his voice a shock even to himself. The assassin, however, did not move.
“I have known for some time that there are certain Romans who are not fond of Staurakius. I arranged to gain entrance with their help. They wanted the commander dead as well, and my arrival was most fortuitous. As I have informed Your Highness before, isolating the commander for assassination was no easy task. He is guarded at all times and is himself a capable warrior.”
Kalim narrowed his eyes at the assassin. Was that a dig at him? Did the assassin think he was not a capable warrior? How could he know that? Just like his father and brother, the assassin judged him without understanding his capabilities. He might not be a fearsome warrior with a sword. But he was a canny and capable general. All would realize it soon enough.
“Your Majesty?”
The assassin had been speaking but Kalim had been too focused on his thoughts. Whatever details he had missed, he did not care. He spun his hand to indicate the assassin continue his tale.
“Yes, as I was saying, their terms for cooperation were to keep the commander’s head for themselves. They wanted to use it to terrorize the others into accepting surrender to their new leader.”
“But I wanted the head,” he said. He was aware he sounded like a child, and regretted the note in his voice. But he was angered. “I am paying you. Not the Romans.”
“It is true, Your Highness, but I seek to truly understand what my patrons desire. You wanted Pozzallo to fall as a result of the commander’s death. A rebellion stirred just as I arrived. The commander’s death would push them into open conflict. Even now, I can be sure they are at each other’s throats, fighting over what that severed head means to them. For some, it is the end of a hated leader and a chance for personal gain. For others it is a banner of their vengeance and cause to fight their former brothers. No matter what, Your Highness’s plans are furthered. I deemed it a good trade.”
“You thought it was good?” Kalim asked. Yet another fool who thinks when thought is not necessary. Kalim himself had thought of everything.
“I did,” the assassin said, with enough confidence to cause Kalim’s eye to twitch. “My contacts wanted to also use the head to implicate the Norse barbarians that had recently joined them. It seems these might be the same Norsemen who did work for you earlier this year. I’m not certain of how they planned to use the head to lay blame with the Norsemen, but they insisted on keeping it. So now a third faction is embroiled in the conflict. I thought that would bring about the chaos you desired.”
Kalim’s hands had gone cold. His heart sped. A white haze enveloped the whole room, leaving only a small window where the assassin stood staring at him.
“Your Highness? Are you well?”
The Norsemen his cousin Saleet had hid from him. The ones who had defiled his mosque. But most importantly, the Norsemen who had slipped his judgement and now flaunted themselves. How dare they. How dare these smelly, stupid barbarians take up with his enemies in defiance of him. Were they laughing at him now? Did they mock him? Did even these uncultured things from some frozen wasteland think him a weakling?
“Your Highness?”
“Did you see these Norsemen? Describe them.”
His voice was calm. It was a strange dissonance to the thundering rage in his head and caused Kalim to pause at his own words. The assassin’s red face had returned to normal, though now he looked at him with a doubtful eye.
“I directly encountered only two, though I was told at least thirty of them had joined. These two interrupted my work. One was strong and tall, typical of his kind with golden hair and beard. He was swift and deadly, and killed my partner. At least he left him with a wound that made escape from the fort impossible. The other seemed like a boy. Smooth skin and an innocent face. Hair like old copper. But he was no boy, and he too moved with great speed. They were formidable enemies. I had no time to kill them, and I feared fighting two at once.”
“I know those two,” Kalim said.
His thoughts reflected back to the one called Yngvar. He was the barbarians’ arrogant, puffed-up leader. He had looked down upon Kalim the first day they met. His contempt for Kalim and his people was clear, even though he had been treated graciously and far above his station. That he had been led into desecrating a mosque was both unfortunate and a welcomed cause to order his execution. Kalim bit his lip, regretting his choice to sell the barbarian as a slave rather than flay the flesh from his back.
If he had not had to raise more soldiers for his father’s demands, he could have enjoyed watching the barbarian die one lash at a time.
He would regain that chance now.
The assassin waited, eyes lowered though Kalim could see him peeking at the sack by the foot of his throne.
“This is exciting news,” Kalim said. “Better than I had expected. The Byzantines fight among themselves and I have trapped my most hated enemies in the same place. A stroke of brilliance.”
Kalim applauded himself. The assassin bowed ever lower.
“You are a true genius, Your Highness.”
“That is true,” Kalim agreed. “Now, you will see I have your gold prepared. Though you did not bring me Staurakius’s head as agreed, I understand the situation completely now. Take this for a job well done. It was to be both of your fees. But as your partner is dead, or so you believe, it is all yours.”
The assassin did not move. Of course he could not approach the prince on his throne. So Kalim waved one of his four hulking guards at the sack. The silent giant hefted the sack of gold as if it were mere feathers. He tossed it at the assassin’s feet. The coins within jingled.
“It has been a pleasure to serve, Your Highness.”
The assassin bowed again, then retrieved his payment. He merely tucked the sack under his arm and waited to be dismissed.
