Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

by Glen Cook

  "But how?"

  "Recall the night attack."

  "The lightning. A sorcerer that knocked a mountain down. But El Murid hates sorcery."

  "True. Yet one sorcery is entwined in his legend. It hasn't been seen since shortly after he stumbled out of the desert."

  "The amulet that he claims his angel gave him? I thought that was all made up."

  "It happened. Apparently he's decided to use it again. I'd guess our walls will be his next target."

  "El Murid is out there?"

  "He is."

  "Then Father ought to sortie. If we killed him... "

  "Nothing would please them more than to have him try."

  "But—"

  "I discussed this with your father and General Hawkwind. They've decided to let el Aswad take its punishment. Let them break the wall. The amulet will be useless in close fighting."

  Haroun did not like the strategy. It depended too much on the enemy doing the expected, too much on his not receiving reinforcements. But he protested no more. He had a glimmering of a scheme, and did not want to make Megelin suspicious.

  "Did you ask Father about those Guildsmen?"

  "I mentioned it. He'll do something when he gets time."

  Haroun was pleased. Bragi and Haaken had saved his life. They deserved a reward. "Thank you."

  "Have you completed those geometry exercises?" Radetic had no mercy. There was no break in the studies, even for convalescence.

  "I've been busy... "

  "Busy malingering. Go to your quarters. Don't come out till you have solutions you're prepared to defend."

  "There's the old guy," Haaken said.

  Bragi turned, watched Megelin Radetic make his way along the battlements. Radetic paused to talk to each soldier. "He remind you a little of Grandfather?"

  "Keep an eye on those fools out there," Haaken said. "Or Sanguinet will eat you alive."

  Little had been said about the recruit company's failure in battle. No fatigues or punishments had been enforced. Rumor said Hawkwind believed the recruits had done well, considering the terrain and concentrated resistance they had faced.

  The veterans were less understanding. Their General's record had been sullied. Hundreds of comrades were dead. They didn't care that the briny water had been thigh deep, nor that the recruits had borne the brunt of the fury of El Murid's army. They saw more recruits surviving than members of any other company, and they were not pleased.

  Radetic reached the youths. He paused between them, leaned on a merlon. Below, el Nadim's men were hard at work. "Confident as ants, aren't they?"

  "Maybe they got reasons," Haaken grumbled.

  Bragi did not respond. He did not know how to take the older man. Radetic was important here, yet seldom acted it. He did ask, "How's Haroun?"

  "Mending. The Wahlig sends his regards. He'll thank you personally when he has a free moment."

  "Okay."

  "So enthusiastic! He's a generous man. Haroun is his favorite son."

  "The only thing I could get enthusiastic about is getting out of here."

  Radetic made a thoughtful "Hmm?" sound.

  "It's hot and dry and there's nothing out there but miles and miles of nothing."

  "My patrimony for a decent tree. I feel the same sometimes." Radetic patted Bragi's shoulder. "Homesick, lad?"

  Bragi blustered—then poured out his story. Radetic looked interested, and encouraged him whenever he faltered.

  He was homesick. Much as he pretended otherwise, he was just a boy forced into a man's role. He missed his people.

  Bragi related his feelings about the defeat. Radetic patted his shoulder again. "No need to feel shame there. The General was surprised you held up so well. If there's any blame due, it belongs to him and the Wahlig. They got cocky. And you soldiers paid the price. I'd better move along."

  Bragi did not understand what the old scholar had done, but he did feel better. And Haaken didn't look half as glum.

  Sergeant Trubacik arrived moments later. "The Lieutenant wants you, Ragnarson. Get your butt down there."

  "But—"

  "Go."

  Bragi went. He shivered all the way, though the day was a scorcher. Now it begins, he thought. Now the repercussions set in.

  Sanguinet was set up in a storeroom off the stables. It was a dark, musty room, badly lighted by a single lantern. Bragi knocked on the doorframe. "Ragnarson, sir."

  "Come in. Close the door."

