by Glen Cook
They kept to terrain no horse could penetrate. Their enemies would have to come for them on foot if they insisted on pressing the pursuit.
It was almost dark when Nassef found the fox den. Two badly wounded warriors crowded it already, but they made room. Nassef did his best to eliminate traces outside.
The first hunters came only a short time later. They were in a hurry, chasing game still on the wing. Other parties passed during the next few hours. Occasional shouts and metallic clashings echoed through the wadi.
During each stillness Nassef did what he could for the two warriors. He did not expect either to live. When it seemed that the pursuit had ended, he worked on El Murid’s arm.
The fracture was not as bad as it had seemed. The bone had broken cleanly, without being crushed.
It was midnight when the pain subsided enough for El Murid to ask, “What do we do now, Nassef?” His voice was vague, his mind airy. Nassef had given him an opiate.
“We start over. We build it again, from the ground. We don’t hurry it. At least we won’t have to capture Sebil el Selib again.”
“Can we do it?”
“Of course. We’ve lost a battle, that’s all. We’re young. Time and the Lord are on our side. Be quiet!”
He was at the mouth of the den, masking the others with his body and dark clothing. He could see the flickering light of torches playing among the rocks.
Men followed the light.
One complained, “I’m tired. How long do we have to keep this up?”
Another replied, “Until we get them. They’re in here and I don’t intend to let them out.”
Nassef knew that second voice. It belonged to that stubborn brother of the Wahlig, Fuad. Hatred welled within him.
One of the wounded warriors chose that moment to die. His comrade thought quickly enough to smother his death rattle with a corner of his robe.
“Why didn’t you bring the damned amulet?” Nassef demanded testily, after the danger had passed. “It would have made the difference.”
The Disciple barely heard through his pain. He gritted the truth between clenched teeth. “I was a fool, wasn’t I? The angel gave it to me for moments like those. Why didn’t you say something before we left? You knew I was keeping it safe in the shrine.”
“I didn’t think of it. Why should I? It’s not mine. We’ve been a pair of prize idiots, brother. And it looks like we’re going to pay the ancient price of idiocy.”
The devil Fuad did not give up for four days. Hardly a minute passed but what there was not some Royalist hunter within hearing of the den. Before their trial ended, Nassef and El Murid were drinking their own urine in a grave they shared with two decaying corpses. The body poisons filling the urine made them so sick it seemed certain they were but trading a quick death for a slow one.
Chapter Eight
The Castle Tenacious and Resolute
There is great rejoicing in Sebil el Selib,” Fuad snarled as he stalked toward Yousif, Radetic and the Wahlig’s captains. A heavy layer of trail dust covered him. “Nassef and the Disciple have returned. They survived.”
The cords in Yousif’s neck stood out. His face darkened. He rose slowly, then suddenly hurled his platter across the room. “Damn it!” he roared. “And damn that fool Aboud! When they finally take Al Rhemish and strangle him, I hope I’m there to laugh in his halfwit’s face.”
Wadi el Kuf had been the limit of Royal aid. Nothing Yousif had done or said had been sufficient to excite Prince Farid into exceeding his orders and following through. The opportunity had been there, to pursue and slay, to recover Sebil el Selib. But Farid had had his instructions, and had been satisfied himself that El Murid and Nassef were dead.
Farid’s father was old and fat and none too bright. He loved his comforts and could see nothing beyond tomorrow. He did not want his son wasting money or lives.
There had been a time when Aboud had been a renowned warrior and captain. He had driven the Throyens from the disputed territories along the northern end of the eastern shore. But that had been long ago. Time, that old traitor, slows and weakens all men, and makes them less inclined to seek hazard.
“Thank God for Farid,” Yousif sighed, his rage spent. “No one else could have gotten us the help we needed at Wadi el Kuf. Megelin? What now?”
“We step back a few years and go on.”
“The same thing?”
“The same. And don’t count on them making any more mistakes. They’ve had their one and gotten away with it. El Murid will take the lesson to heart. He’ll listen to Nassef now,”
Nearly eight thousand of Nassef’s men had escaped Wadi el Kuf. They were back in the desert now, stunned, but a foundation for a new guerrilla infrastructure.
