"We have trouble," Fizal said, quickly removing the keys from the belt of the unconscious man and handing them to Jabl. "My cousin tells me that there is a second Inglizi in the cell."
"Bring them both. It doesn't matter who he is, I will not leave one of my countrymen behind," Mallory said.
"It will make escape more difficult," Fizal told her, taking one of the lanterns.
"Nonetheless, you will bring them both."
"We must hurry," Jabl said in Arabic, inserting the key in the lock and motioning for Fizal to follow him.
"Remain here," Fizal cautioned Mallory. "If the guard awakens, call out and I will come to you at once."
* * *
Michael heard muffled voices and rose from the cot. He moved to the bars. Two men were looking in all the cells, and he wondered what they were doing. At last, they stopped before him.
"Inglizi?" one of the men asked.
"Yes, I'm English," Michael said in a cutting tone, thinking the men probably had orders to take him or his father to Sidi.
Fizal raised the lantern and stared at Michael. "Akhdar 'em Akraba, I did not know you would be here. We came to rescue only your father."
By now, Raile had joined his son.
"Who are you?" Michael said in a suspicious voice, thinking this must be one of Sidi's tortures.
"I am Prince Khaldun's man."
"I don't know you."
Jabl tried the keys until he found the right one, and the door swung open. "There is no time to talk," he said urgently. "We must leave now."
Raile and Michael exchanged glances, and Raile nodded. "We can't be worse off than we are now."
When Michael moved out of the cell, he almost collapsed, so his father supported his weight. When they reached the anteroom, they saw the unconscious guard and an Arab woman draped in veils.
Mallory could only stare at Michael. How had he come to be in prison? And he seemed to be injured. He was so pale. She lifted her eyes to the man who supported Michael's weight—his father—the duke.
Her first instinct was to run to Michael, but at that moment, the outer door swung open and laughter emitted from the lips of the man who stood in the doorway with two guards at his back.
"So, my birds would have flown their nest. I think not today," an oily voice said in English.
"Sidi, you bastard," Raile said angrily. "So this was a trap all along."
Sidi sauntered in, his dark eyes moving over the faces of each person—they paused on Mallory, and then moved back to the duke. "I would like to take credit for trapping you, Your Grace, but it seems you have friends willing to give their miserable lives to rescue you—first your son— now these poor, unfortunate devils."
Sidi moved to the unconscious guard and nudged him with his foot, but he didn't stir. "You'd have made it too, if it hadn't been for the commotion at the gate. You see, your friends are attacking my city, so I came to put an end to your lives."
Mallory heard the exchange of gunfire and knew that Prince Khaldun had indeed begun his attack. She lowered her head, knowing that she had brought more trouble to Michael and his father. She watched Sidi jerk a gun from his guard's hand.
"Your Grace, how shall I hurt you the most?" he taunted. Shall I simply put a bullet through your heart? Or . .. shall I make you watch your son die before I kill you?"
Michael raised his head. "Do what you will and be done with it. Don't expect us to beg."
"Oh, no," Sidi, said through gritted teeth. "A DeWinter would never beg, would he? In any case, this is the night you both will die, but not before you know that your friend, Prince Khaldun, is doomed. As we speak, his troops are trapped between the walls of my city and my men who will come up behind them."
Sidi raised the gun and leveled it at Michael's heart. "I think the son dies first."
No one paid the slightest attention to Mallory. She carefully bent down to the unconscious guard, took his gun, and raised it at the Turk. She didn't know if the gun was loaded—she certainly didn't know how to aim, but she prayed she would hit her target. She leveled it at Sidi's chest and pulled the trigger.
Raile watched the surprised look on Sidi's face. Then Sidi stumbled backwards, clinging to a chair for support. His eyes turned slowly to the woman draped in black, who still held the smoking gun in her hand.
"Kill . . . her," he muttered, just before he fell back, his head hitting hard against the stone floor. Everyone knew he was dead.
Mallory dropped the gun and shuddered. She had just taken a man's life. But she'd had to—he was going to shoot Michael!
When the guards moved toward Mallory, she took a quick step backwards. Fizal and Jabl moved between the guards and her, barring their way.
Heated words were spoken in Arabic, and the four men came together in a violent clash. Mallory watched tensely while the men struggled. At last, Fizal and Jabl were triumphant!
Fizal took Mallory by the hand and pulled her out the door, while his cousin motioned for the two Inglizi to follow them. When they were outside, Jabl locked the door and tossed the keys into the night.
Mallory whispered quickly to Fizal. "I don't want my husband to know who I am. I don't want him to know what I did."
He lifted her into the cart. "But, lady, he will be proud of what you did."
Fizal had brought only one robe and head covering, and Raile insisted that Michael slip them over his clothing. They both climbed into the cart, and it was apparent that Michael was in agony.
Jabl arranged a large crate of cheese in front of them, so they would not be detected.
By now, the gunfire at the gates was more intense, and the battle was raging fiercely.
Fizal climbed in the cart and urged the oxen along, while Jabl leaped in the back.
"Where do we go?" Raile asked.
"I will take you to my aunt's house," Fizal told him. "You will be safe there until we can smuggle you out of the city."