  Bragi did as he was told, wishing he were elsewhere. He could tell himself it didn't matter what these people thought, that he knew he had done his best, but it did matter. It mattered very much.

  Sanguinet stared for fifteen seconds. Then, "Birdsong died this morning."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  "So am I. He was a good man. Not much imagination, but he could hold a squad together."

  "Yes sir."

  "I'm preparing the report. You were there. Tell me how it happened."

  "We was slogging through that salt water. A stone knicked his elbow. He dropped his shield. Before he got it up again a javelin hit right at the edge of his breastplate. Went in under his arm and got his lung, I guess."

  "You took over?"

  "Yes sir. The guys were kind of used to me telling them what to do. From training."

  "You had only one other casualty?"

  "Kildragon, sir." Reskird had gotten excited, broken formation to get at a particular enemy, and had paid the price of indiscipline.

  "Corporal Stone commanded the squad on your left. He says you held your ground."

  "I tried... We tried, sir. But we couldn't stand fast when everybody else was pulling back."

  "No. You couldn't. All right, Ragnarson. You may have the makings. I'm entering the promotion in the record. Pay and a half from the day Birdsong was wounded."

  "Sir?" He thought he had missed something.

  "You're taking over. Permanent promotion. Subject to the General's approval. Go back to your men, Corporal."

  For half a minute Bragi stood there, dazed, wanting to argue, to protest, or something. This was not what he had expected.

  "I said you're dismissed, Ragnarson."

  "Yes sir." He bumbled out, returned to his post.

  "Congratulations," Trubacik said, and hobbled off.

  "What was that?" Haaken asked.

  Bragi tried to explain, but did not understand. He just could not see himself as deserving.

  Each afternoon el Nadim drew his men up in formation, offering battle. Each afternoon the defenders of el As wad refused his challenge. This afternoon started no differently. El Nadim advanced to within extreme bowshot. He sent a herald to demand the surrender of el Aswad. The Wahlig sent him back empty-handed.

  The besiegers then customarily withdrew a few hundred yards. Once a lack of response was assured they resumed their labors.

  Not this time. El Nadim did not back down. He and the Disciple came to the van. The Disciple raised a fist to the sky. His amulet waxed brighter, till he seemed only a shadow of a man caught in the heart of eye-searing fire.

  The lightning struck. Ten thousand boulders from the barren countryside leapt into the air and poured down on the Eastern Fortress. The lightning struck again, lashing the satellite guarding the approach and the curtain walls connecting it with the main fortress. The defenders launched flights of arrows, none of which reached their marks. The pillar of light remained rooted. The doors of heaven remained open, pouring out the fury of a dozen storms.

  A section of wall collapsed, some stones bounding away down the slope, plowing furrows through the enemy ranks.

  The Invincibles sent up a mighty war cry and surged forward. They scrambled up the mounds of rubble, pelted by missiles from the battlements. The going was slow. The rubble was piled high and was treacherous underfoot.

  The Wahlig formed a force inside the break, and called for Hawkwind, who was more familiar with this sort of fighting.

  The Disciple and most of el
Nadim's army began moving across the slope, toward the fortress's western face.

  The Invincibles attained the summit of the rubble and rushed down into a storm of arrows and javelins. They crashed into the Wahlig's men. Yousif's sketchy line dissolved. A melee ensued. The Disciple's troops continued to pour in, regular soldiers following the more dedicated Invincibles. One band turned to assault the gate.

  The Disciple summoned the fury of heaven again. Lightning hammered the taller, stubborner western wall of el Aswad.

  The northmen were stationed on the main fortress's north wall, near its juncture with the west wall, away from the fighting. Haroun joined them. "Damn them," he said. "They were smart. They made it impossible for Father to sortie."

  Neither Bragi nor Haaken responded. They were completely involved in themselves, expecting Sanguinet's order to fall in and move into the fighting. They jumped each time lightning struck, though the Disciple's point of attack was well away.

  No order came.

  A wide section of western rampart gave way.

  In the outlying sub-fortress Hawkwind launched a counterattack. He overwhelmed the enemy there, rushed into the main fortress, attacked the enemy entering through the west wall. The fighting there was among buildings and sheds, with little room for maneuver. It was confused and savage.