“We should have attacked Sebil el Selib while they were still demoralized,” Yousif growled. “We should’ve hit them and kept on hitting till they gave up. None of the leaders were there.”
“Hit them with what?” Fuad asked caustically. “We were lucky they didn’t come after us.”
Yousif’s forces had been battered and exhausted after the battle. Getting themselves home had been the most difficult task they could handle.
Fuad added, “They would have if anybody had been there to tell them what to do.”
Yousif’s anger evaporated. He could not sustain it in the face of the truth.
The years had taken their toll. El Aswad was approaching its limit. Yousif had done all he could, but his best had not been enough. From Wadi el Kuf onward he foresaw nothing but a downhill slide. His last hope had been that El Murid and his generals had perished. But Fuad’s news accounted for the last of the missing leaders. They were all alive. The fury of Wadi el Kuf had consumed none but the expendable.
“Megelin,” Yousif said, “think for the enemy. What will he do now?”
“I don’t know, Wahlig. They say Nassef is vindictive. We’ll probably get a lot of attention. Beyond that guess, you might as well read sheep’s entrails.”
Yousif said nothing for several minutes. Then, “I’m going to concede the initiative again. We’ll keep up the patrols and ambushes, but avoid contact most of the time. We’ll stall. Concentrate on surviving. Try to lure them into a debilitating siege of the Eastern Fortress. Aboud is old. He’s got the gout. He can’t live forever. I talked to Farid. He’s on our side. He’ll be less sedentary. He can see the shape of things. He’d give us what we need if he wore the Crown.”
But neither fate nor Nassef would play the game according to Yousif’s wishes. In the year after Wadi el Kuf Yousif’s men seldom saw their enemies. They could not be found even when hunted. Nassef seemed to have forgotten that el Aswad existed. With the exception of the patrolled zone immediately before the mouth of Sebil el Selib, security and peace reigned in the Wahligate.
The quiet drove Yousif and Fuad to distraction. They worried constantly. What did the silence mean?
Haroun and Radetic went on their first fieldtrip in almost two years. Megelin wanted to look for rare wildflowers. His search took them into a canyon which meandered deep into Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni.
Haroun worried about offending the Hidden Ones. He tried to mask his nervousness behind uncharacteristic chatter. That generally took the form of trying to get Radetic to illuminate the enemy’s behavior.
Exasperated, Radetic finally growled, “I don’t know, Haroun. The Sword rules the Word these days. And Nassef is a big unknown. I can’t begin to guess his motives, let alone predict his moves. One minute he looks like El Murid’s most devoted follower, the next like a bandit looting the desert, and a second after that he seems to be a man quietly finagling himself an empire. All I can say is wait. He’ll make everything painfully clear someday.”
One painful piece of news had sullied a restful winter. El Murid had appointed Nassef commander of the Invincibles for a period of five years. Spies said that the Scourge of God had launched an immediate purge, that Nassef was redesigning the bodyguard to his own specificati
ons.
The Sword apparently mastered the Word completely now.
Nassef’s campaign plans became less murky once Haroun and Radetic returned to el Aswad. They were given no chance to recuperate from the hardships of the trail. Guards hustled them directly to the Wahlig.
“Well, he’s finally made a move, Megelin,” Yousif declared as they approached. “He’s shown his hand. And it was the last thing anybody expected.”
Radetic dropped gingerly to a cushion. “What did he do?”
“All that strength he’s been gathering? That’s been piling up so fast our spies figured he was going to take a stab at us this summer? He used it to attack to the east.”
“The east? But —”
“Souk el Arba has fallen already. He’s besieging Es Souanna. His riders have reached Ras al Jan. Souk el Arba didn’t resist. They sent a committee to welcome him. Our agents say our cousins on the coast are tripping over each other they’re so eager to join him. He’s promising everybody the loot of Al Rhemish and the Inner Provinces.”
“In other words, the east has decided its future lies with El Murid.”