From his hiding place, Raile watched the man expertly guide the cart through the chaos. "How can we ever thank you for what you have done for us?"
"There is no need for thanks. I was honored to help."
"Does your wife speak English?" Michael inquired.
"No," Fizal lied hurriedly. "She does not speak Inglizi."
"Will you thank her for saving my life?"
"She needs no thanks, great lord."
"I don't know why the three of you would risk your lives to save us, but my father and I shall see that you are rewarded."
Mallory lowered her head. She trembled to think what would have happened if the rescue had not taken place tonight. She laced her fingers together, wondering how she would ever live with the fact that she had taken a man's life.
As the cart moved along, Michael struggled to sit up. "I have to open the gate, Father. You heard what Sidi said, Khaldun and his men are trapped in a crossfire. I will not abandon them."
"I'll do it," Raile said.
Michael slid off the cart, and doubled over in pain before he could stand upright. "You can't, Father. You don't even know how to find the front gate."
Raile called for Fizal to stop, and when he halted the oxen, Raile walked back to his son. "Michael, be sensible. You can hardly stand, let alone make your way to the gate."
"I have to, Father. My friends are depending on me."
"Then I'll come with you," Rail said.
"No. You wouldn't make it to the gate. Everyone would know that you're English. And, if I had to worry about you, I would surely fail in what I must do. Please understand that my friends are dying on the other side of that gate, Father."
Raile looked into his son's eyes and stepped back. The father in him wanted to go with Michael, and make sure that he would be safe, but the man in him knew that Michael must go alone.
"Where will we meet afterwards?" Raile asked.
Jabl moved to stand by Michael, and said something in Arabic.
"My cousin says he will go with you, lord," Fizal said. "He can walk amo
ng the enemy without them being suspicious, and afterward, he will bring you to his parents' house, where I now take your father."
Mallory wanted to cry out for Michael not to go, but she dared not. She could see that he was in pain. How would he make it to the gate?
Michael motioned for Fizal to leave.
As the oxen slowly moved forward, Mallory turned to watch Michael until he melted into the shadows. By the time the cart reached the corner, he had disappeared completely.
Mallory glanced back at the duke and she saw the concern on his face. She could only imagine what torturous thoughts were going through his mind, because she herself was so frightened for Michael.
The night sky lit up with the flash of gunfire, and the cannon atop high walls boomed out, echoing in Mallory's ears.
She thought of Prince Khaldun, and her heart saddened—he and his brave Jebeliya were facing those cannons. Michael was their only hope.
Mallory knew this would be the longest night of her life.
Chapter 26
Michael and Jabl made their way toward the main gate. Many times, Michael was overcome with weakness and had to stop for a moment until the weakness passed.
When the pain became too bad, Michael thought about his friends being cut down by enemy fire, and that gave him the strength he needed to keep going, and he moved forward, ever closer to the gate.
At last, it was in sight. Michael paused, leaning against a building so he could assess the situation.
"What shall we do, lord?" Jabl asked in Arabic.
"My friend, I don't even know your name," Michael answered him in the same language. "I don't know why you want to help me, but if we are going to die together, I believe we should call each other by first names. I am called Michael."
"I am called Jabl, lord."
"Michael," he insisted.
"Michael," Jabl repeated, grinning. "I know you only as the great Akhdar 'em Akraba."
Michael grimaced at the sound of the appellation. Was he to go through life with that cursed name? "The one thing that is in our favor, Jabl, is that Sidi's soldiers are so busy watching their front, they won't think to look to their back."
"That is so."
"What I want you to do is walk among them, spreading the word that Sidi has been assassinated. That news will surely demoralize them and make them less eager to fight."
"I will do that, Michael."
"Remember to keep your head down. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Would it not be better if you let me open the gate? You are hurt, Michael."
"No. You will better serve our cause if you can create chaos in the ranks. Leave the gate to me."
"May Allah walk at your side," Jabl said.
* * *
Raile, alone in the small garden, watched flashes of light from the artillery illuminate the night sky. His distress was plainly written on his face. When the veiled Arab woman appeared at his side, offering him food, he waved her away.
"I can't eat, not while my son's in danger." Mallory merely nodded and was turning to leave, when Raile spoke to her. "I know you don't understand English, but I owe you so much. You saved my son's life. I wonder if you know what that means to me? It must have been difficult for a woman brought up in your religion to take a life."
Mallory's eyes were tear filled, but she shrugged, pretending she didn't understand what her father-in-law was saying. She could see that Michael looked very like his father. They were the same height. Their features were very similar, and they were both handsome. Their eyes were not the same, though—the duke's were dark, while Michael's were like emerald fire.
The sound of cannon blasts shook the ground beneath their feet. Raile's eyes were troubled as he looked toward the explosion. "I don't even know where the damn gate is. I feel as if I should go to my son." He swung around to face Mallory. "I fear you may have saved his life only so— no . . . I won't think about that."
Raile sat down on a bench and buried his head in his hands. "Sidi used a whip on my son, did you know that?" He glanced up at Mallory. "Even though you don't understand what I'm saying, it feels good to put into words what I'm thinking."