  Hawkwind cordoned the breeched area, then pushed forward, slowly compressing the invaders. The last were evicted before sunset. The day's combat produced roughly equal losses for each side.

  The defenders began clearing rubble and erecting a secondary barrier behind the gap in the west wall. The sub-fortress they decided to abandon.

  The hour was late but Bragi was still at his post. There were no reliefs. Haaken was napping. So it went all around the wall. Every other man sleeping. The night was still but for the sounds of construction work.

  Haroun strolled out of the night. He said, "Tomorrow they'll be rested and we'll be exhausted. My father thinks tomorrow may be the end."

  Bragi grunted. El Nadim was thinking. Just wear the defense down. Morale was at a low ebb anyway, with the Wahlig's men convinced that the struggle was hopeless.

  "We need help," Haroun said. "But help isn't going to come. The tribal leaders are deserting us."

  Again Bragi grunted.

  "They will join el Nadim. The desert will fill with men eager for the plunder of el Aswad. Something has to be done."

  "Your father is doing what he can."

  "Not everything. I have talents he won't use. He's afraid I'd get hurt. I could turn it around if he'd let me."

  "How?"

  "I came to thank you. For what you did out there."

  "No thanks needed. Anyway, you already did."

  "There's a debt now. My family always pays its debts."

  Bragi didn't argue. He had a low opinion of human gratitude, though. Look at his father and the Thane. No two men ever owed one another more.

  Haroun ambled off, seemingly distracted. The whole encounter was puzzling. Bragi decided Haroun needed a keeper.

  Haroun was back within the hour. He carried a rope and small black bag. "What are you up to?" Bragi demanded when Haroun tied the rope to a merlon.

  "Going to give the Disciple some of his own back."

  "Who told you to? I didn't get any orders about you going out."

  "I told me." Haroun pitched the rope into the darkness. "I'll be back before anybody misses me."

  "The hell. I can't let you... "

  Haroun was gone.

  Bragi leaned forward. "You don't know what you're doing. Look at you. You don't even know how to rappel."

  Haaken woke up. "What're you making all that racket for?" he grumbled. "They coming?"

  "No. It's that Haroun. He just went over the wall."

  "Call the sergeant of the guard. Don't stand there squawking like an old hen."

  "Then he'd get in trouble."

  "So? What's it to you?"

  "I like him."

  "He's deserting, ain't he?"

  "No. He's going after El Murid."

  Haaken levered himself upright, stared down into the darkness. Haroun had disappeared. "Damned fool if you ask me."

  "I'm going after him."

  "What? You're crazy. They could hang you for leaving your post. He's dumb enough to go down there, leave him go. No skin off our noses."

  Bragi debated. He liked what he had seen of Haroun. But the youth had a romantic streak that would get him killed. "He's alone out there, Haaken. I'm going." He arranged his weapons so he could descend without them getting in his way.

  Haaken sighed, began arranging his own weapons.

  "What're you doing?"

  "I'm going to let you go by yourself? My own brother?"

  Bragi argued. Haaken snarled back. The debate became so heated their squadmates came to investigate. And in moments the whole squad was talking about accompanying Bragi.

  That gave him pause. It was one thing to risk his own neck, quite another to lead the squad into an action his superiors would not approve.

  What motivated the men, anyway? He wasn't sure. But, then, he didn't know why he was going himself. "It's your necks if we get found out," he said. "Stay or go. It's up to you." He grabbed Haroun's rope, swung over the edge, began descending. Halfway down the rope jerked. He spied a manshape against the stars. "Damned Haaken," he muttered. And smiled, feeling warm within.

  He crouched among the boulders at the foot of the wall, trying to recall an easy approach to the Disciple's encampment, wondering if anyone up top would spot him and think he was the enemy. Haaken joined him. A third man dropped to one knee on his right. Then a fourth and fifth arrived, and more, till the whole squad gathered. "You idiots," he whispered. "All right. Keep it quiet, unless you want somebody up there to plink you." He stole forward, trying to approximate the route he suspected Haroun had taken.