“They’ve had a lot of time to preach there. And to make deals. Aboud hasn’t done much to hold their loyalties. In fact, I expect Throyes to cut us off completely now.”
The only way Al Rhemish could reach its eastern supporters was by using the same narrow, northern pass which gave desert merchants access to Throyes. The Throyens were racially and linguistically akin to the Children of Hammad al Nakir, but had not recognized an external suzerainty since the Fall. The city had been founded as a naval and mercantile port by Ilkazar.
There had been no fighting for years, but the city still claimed territories on the northern shores of the east coast. Since Sebil el Selib Throyes had been nibbling away at the lands Aboud had reconquered in his youth. The Royal lines of communication now had to pass through areas patrolled by unfriendly troops.
“I imagine they’ll occupy in earnest as soon as they hear what’s happened,” Radetic agreed. “How strong a garrison did Nassef leave? Did El Murid go with him?”
“Fuad’s checking it now.”
Fuad was doing more than checking. He was conducting el Aswad’s first assault on the pass in years. His initial progress report arrived early next day.
Haroun came to drag Radetic out of his quarters. “Come on, Megelin! Uncle Fuad took them by surprise. Get up! Father needs you.”
Radetic rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Fuad did what?” He began to dress, donning desert-style clothing. The last of his own western garb had gone to rags years earlier. “Never going to get used to this women’s wear,” he muttered. “Maybe I should have something sent out. Bah. That would make it too easy for assassins to find their target.”
“Come on!” Haroun bubbled. “He surprised them. He got through their picket lines and cut them off so nobody knew he was coming. He caught them working in their fields and killed a whole lot. Come on. Father needs to know what you think we should do.”
Haroun could not stop jabbering. He revealed most of Yousif’s surprise before he and Radetic located the Wahlig in the parapet of the tower on the north wall. Yousif was staring northward, toward Sebil el Selib.
With a mixture of luck, planning and cunning, Fuad had outmaneuvered El Murid’s patrols and had broken into Sebil el Selib. He had killed or captured hundreds before the survivors could seal up the two fortresses, and had killed and captured hundreds more afterward, because in their panic the gatekeepers had locked them out. Fuad and the survivors were trading stares over the walls of the castles. Fuad did not have the strength to storm either. While he awaited advice from home he was destroying everything he could. He expected Nassef to send help soon. He wanted to leave the enemy nothing when he withdrew.
“What do you think we should do, Megelin?” Yousif asked.
“Send for help. Especially to Prince Farid. Explain the situation. Tell him that if he hurries we have a chance to cut them off on the coast. That might be as good as killing them.”
“I’ve done that. I was thinking in more direct terms. What can we do up there? While we’re waiting for Farid and Nassef?”
Radetic considered. “I’d have to see the fortresses myself. I might notice a weakness you’ve overlooked.”
The western style of warfare was more given to castles and siegework than that of Hammad al Nakir. The men of the desert were inclined to run away when outnumbered rather than to retreat into a fortress. Most of the extant fortifications were Imperial hand-me-downs weak from long neglect.
“You can join me, then. I’m leaving in an hour. Taking every man who can hoist himself onto a horse.”
“Father?”
Yousif eyed his son. He knew what the boy wanted, but made him ask anyway. “What, Haroun?”
“Can I go? If Megelin does?”
The Wahlig glanced at Radetic, who said, “It’s all right with me if it’s all right with you.”
“Go get your things, son.”
Haroun left with the excitement of a small whirlwind. Radetic observed, “It’s time he got a glimpse of the realities.”
“That’s why I told him he could go. He accused me of letting Ali have all the fun this morning. I want him to see that Ali isn’t enjoying himself.”
“How much more muscle can you give Fuad?”
“Not much. Maybe three hundred men.”
“Hardly enough.”
“Then hope that my messengers get lucky.”
Two days later Megelin saw Sebil el Selib for the first time. He was surprised. He had been hearing about it for eight years. He had built a mental picture that only vaguely resembled reality.
