The Tower of Fear

by Glen Cook

  “I see. And you come to me because you want into the citadel.”

  “Yes.” No point hiding it.

  “There was no hidden way in then, through the maze?”

  “No.”

  “What will you do about Nakar? Are you one of those who want to restore him?” Suddenly, she seemed intense.. Fa’tad chuckled.” I’d be the first devoured if Nakar were resurrected. I value these old bones too much to permit that.”

  She studied him briefly, assessing his honesty. “I’ll help you, then. The ancient doom must be discharged. Nakar must be destroyed, whoever helps complete the task.”

  Al-Akla frowned, surprised and puzzled. “I expected to work for that.” He did not question his good fortune. “How close are you to finding the path?” He would not argue with fortune but he would keep a sharp eye on it.

  “An hour or an eternity. This is sorcery. No gate pattern can be defined completely from outside. Each is unique. Each must be opened by steps. I have been eliminating those possibilities made impossible by this pattern’s needs and what we know of its specifics. I have reached my limit from this vantage, though. Now I have to have someone actually walk the pattern. Colonel Bruda offered me prisoners to use. His promise is no longer of value.”

  Fa’tad responded to the hint by grunting. “I’ll find you someone.” He told his men to take care of her wants and to guard her well. They understood. He moved to another part of the Residence. He meant to adopt it as his headquarters.

  Reports from his captains looked promising. The ferrenghi, taken from their blind side, had collapsed everywhere but at the Gate of Autumn and at Government House. About the Gate of Autumn he was indifferent. Time would take care there. But who would have thought those soft Government House functionaries would turn stubborn and defy his worst?

  He inquired about the progress of the masonry work and learned that the remaining entrances to the labryrinth had been sealed. Excellent.

  Four thousand ferrenghi veterans out of the way with hardly a blow struck.

  He remained unsettled, though. The Living had manifested their interest and existence in no tangible way. Yet they were out there watching, waiting, invisible and unpredictable. The longer they did nothing the more dangerous they would become.

  Azel was not an introspective man, not one to look inward for the meaning of what moved him. But time weighed heavily. His thoughts kept turning to the meaning of his own behavior.

  And shied away. It almost seemed there were a few soft spots in there. He backed away lest he get so close he’d have to face them.

  He wanted to admit no weaknesses. He was like a natural force. He acted...

  A clash of arms rose outside. He looked, could tell little in the darkness and rain. No evidence to show who was doing what to whom. But something strange was afoot in Qushmarrah. None of those soldiers who had charged into the Shu had shown again.

  When there was light enough to make out details he discovered that the soldiers besieging the citadel had been replaced by Dartars. A few corpses in Herodian white lay on the pavement like bundles of clothing cast off by refugees too hurried to be burdened by possessions. Though the image that crept into his mind was dead kittens.

  Dartars? What the hell?

  The world had gone crazy.

  One by one the lanterns consumed the last of their fuel. As each died the world underground became a little darker, a little smaller, tighter, and a little more fearful. The clash of metals and cries of wounded echoed up from deeper in the maze. Some of the soldiers were having trouble with those who haunted the labyrinth. Those ghouls seemed desperate to reach the surface. What drove them so?

  Governor Sullo was incapacitated by terror, one fright short of voiding his bowels. His Moretians kept him moving as they sought a way out. They also kept him quiet, knowing the soldiers he had gotten into this fix would need little provocation to turn on their self-appointed commander.

  Going downhill within the maze-toward the harbor, not toward the heart of the labyrinth-proved a bad idea. In places water stood waist-deep. In others it was as deep but not standing, it was running toward the heart of the maze.

  No wonder the vermin were trying for the light. The deep places were filling. They were being forced out of their fastnesses. People were not the only thing being trapped by al-Akla’s masonry.

  Sullo grew more terrified. He was going to drown...

  The Moretians reversed course and sought salvation upward, growing ever more impatient with their employer’s wheezing, whining efforts to keep up.

  The last lantern gave up.

  Raw panic filled Sullo’s throat with a shriek that could not tear its way free. He managed only a soft, “Don’t leave me! Please?”

