An Empire Unacquainted With Defeat

by Glen Cook

  Higher still. The oaks vanished. And then, in the bottom of one canyon, she encountered trees so huge a half dozen men could not have joined hands around their trunks. Narriman felt insignificant in their shadows.

  She spent her fourth day riding up that canyon. Evening came early. She almost missed the landmarks warning her that she was approaching the first guardian. She considered the failing light. This was no time to hurry. She retreated and camped.

  Something wakened her. She listened, sniffed, realized that the alarming agent was not external. She had dreamed that she should circle the watch post.

  "Come, Faithful," she whispered. She wrapped the reins in her hand and led away.

  She knew exactly where to go, and still it was bad. That mountainside was not meant for climbing. The brush was dense and the slope was steep. She advanced a few yards and listened.

  The brush gave way to a barren area. The soil was loose and dry. She slipped several times. Then her mare went down, screaming and sliding. She held on stubbornly.

  The slide ended. "Easy, girl. Easy. Stay still."

  A glow appeared below. She was surprised. She had climbed higher than she had thought. The glow drifted along the canyon.

  "I can't fail now. Not at the first hurdle."

  Her heart hammered. She felt like screaming against clumsiness, stupidity, and the whim of fate.

  The glow drifted down the canyon, climbed the far slope, came back. It crossed to Narriman's side and went down again. It repeated the patrol but never climbed far from the canyon floor. It never came close enough to make her amulet glow. It finally gave up. But Narriman did not trust it because it had disappeared. She waited fifteen minutes.

  The sky was lightening before she felt comfortably past. She was exhausted. "Good girl, Faithful. Let's camp."

  XIII

  A horse's whinny wakened her. She darted to Faithful, clamped her hands over the mare's nostrils.

  The sound of hooves on brookside stone came nearer. The amulet became a lump of ice. She saw flickers of black rider through the trees.

  This one was stockier than her shaghûn.

  Her shaghûn? Had he touched her that deeply? She looked inward, seeking the hatred of rider and love of son that had brought her to the Jebal. And it was there, the hatred untarnished by any positive feeling.

  Then the rider was gone, headed down the canyon. Was he going to the guardian?

  She had no dream memories of the canyon above the guardian. Why not? Couldn't Karkur reach into the realm of the Masters?

  The uncertainty became too much. She dismounted and walked. No need to rush into trouble. Minutes later she heard a rhythmic thumping ahead. Something rumbled and crashed and sent echoes rumbling down the canyon. She advanced more carefully, sliding from cover to cover.

  She did not know where they came from. Suddenly, they were there, across the brook. They walked like men but were shaggy and dark and tall. There were four of them. The biggest growled.

  "Damn!" She strung her bow as one giant bellowed and charged.

  Her arrow split its breastbone. It halted, plucked at the dart. The others boomed and rushed. She sped two quick arrows, missed once, then drew her saber and scampered toward a boulder. If she got on top . . . .

  Neither wounded monster went down. Both went for the mare. The others came for her.

  Faithful tried to run, stumbled, screamed. The beasts piled on her.

  Narriman drew her razor-edged blade across a wide belly. The brute stumbled a few steps, looked down at its wound, began tucking entrails back inside.

  Narriman glanced at the mare as she dodged the other beast. The wounded creatures were pounding her with huge stones.

  A fist slammed into Narriman's side. She staggered, gasped. Her attacker bellowed and closed in. She tried to raise her saber. It slipped from her hand. She hadn't the strength to grip it.

  The thing shook her half senseless. Then it sniffed her and grunted.

  It was something out of nightmare. The thing settled with Narriman in its lap, pawed between her thighs. She felt its sex swell against her back.

  Was the whole Jebal rape-crazy? "Karkur!"

  The thing ripped her clothing. Another grunted and tried to touch. The beast holding Narriman swung at it.

  She was free for an instant. She scrambled away. The beast roared and dove after her.

  She closed her hand on her amulet. "Karkur, give me the strength to survive this."

  The beast snorted weirdly, uttered an odd shriek that tortured the canyon walls. It stumbled away, enveloped by an amber light laced with bloody threads.

  Another beast came for her. Its cries joined those of the other.

  Narriman scrambled after her saber. The last beast, with an arrow in its chest, watched her with glazed eyes, backed away. She arranged her clothing, ran to Faithful.

  "Poor Faithful." What would she do now? How would she escape the Jebal without a horse for Misr?

  The beasts in amber kept screaming. The Great Death was a hard death. It twisted their muscles till bones broke.

  The screaming finally stopped.

  She heard distant voices.

  Hurriedly, she made a pack of her possessions, then climbed the canyon wall. She found an outcrop from which she could watch the mess she had fled.

  Those things! She recalled their size and smell and was sick.

  The investigators were ordinary men armed with tools. They became excited and cautious when they found the beasts. Narriman heard the word shaghûn used several times. "Keep thinking that," she murmured. "Don't get the ideas there's a stranger in the Jebal."