“You may go,” Kalim said. He looked away now, no longer interested in the assassin.
Again the assassin gave his thanks and began to walk backwards from the prince’s presence.
Kalim inhaled the fine scent still lingering in the room. He fixed on one of the lamps to his right.
The four guards moved with incredible speed. If the assassin had thought those Norsemen were fast, he had never seen Kalim’s personal guard. These men were trained in Algeria and could do things no one would expect of men of such size. These guards were the single thing he was grateful to his father for providing him.
The assassin shouted. Kalim heard his soft-shoed feet shift on the smooth floor. But the heavier thump of his guards ended the assassin’s escape. Kalim continued to watch the lamp and its weak flame flicker.
The assassin grunted. One of his guards growled.
I knew that crafty assassin would sneak a weapon in here, he thought. Nothing big enough to kill these four giants.
The grunting and struggling continued until Kalim’s neck hurt trying to look away. But soon the assassin gave a short shout then a horrid crack filled the room. It was like the sound of a breaking tree branch.
At last he turned back. His four guards surrounded the assassin, who lay crumpled on the stone floor. His face was blue and now looked up at the ceiling where the rest of his body faced the floor. One of his guards wr
apped a heavy cloth around his arm. Dark blood bloomed in the stark whiteness.
“Don’t drip on the floor,” he said. “My father’s emissary will notice and ask questions. Now, take him away.”
Two of the four dull guards lifted the assassin off the floor. The one with the wounded arm retrieved the gold and returned it to Kalim. He needed the gold to pay for men. What else could he have done?
“Don’t leave the gold here,” he said peevishly. “You know where it goes. And you, come with me.”
He pointed to the final guard who had nothing else to do. He had the heaviest brow of all four. Kalim supposed he had a name but he had not learned it. Why waste precious mental space for trivial details? Besides, it was not as if they could enjoy a conversational friendship. He had their tongues removed. His father should have done it, but left the repugnant task to him. Always Kalim had to attend the details himself.
They left the audience chamber. He would have to meet with his father’s envoy, Rashaad al-Bashar. Damn that man and his servant. Kalim had considered setting fire to his own palace just to kill the two of them without raising suspicion. If he could contain it just to their dwelling—except the meddling old man seemed to be everywhere these days. What questions was he asking? Why didn’t he take his allotment of soldiers and leave?
These thoughts floated around Kalim’s head as he wound through the passages of his palace. His soft shoes swished across the floor, while his guard’s heavy sandals slapped behind his. Servants and functionaries stood aside for him and bowed. He at last came to the clerk’s offices.
“I need to speak with Saleet,” he said, entering the small room. He waved his hand before his nose. “This room smells like a camel. Why can’t you keep it clean?”
He hadn’t even noted the clerks present in the room. It was well lit with brass lamps. Three desks crowded together and rolls of paper scattered everywhere when the two men in the room stood. One was some fool with a white beard. The other was his shifty, beady-eyed cousin Saleet.
They both bowed but the other fool left, gathering an armful of papers as he did.
“My prince,” Saleet said. “I am ashamed that you have had to come find me directly.”
Saleet glanced past Kalim at the giant hovering behind him. His ratlike eyes darted aside.
“Close the door,” he said. “Is this place safe to speak?”
“Of course,” he said. “This is my personal office. I know every detail of this room.”
Kalim scanned it. Had he ever been here? Scroll upon scroll filled endless shelves. If he could lure Rashaad into this room and knock over a lamp, Kalim could feasibly burn the old man to death. It was stuffed with paper, parchment, and lamp oil. How had his palace not yet burned down?
The door closed with a soft thud. The giant guard put his back to it and folded his arms. Kalim would not chance being alone with a relative, even one like Saleet. His relatives all wanted him dead, except maybe his father who would not care if his young son died unexpectedly.
“The Norsemen who humiliated you,” he said, seating himself in Saleet’s soft chair. Why did a clerk have such a fine chair? “They are all at Pozzallo. Did you know this?”
Saleet blinked three times as if deliberately clearing his vision.
“I take your silence to mean you did not.” Kalim plucked at the padded armrests. This was a fine chair, indeed. “I hate them. Their lives are an offense to both me and to God.”
“My prince, this must not be. The Norsemen must face justice for their crimes.”
“They must,” Kalim agreed. “I had a plan. I was going to kill Staurakius and leave the Byzantines in confusion. Then I was going to march my men to their fortress and claim it for myself. Then Rashaad turned up. The old fool insists I’m to remain hiding behind these walls like a child hiding under a table.”
“That is terrible, my prince. What can I do to aid you?”
Kalim smiled. Saleet smiled, but unlike Kalim, he probably had no cause to smile.
“I need to lead men to Pozzallo and finish the Byzantines off personally. Rashaad has to be distracted while this happens. You need to get him and his servant and anyone reporting to him to all look away while I march on the fortress. You need to do this immediately. I must capture Pozzallo before it collapses of its own accord. Can I count on you to handle Rashaad? He is canny, but so are you. Just distract him long enough that he can do nothing until I return in victory.”