  Soon afterward a big outcry ran through the maze. It took a while to sort out into any sense because of the legions of echoes.

  General Cado had been found and liberated.

  That small part of Sullo’s brain still capable of reason recognized the exclamation point marking the end of his brief and disastrous reign as master of Qushmarrah.

  20

  Aaron peered through the peephole into a Char Street empty of life. It was Saabat, the holy day, the day of rest, and it continued to rain, but neither accounted for the absence of traffic. No matter what, Char Street bustled with people who had places to go and things to do. Except today.

  Aaron did not like it. He had a feeling it was, somehow, a little bit his fault.

  He turned away. Mish and Laella were putting the final touches on a bedraggled make-do breakfast. Eating would be grim for a while.

  None of the markets were open. If the rain persisted they would not be providing much that was fresh tomorrow, either. Country people would not be eager to slog the muddy roads, even though they could be sure of good sales if they did.

  The Dartar boy ate sparingly, aware that his hosts were short of supplies. A good one, Aaron thought. For a Dartar. But a Dartar even so. He bore watching.

  Aaron accepted a bowl of mushy stuff from Laella, lighted near his mother-in-law, foreseeing many similar meals. “How do you feel this morning?”

  Raheb grunted noncommittally. She had not yet come to terms with the fact that she owed her life to a Herodian witch. The foundations of her certainties had been cracked and chipped and it would take her a while to mend then.

  Mish and the Dartar were comfortable now, but Mish still did most of the talking, chattering without letup. Aaron wondered if he had been as empty-headed and naive at that age.

  “Yoseh. When do you think al-Akla will try to break into the citadel?”

  Mish shut up. The women listened intently.

  “Today sometime, sir. As soon as possible. He has to do it fast if he wants it all to work out.”

  The boy had, so far, shown no inclination to rejoin his brothers. Aaron wondered what special instructions he had received concerning the Habid family. “After we eat I think we should go find out what’s happening.”

  The boy nodded though he did not seem taken with the idea.

  Stafa asked, “Arif coming home, Dad?”

  “I hope so, pretty soon, Stafa.” Stafa had proven more resilient than his elders, except in the heart of the night, when he had been terrified that bad men would come take him away from his mother.

  Aaron said, “Laella, if this doesn’t work out we’re going to have to move.”

  “I know.” She said it with a conviction she usually reserved for Aram’s law. She had something to add, too, but a knock on the door interrupted.

  Aaron went, carrying a knife. He looked through the peephole. “Yoseh, it’s your brother.” He opened the door.

  Yoseh watched Nogah come in, uneasy. He had been given no specific orders about what to do after he ducked into the carpenter’s house but he was sure they had not planned for him to stay till they came to get him.

  Nogah looked at him a moment, shook his head, asked, “You moving in here, kid? Come on. We have work to do.”r />
  Yoseh was too embarrassed to reply.

  Tamisa got even for him, sort of. She filled a chipped cup with the pale tea her family drank, went to Nogah and offered it in such a sweet, polite, gentle manner that he could not refuse without looking an ass.

  She came away smiling wickedly. She winked at Yoseh. She had begun to sense her power.

  Yoseh waited nervously while Nogah sipped, Mish bustled around, and the carpenter got himself ready for the rain. Nogah scowled but did not say anything. He had become defensively uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the two older women.

  Out of nowhere it occurred to Yoseh to wonder if this rain had reached far enough south to spread some moisture across the mountains. He could imagine the women and children bustling around trying to salvage every possible drop. He could see the old men and stay-at-homes trying to reinforce embankments meant to channel streams into shaded and hidden pools. Precious, precious, the rain.

  Maybe this would be the turning they had been awaiting since he was a child.

  Stafa went to Nogah and asked, “I ride horsy?”

  “Not today. The horses are all inside. It’s raining.”

  The boy pouted for a moment, then got interested in something else.

  “Are you ready?” Yoseh asked the carpenter. V.

  “Yes.”