  Her shakes faded. She offered thanks to Karkur and started across the mountainside.

  What were those beasts? Those men feared them. She moved with saber in hand.

  The investigators had come from a lumbering camp. She watched them drag a log up the road, toward the head of the canyon. Why? She shrugged. The Masters must want it done.

  She took to that road once she passed the camp.

  That afternoon she heard hoof beats. She slipped into the underbrush. "Oh, damn!" The horseman carried two of her arrows and Faithful's saddle. She strung her bow, jumped into the road, shouted, "Hey! Wait a minute!"

  The rider reined in, looked back. She waved. He turned.

  Her arrow flew true. He sagged backward. His horse surged forward. Narriman caught it as it passed. She dragged the body into the brush, mounted up wondering how soon he would be missed.

  The canyon walls closed in. The brook faded away. She reached the summit. The road wound downhill, toward a far haze of smoke. There were a lot of hearth fires down there.

  XIV

  She traveled for two days. The only people she saw were men working logs down the road. She avoided them. She topped a piney ridge the second day and saw a city.

  Thoughts of Misr nagged her. Should she go down now? She was ahead of news from the logging camp. But he might not be there. And she was tired. She was incapable of acting efficiently in a desperate situation. Her judgment might be clouded, too.

  She settled down off the road. She would have loved a fire. The mountain nights were chilly. Gnawing dried meat, she grumbled, "I'd sell my soul for a decent meal."

  Sleep brought dreams. They showed her the town, including a place where children were kept. She also saw a place where shaghûns lived, and beyond the city a tower that was an emptiness fraught with dark promise.

  She wakened knowing exactly what to do. Come nightfall she would slip into the city, break into the nursery, and take Misr. Then she would flee, set an ambush down the trail and hope her shaghûn was the one who came.

  Her plan died immediately. Her mount had broken its tether. Its trail led toward the city.

  What would they think? Would they investigate? Of course. She'd best move elsewhere.

  She trudged southward, circling the city. Time and again she went out of her way to avoid farmsteads. By nightfall she was exhausted again.

>   It had to be tonight, though. There was no more time.

  What would she do for a mount? Her hope of escape hinged on her being able to lead the pursuit to ground of her own choosing.

  She settled down near the city's edge. "Karkur, wake me when it's time."

  It was a dark night. There was no moon. Clouds obscured the stars. Narriman arose shaking. Her nerves got no better for a long time.

  The streets were strange for a girl who'd never walked pavement. Her boot heels kept clicking. Echoes came back off the walls. "Too quiet," she muttered. "Where are the dogs?"

  Not a howl went up. Not one dog came to investigate. Her nerves only tautened. She began to imagine something watching her, the town as a box trap waiting for her to trip its trigger. She dried her hands on her hips repeatedly. The moths in her stomach refused to lie still. She kept looking over her shoulder.

  She gave the place of the shaghûns a wide berth, closed in on the nursery. Why were the youngsters segregated? Was it a place for children like Misr? The city made no sense. She didn't try to make it do so.

  The only warning was a rustle of fabric. Narriman whirled, saber spearing out. It was an automatic move, made without thought. She found herself face to face with a mortally wounded shaghûn.

  He raised a gloved hand as he sank toward the pavement. His fingers wobbled. Sorcery! She hacked the offending hand, came back with a neck stroke. She cut him again and again, venting nervous energy and fear.

  "What do I do with him?" she wondered. She examined him. He was no older than she. She felt a touch of remorse.

  She glanced around. The street remained quiet. A convenient alleyway lay just beyond the body.

  She wondered what he had been doing. Her dreams had suggested that no one wandered the streets after dark, save a night watchman with a special dispensation.

  Had the horse alerted them? Were there more shaghûns to be faced? Her stomach cramped.

  Maybe her father and Al Jahez were right. Maybe a woman couldn't do this sort of thing. "And maybe men feel as ragged as I do," she muttered. She dropped the body into shadow. "Give me an hour, Karkur." She went on to the nursery.

  Anticipation partially overcame her reaction to the killing. She tried a door. It was barred from within. A second door proved as impenetrable. There was a third on the far side but she assumed it would be sealed, too.

  Above, barely visible, were second-story windows, some with open shutters. If she could . . . .

  She spun into shadow and balled up, blade ready. A shape loomed out of the night, headed her way. Shaghûn! Were they all on patrol?

  He passed just ten feet away. Narriman held her breath. What were they doing? Looking for her? Or was her fear wholly egotistical?

  There was a six-foot-wide breezeway between the nursery and the building to its left. A stairway climbed the neighbor. A landing hung opposite a nursery window. Narriman secreted her possessions beneath the stair and crept upward. The stair creaked. She scarcely noticed. She could think of nothing but Misr.