  The fates were kind. The watch on the wall did not spot them. That no longer a worry, Bragi became concerned about enemy pickets.

  He stole within bowshot of the enemy encampment without finding Haroun. "He hornswoggled you," Haaken said. "He cut and ran."

  "Not him. He's around somewhere, going to pull some stunt." He looked back, eyeing the fortress from the foe's perspective. It was a huge, forbidding outline, looming against the stars like the edge of a giant's ragged saw. Not a light shown anywhere. The construction crews had finished their work. "Spread out. We'll wait here till something happens."

  The enemy camp was quiet, though fires glowed behind the stockade. An occasional sentry appeared, silhouetted by the glow.

  "Bragi!" somebody hissed. "Over there."

  "I see it."

  Just a whisper of pale lilac light limned a boulder momentarily. A lilac bead dribbled toward the camp stockade. Defying gravity, it floated upward.

  A sentry tilted forward, dropped off the wall. He struck earth with a soft crump.

  "What're we into here?" Haaken demanded. "That's sorcery, Bragi. Killing sorcery. Maybe we ought to go back."

  Bragi rested a steadying hand on Haaken's forearm. Another lilac glimmer appeared. Another bead danced toward the camp. Another sentry fell from the stockade, dying in utter silence.

  Something scraped on stone. Staring intently slightly to one side of the sound, Bragi discerned a shadow sliding toward the wall. "That's him. He's going in." He rose.

  "You're not going too?" Haaken whispered.

  "No." That would be certain suicide, wouldn't it? "I was going to catch him. But it's too late, isn't it?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Nightworks

  H aroun crouched at the foot of the stockade, uncoiled with all the spring he could exact from young muscles. His fingers found purchase on top. He hung for a moment, listening. No alarm. No footsteps hastening his way. He hoisted himself till his eyes were an inch above the edge.

  There were still a few fires burning, and a few men around them. Most were preparing wholesale breakfasts. Evidently El Murid meant
to start early. No sentry was nearby.

  He heaved upward. Part of the wall gave way, dribbling down with what seemed to him an incredible racket. The stockade was constructed of materials no better than sticks and stones mortared together with moistened clay. The clay was now dry, becoming powdery. He scrabbled for another handhold, rolled across the top and dropped onto a rickety catwalk, slithered into a shadow. He remained as still as stone then, awaiting an alarm and forming a mental map he would not forget in the heat of action.

  No one noticed the noise he'd made.

  How soon would the sentries be missed? Surely not long. Ten minutes? That might be too tight. He had to locate the Disciple before he could strike.

  Before he moved on he assumed the camouflage of a minor spell that would avert the unsuspecting eye, making him effectively invisible till he did something blatant.

  He dropped to the ground, stole along the wall till he could move into the camp in the shelter of tent shadows. He harkened to his weakling shaghûn's senses, trying to locate the Disciple through the aura of his amulet. Only a vague sense of direction came, centerward. He needed no sorcery to guess that. He wished he'd had more time with his instructors, had been able to study with the masters, and had attained a higher level of proficiency. But there had been so many things to learn, and so little time for study...

  There! That way. The throb of the amulet was strongest thither.

  He moved like a panther, shadow in shadow. That romantic undercurrent welled up. He imagined himself more than what he was, nominated himself a mighty avenger. Dangerous as his undertaking was, he was not afraid. Fright did not occur to him. His fearlessness was the fearlessness of folly.

  The camp center was set off from the remainder by a twenty-yard width of barren earth. Beyond stood a half dozen tents guarded by twenty Invincibles. These sentries were posted too close to slip past.

  He could not pick out the tent occupied by the Disciple. Time fled. Any minute the absent sentries would be missed. He had to do something.

  He made the lilac magic, sent several of the tiny, deadly balls hunting. And kept sending them as fast as he could create them.

  There was no other way. There would be an alarm, and an alert, and mad confusion. In it he might get close enough to do the deed.