Saleet bowed low. “It is my deepest desire to serve you, my prince. I will handle the emissary.”
“Good,” Kalim said. “I want to bring the Norsemen back alive so that everyone may witness justice being done. As a reward for good service, I would hand one of them over to dispose of as you wish. Would you like that?”
The distant, sinister look in Saleet’s rodent eyes was so familiar. Kalim had seen it scores of times before in the eyes of all his family, though his immediate family was far more handsome than Saleet.
“My prince, I would most enjoy it. Would you grant me the Norse woman? I would enjoy punishing her crimes intensely.”
“Of course,” Kalim said, waving his hand. “She humiliated you, didn’t she? Yngvar and all the others will be publicly executed. I will have them whipped to the precipice of death. Then they will be chopped apart and fed to wild dogs. It will be grand. Now, handle Rashaad. I have a fortress to capture.”
Saleet bowed low and made to leave.
“Oh, and those assassins you contracted for me, they were good. But I have dismissed them. You will send me another by tonight. One who does not know the other two. I cannot be without such services, and I am certain I will have need of one soon. In fact, I know I will.”
14
Yngvar looked from Thorfast to Lucas the Byzantine. The two men were slathered in blood diluted with sweat. Both had black eyes and swollen faces, but they stood with arms around each other’s shoulders. As tight as brothers.
“You two can’t even speak the same language,” Yngvar said.
Thorfast shook his head. “We found a direct way of talking that made sense to both of us. Sorted out a few things. He’s a good shield-mate in a fight.”
The Byzantines still remained separated in two camps. The smaller of the two sat on their haunches and were surrounded by Nordbert’s crew. The larger group stood gathered by the fort walls, disarmed but standing cross-armed and snarling at the armed slaves who had gathered spears and shields from the armory.
The rest of his Wolves—Alasdair, Bjorn, Gyna, Thorfast, and Ewald through his own invitation—gathered around him. The joy of their closeness and having shared battle once more produced intense warmth in his chest. After so long a separation, he looked to each one and saw them new again. Thorfast’s hair was no longer simply platinum white. Each lock flowed as if alive around a noble head. Bjorn was no mere giant missing an eye. He displayed his blood-relation in the smile that Yngvar’s own father had owned. Gyna was not a crazy woman. She was powerful and strong in a way that put her above any other woman he knew. And what could be said for Alasdair? Never a more loyal and valuable friend ever lived.
“Besides smiling like a fool, did you have any other plan for today?”
Thorfast unhooked his arm from Lucas the Byzantine. He too joined the circle, though he was as mute as Ewald.
“I am pleased at what we did today,” he said. “But we cannot rest on this alone. I want to gather these Byzantines to my side, and punish the ones who betrayed the commander.”
“A good plan,” Bjorn said. “But I’d put gold against those Byzantines trying one more time to win the day. Look at ’em. They ain’t defeated men. They’re just waiting for us to make a mistake.”
Ragnar and Hamar eventually wandered into the ever-widening circle of Yngvar’s closest companions. Ragnar pointed at the larger group of Byzantines.
“The one called Captain Alexius wants to speak with you. Says he getting impatient.”
Yngvar tapped Alasdair’s shoulde
r. “We will speak with him. Thorfast, find Valgerd in the prison with her friends. There should be an Arab hiding somewhere in this fortress. He’ll be dressed as a soldier and have a badly wounded leg. I cannot imagine he climbed over the wall. Put the girls to work finding him and accompany them for safety.”
Captain Alexius stood at the fore of his men, ignoring the slaves pointing spears at him. He had a hawklike nose and sharp, green eyes. He wore an expression of perpetual disappointment. The shadows cast by the noon sun only enhanced the sense of his disdain. He folded strong arms across his chest. Yngvar looked for the obnoxious file leader that had accompanied him, but the captain stood alone.
“I warned the commander about you,” he said once Yngvar and Alasdair had approached within hearing distance. “But he would not listen. Thought himself a fine judge of character. Look what it earned him.”
“He did trust the wrong man,” Yngvar said. He stopped before the captain and mirrored his haughty stance, folding his arms as well. “But it was not me he should have doubted. The traitors who have failed their plot to seize power should have been under his notice. In fact, I would not be surprised if the commander knew of their plotting from a long while ago.”
Alexius’s scowl wavered at the thought. But it returned the instant he spoke.
“You betrayed them as well. Now you want to hang your crimes on their heads.”
“Captain Alexius, Alasdair and I are innocent. The commander was dead when we found him. There is a traitor among you who led two Arabs in disguise into his war room. I can identify the traitor. At least one of those Arabs must still be hiding here. I will find him yet and prove my innocence.”
“It could be a plan of yours from the start.”
The Red Oath Page 13