  Yoseh recalled examples of his father’s flowery oratory, thanked the women of the house for their hospitality. Nogah stared at him slack-jawed. He opened the door, let the veydeen precede him, then told Nogah, “Thank Tamisa for the tea and let’s go, big brother.” He was amused. Service with Fa’tad al-Akla did not permit many chances to practice the social graces.

  The street was deserted. Mounts and gear had been removed. Fa’tad had no more interest in the Shu, except to leave a handful of men there to intimidate the veydeen. The exits from the labyrinth were no worry. They had been sealed with far too many thicknesses of brick to be opened by the men trapped inside.

  Yoseh asked, “Where are we headed?”

  “The Residence. Fa’tad’s made that his headquarters. And us guys have to keep an eye on the ferrenghi witch. She’s almost ready to have a crack at getting into the citadel.”

  Yoseh frowned. The carpenter asked, “The witch Governor Sullo brought? She’s helping you now?”

  Nogah said, “She doesn’t care who she lets inside as long as they finish what Ala-eh-din Beyh started. I get the feeling it’s personal.” He sounded like he had trouble believing the woman could be as pliable as she had proven.

  They entered the Residence, shook the rain off. Yoseh wondered what they would do with the carpenter. Fa’tad would not want him tagging along everywhere. Nogah said, “Go up those steps there and down the hall to the left. I’ll report in.”

  “Come on,” Yoseh told the veydeen. “Let’s see this witch. If we’re going to be watching her we’re going to be right in the middle whenever whatever happens.” He was not excited about that. He had a Dartar’s dread of sorcery.

  The carpenter followed, gawking at their surroundings as much as he did. “They say the citadel is a hundred times as rich as this.”

  “I know,” the carpenter said. He seemed too awed for thought or conversation.

  They found Medjhah and the others in a large and poorly lighted room where a homely woman leaned over a table, frowning, oblivious to their presence. Medjhah, Mahdah, Faruk, and the others surrounded Yoseh, chattering, teasing, obviously pleased that he was unharmed.

  That warmed him inside.

  They were less effusive than they might have been without an audience. They were Dartar and veydeen, and ferrenghi were present.

  The carpenter smiled uncomfortably. The woman ignored them so thoroughly they might not have been there-till she rose suddenly, said, “I’m ready to begin my experiments,” in accented ferrenghi. Yoseh caught only the fact of her readiness.

  Medjhah fumbled out a few clumsy phrases to the effect that they had to wait for Nogah. She was not pleased. Like the rest of them she had had no sleep and wanted to get on and get it over.

  Nogah showed a minute later. He said, “Fa’tad wants to know how much longer we’re going to stall around up here.” He shoved a captured knife and sword at the carpenter, who took them but looked at them like he had been presented with a fistful of snakes.

  Medjhah replied, “Yon beauty is waiting for you, big brother, her little heart going pitty-pat.”

  Nogah gave him an ugly look. “Then let’s move out.” He communicated with the witch using signs, though Yoseh knew he could have stumbled around and made himself clear with his crippled ferrenghi.

  Azel was talking to himself, he was so tired and hurt so much. Torgo did not help. The eunuch was getting as nervous as an old woman.

  Time was sliding by. Whatever they were going to try out there, they were getting close to trying it.

  He could not see much because of the rain but he suspected the Dartars were busy. Damned few were watching the citadel. Al-Akla probably had every man he could plundering. It looked like a “grab everything quick and get out before the Herodians send relief forces” deal.

  Fa’tad had chosen his moment well, hadn’t he? The camel-loving bastard. The coast west of Qushmarrah in chaos because of Turok raiders. The east facing the threat of war. Beyond Caldera the legions faced Chorhkni, Saldun of Aquira, and his allies. That standoff had persisted for years. It was sure to be tested before summer’s end. Would be tested instantly if troops were withdrawn to deal with an uprising elsewhere.

  A scuffle behind him. Torgo. Again. “Azel, I think she’s coming out of the deep sleep, into normal sleep.”

  Azel grunted. “Good. How soon can we wake her up?”