“How easy it is to destroy,” he told Haroun. “You see what your uncle has done? In a few days he’s undone the labor of years.”
Fields had been ruined. Hillside terraces had been undermined and allowed to collapse. Fuad’s men were still forcing their prisoners to destroy, daring the inmates of the two fortresses to try stopping them. Fuad was saving the vast barracks-city east of the new fortress to become a burning greeting for Nassef’s return.
Radetic studied the situation for several hours. Then he located Fuad and asked, “Is El Murid here?”
“Went with Nassef. To preach to new converts. He left his family, though. They’re in the New Castle.”
Radetic glanced at the huge fortress. “We couldn’t take that. The old stronghold we might. We can pound it a little, anyway. If we can come up with the lumber to build siege engines.”
Fuad found the lumber in the barracks.
Radetic gathered the Wahlig’s officers. “We probably won’t have time for much before Nassef returns,” he told them. “But we won’t get anywhere if we don’t try.” Those men had been involved in the war so long that other ways of life now seemed alien. “What the Wahlig wants is a low-risk assault on these fortifications. We’re likely to have little luck with the New Castle. It’s up to modern standards and it’s in good repair. The old castle isn’t. It’ll be our primary target.
“We’ll build a variety of siege engines, beginning with trebuchets and mangonels. We’ll start gathering suitable stones, lumber and so forth, right away.
“We’ll work on the old castle wall a few yards to the left of the barbican. That’s a recent addition, and they weakened the wall during construction.
“I’ll want to keep several things going at once. Especially some obvious practice with scaling ladders, turtles, rams and siege towers. We’ll build the turtles right away and bunch them in the meadow as close to the old castle as we can. We’ll use them to conceal the head of a mine we’ll run under the weak section of wall. We’ll dispose of the earth at night.”
Radetic’s siege strategy was extensive. It would require every available body, including Fuad’s prisoners. But as he revealed it, the faces of Yousif’s officers darkened. He was asking warriors to do the work of slaves. It was beneath their dignity. He considered their hostile face
s. “Haroun,” he whispered, “fetch your father.”
The Wahlig did his convincing for him.
Yousif came to Megelin three days later, while Radetic was inspecting his projects. “How long till you drop that wall, Megelin? We’re running out of time. Nassef should be on his way by now.” There was little force in the Wahlig’s voice. He seemed dazed.
“I’m having trouble. The soft earth doesn’t run all the way to the foundations. I’m running a mine to the New Castle, too, but I don’t have much hope for it. Those walls were engineered by westerners. You can tell that from the camber of the base.”
“What?”
“The way it slopes out at the bottom. Instead of coming straight down. It increases the thickness and coherence of the wall, making mining difficult.”
“Nevertheless, Megelin.”
“Yes, Wahiig. We’ll persist. Any news from Al Rhemish?”
Yousif became more sour. His lined, rugged, aquiline face darkened. “The messenger returned an hour ago.”
Radetic watched as his hastily constructed trebuchets hurled a barrage against the old castle. One of the engines groaned and fell apart. The rocks rumbled against the castle. The wall shuddered. A merlon stone slid off the battlements and plunged downward. Cracks had begun to show in the wall. “The engines might be enough. If I can keep them working. What’s the bad news?”
“Aboud says we have to chase Nassef off the coast. He was pretty definite about it.”
“Did he have any suggestions? How much help is he going to send?”
“None. And no ideas either. Just a flat-out order to do the job.”
Radetic peered at Yousif. The Wahlig’s face had gone gray with despair.
“This is the beginning of the end, Megelin. Unless you can produce a miracle here. They’ve abandoned us.”
Radetic thought he understood. “You could pretend the letter never arrived. You can’t commit suicide.”
“Megelin, I can’t. I’m a man of honor. I don’t think I could explain that to a westerner. Even a westerner who has been around as long as you. You see my men there? They know I’m fighting a losing battle. But they stick with me year after year. They don’t see that they have any choice. Neither have I. Pledges of honor have been made. Aboud’s orders leave me no room for maneuver. I have to try to beat Nassef even when I know that I can’t.”