She approached him and handed him a cup of strong, sweet Arab coffee. He took a drink and leaned back against the bench. "My God, the world is falling apart all around me, and I'm sitting in a garden sipping coffee and talking to a woman who doesn't understand a word I'm saying."
Mallory looked into the distance, where several buildings were burning. Gunfire split the air, and cannon fire continued to shake the ground. She, also, was frightened for Michael, and she needed the comfort his father could give her, but something kept her from revealing her identity.
"My son is the pride of his mother." Raile looked up at the silent woman. "You would like my Kassidy—everyone does."
Mallory sat down on the bench as the duke continued to talk. She needed to be near him, to hear him speak about normality, because she was so frightened.
"I have a daughter, Arrian. She's sweet and gentle, not fiery tempered like her mother." He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with deep feeling. "Michael is married, and I haven't yet met his wife. He is the last of the DeWinter line, you know? His mother and I wanted to see him settled down with a wife. We wanted many grandsons to inherit the lands and title."
Mallory could listen no more. She stood up and held her hand out for his cup. When he gave it to her, she started for the house, but stopped when he spoke.
"I apologize for talking so much. If I knew the words in your language, I'd ask you to forgive me."
Mallory nodded, and walked away.
Fizal met Mallory at the door and took the tray from her. "You did not tell the great one who you are?"
"I could not. Promise me you will never tell Michael that I was with you tonight." Her voice took on an urgency. "I don't want him to know that I was there, Fizal. And I don't want him to know I killed a man."
Fizal nodded. "He will not hear it from me, lady. This I swear."
She followed him into the tiny kitchen. "The fighting is getting closer, isn't it?"
"I believe so."
"Are we in danger?"
"I will do all to protect you."
She felt true friendship for this young man who had done so much for her. She touched his arm. "I will always feel safe with you nearby. But could you not go in search of my husband? I fear for him."
"I will go, lady. You will be safe with the Inglizi here to protect you."
* * *
Michael moved cautiously toward the gate. When he encountered a group of foot soldiers carrying cases of ammunition, he joined them, lifting one of the cases on his shoulder. The pain he felt was so bad that he had to clamp his lips together tightly so he wouldn't cry out. As they moved toward the ladder that led to the battlements, he slipped into the shadows.
Overcome with dizziness, Michael dropped the case of ammunition. "Not now," he said aloud as beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip, and he fought off lightheadedness. "I can't lose consciousness now."
From the sounds of the battle, it appeared that Prince Khaldun and his Jebeliyas were taking a pounding.
Michael gritted his teeth and stumbled toward the gate. Amazingly, with the battle going on, no one took notice of him. Using all his strength, he shoved the wooden bolt aside, and the heavy gate creaked slightly open.
He could hear the sound of cheering as he pushed against the gate and it opened wide. Michael dropped to his knees, too weak to move out of the way. All he could see was the charging horses riding toward him.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, but instead, he felt a horse brush against him as if he were being shielded from the onslaught. He blinked and looked up into the smiling face of Prince Khaldun.
"You did it, my friend. You did it!" the prince cried. He turned to a man behind him. "Bring another horse. We shall ride into the city in triumph!"
It was all Michael could do to climb in
to the saddle. But they did indeed ride into the city at the head of the victorious army.
There was nothing to fear from Sidi's troops. Those who had attempted to take the Jebeliya from behind had been vanquished, and those who defended the city threw down their weapons and surrendered when word reached them that Sidi was dead, and that Akhdar 'em Akraba had magically opened the gates of Caldoia to welcome the conquerors.
Now, as Prince Khaldun's army rode through the streets, the people of Caldoia appeared subdued and frightened. In the distance, only sporadic gunfire could be heard, and even that soon stopped.
The victors waved their guns above their heads and cried out a chant. "Sheik Sidi Ahmed is dead! Long live Prince Khaldun!"
Hakeem joined Khaldun and Michael, his eyes dancing with elation. "We have done it, my friends! We have defeated the Turk!" Heartily, he clapped Michael on the back. "Praise be to Allah that we had Akhdar 'em Akraba on our side."
Michael slumped forward as blackness engulfed him. His last conscious sensation was of falling . . . falling . . .
Khaldun leaped from his horse and lifted his friend's head, not knowing what had happened to him. "Someone make a litter, quickly. Lord Michael has been injured."
Fizal came forward and bowed to his prince. "If Your Highness will permit, the lord should be taken to my aunt's house. His father waits there for him."
"Then his father is alive?"
"He is, Highness."
Khaldun looked into Fizal's face, and when he spoke it was in a stern voice. "It was my belief that you were escorting Lord Michael's lady to Cairo. Why is it that I find you in Caldoia among my enemies?"
Fizal found it difficult to lie to his prince. "I have done as I was told. I am here because my aunt and uncle live here, and because I thought I could help with Lord Michael's father. As it happened, Lord Michael was also a prisoner."
"You rescued them?"
"With the help of my cousin and ... his sister."
Khaldun's attention was drawn to the men who were carefully placing Michael on a litter, and Fizal was relieved that his prince had no time to question him further.
Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) Page 21