  “She should get a normal amount of regular sleep if she can. At least. As much as we can let her have, for sure. Her weariness has gone deeper than the flesh and the mind. The soul needs time to recover, too. Or she could stumble during the final rite and destroy us all.”

  “You know how long the resurrection rite ought to take?”

  “No. A while, though. It won’t be like twisting a love charm. What are they doing out there?”

  “Nothing yet. Still.” Azel turned back to the window. “Wait. Here comes their witch.”

  Torgo crowded up beside him. He had to work to hide his true feelings about the eunuch’s proximity. Torgo said, “I thought she belonged to the Herodians.” She was surrounded by Dartars who looked ready for trouble.

  “Maybe they got something she can’t do without.” Azel regretted the remark instantly but its cruelty went right past Torgo. Azel shrugged, paid attention to what was happening down there. He laughed suddenly, a near roar of tension flooding away.

  “What?” Torgo demanded. “Why are you howling like a hyena?”

  “Look! We got all the time we’re ever going to need. She ain’t working on the Postern of Fate, she’s pecking on the fake pattern Nakar put in front of the main gate. She can mess with that forever and not get anywhere because there ain’t nowhere to go.”

  Torgo looked. He was grinning when he pulled back.

  Azel went to work. This was a good time to let Torgo get a solid idea that he might have help if he decided it would not be a good plan for Nakar to hang around after he kicked ass on the Herodians.

  Azel chuckled. Let Torgo take care of old Nakar and set it up so the Witch saw the eunuch do it, and who did that leave to pick up the pieces and comfort the widow and help straighten out Qushmarrah?

  It was a long chance. But it sure as hell wasn’t as long as it had been when he’d begun playing the game.

  He leaned forward again. This time he spotted the father of the chosen brat with the sorceress and Dartars. Bastard was in for some heartbreak, wasn’t he?

  Azel pulled back. “Why don’t we go down, get us something to eat and maybe get drunk while those idiots are pounding their heads bald on the wrong stone wall?”

  Bel-Sidek eased back from the edge of the flat roof when he heard som
eone coming up. He sat up in a puddle, already wetter than a fish. Zenobel and Carza appeared. Carza was still angry. Zenobel nodded wearily. He had gotten through at last.

  Bel-Sidek said, “We’re all here now,” needlessly, to the other khadifas, who had been with him for some time, without enthusiasm. “You look like you have something to tell us, Zenobel.”

  “Just the latest. They have the whole wall except around the Gate of Autumn. They’re ignoring that. They have patrols all over the city, keeping people off the streets. They’re only looting Herodian property.”

  “So far,” King Dabdahd grumbled.

  “So far,” Zenobel agreed. “They don’t get into the citadel pretty soon, I think they’ll grab whatever they can get. They’ll want to be long gone when Nakar comes around.”

  “But Nakar isn’t. We’re not going to let him.”

  “Fa’tad doesn’t know that.”

  “Yes, he does,” bel-Sidek said. He was unsure what to think about Fa’tad’s actions. The notion that he meant to loot Qush-marrah and head for his native mountains, where he would be safe from retribution, seemed too direct and simple. “In the sense that he knows I’ll do everything I can to stop it.”

  Gold, silver, and jewels were as valuable to Dartars as to anyone and Fa’tad had said he wanted the treasures of the citadel for his people, so they could buy their way out of the grip of famine. But if he plundered Qushmarrah and left an angry coast behind, where would he spend his treasure?

  The others looked at bel-Sidek, less than honoring, waiting for him to drop some pearl of wisdom they could condemn or contradict. He said nothing. He preferred to let someone else start the inevitable argument.

  Salom Edgit obliged. “What’re we going to do?” His tone implied that someone was ducking hard choices. This Salom Edgit who, a few days ago, had had no faith in the future or movement.

  “We’re not going to do anything. For now.”

  “What?” They looked at him with varying expressions. Carza was furious.

  “Is there any sensible reason to get our men killed while Fa’tad isn’t bothering anyone but Herodians? If he turns on our people we’ll respond. Meantime, let his men take the brunt. We’ll conserve strength and trickle it into areas where concentrations will be useful if we do have to fight.”