  The window was open. It was but a short step from the landing. She straddled the railing.

  Someone opened the door to which the stair led. Light flooded the landing. A fat man asked, "Here, you. What's? . . . "

  Narriman slashed at him. He grabbed her blade. Off balance, she almost fell. She clung to the railing. It creaked. She jumped for the window.

  The fat man staggered, reached for her, ploughed through the railing. Narriman clung to the window's frame and looked down. The man lay twitching below. "Karkur, don't let him raise the alarm."

  The room before her was dark. A child mumbled something. Behind Narriman, a woman called a question. Narriman eased into the room.

  The child was not Misr.

  Someone shrieked. Narriman glanced outside. A woman stood on the landing, looking down.

  Narriman slipped into a hallway running past other bedrooms. Which one? Might as well start with the nearest.

  She found her son in the fifth room she checked. He was sleeping peacefully. His face looked angelic. He seemed healthy. She threw herself on him, weeping, and remained lost within herself till she realized he was awake.

  "Mama! What're you doing here?" Misr hugged her with painful ferocity. He cried too. She was glad. Her most secret fear had been that he would have forgotten her.

  "I came to take you home."

  "Where's Grandpa?"

  "Home. Waiting for us. Come on."

  "The man, Mama. The dark man. He won't let us." He started shaking. His body was hale but they had done something to his mind.

  "He won't stop us, Misr. I won't let him. Get dressed. Hurry." People were talking in the hall.

  Misr did as he was told. Slowly.

  Someone shoved through the doorway. "What's going on? . . . "

  Narriman's saber pricked his throat. "Over there."

  "A woman? Who are you?"

  She pressed the sword's tip a quarter inch into his chest. "I'll ask. You answer." He shut up and moved. Small children watched from the doorway. "How many shaghûns in this town?"

  He looked strange. He did not want to answer. Narriman pricked him. "Four! But one went to the lumber camp three weeks ago. He hasn't come back. You're the boy's sister?"

  "Misr, will you hurry?" Four shaghûns. But one was out of town and another was dead. A third roamed the streets. Was hers the fourth?

  "You can't take the boy out of here, woman."

  She pricked him again. "You talk too much. Misr!"

  "He belongs to the Old Ones."

  Misr finished and looked at her expectantly.

  Now what? Go out the way she had come? She stepped behind her prisoner and hit him with her pommel. He sagged. Misr's eyes got big. She dragged him toward the hallway. He told the other children, "I'm going home with my mother." He sounded proud.

  She was amazed at how he had grown. He acted older, too. No time for that. "Come here." She tossed him across to the landing, jumped, hurried him downstairs. She recovered her belongings.

  The fat man's woman howled all the while. "Shut up!" The woman retreated, whimpering.

  Narriman looked into the street. People were gathering. "Misr. This way." She withdrew into the breezeway. "A horse," she muttered. "Where do I find a horse?"

  She was about to leave the breezeway when she heard someone running. "Get back, Misr. And be quiet." She crouched.

  The runner turned into the breezeway. Shaghûn! He tried to stop. Narriman drove her blade into his chest. He staggered back. She struck again. This was the shaghûn who had missed her earlier.

  She smiled grimly. Succeed or fail, they would remember her.

  "Come on, Misr." People were shouting to her right. She headed left, though that was not the direction she preferred. Misr ran beside her. She searched her dream memories for a stable. She did not find one.

  Hope of escape came out of a walking dream that hit like a fist, made her stumble.

  Karkur wanted her to go eastward. There was a road through the mountains. They would not expect her to flee that way. If she reached the seacoast she could go north and recross the mountains at Sebil el Selib, where the Masters held no sway.

  But this end of that road ran around the dread tower of her dreams. Who knew what the Masters would do? If their shaghûns were but shadows of themselves, how terrible might they be?

  She was afraid but she did not stop moving. Karkur had not failed her yet.

  And Karkur was right. It was the best way. She saw no one, and no one saw her. And the dark tower greeted her with an indifference she found almost disheartening. Was she that far beneath their notice? She had slain two of their shaghûns.

  "Keep walking, Misr. We're going to get tired, but we have to keep walking. Otherwise the dark men will catch us."

  His face puckered in determination. He stayed with her. The sun was high before she decided to rest.

  XV

  "Narriman!" The voice boomed through the forest, rang off the mount
ains. "Narriman!" There was an edge of anger to it, like hers when she was impatient with Misr.

  It was him. He had not been deceived.

  Misr snuggled closer. "Don't let him take me, Mama."

  "I won't," she promised, disentangling herself. "I'll be back in a little while."

  "Don't go away, Mama."

  "I have to. You stay put. Just remember what happened last time you didn't do what I said." Damn! That was unfair. He would think the whole thing was his fault. She spat, strung her bow. Selected three good arrows, made sure her other weapons were ready. Then she went to hunt.

  "Narriman!" He was closer. Why act as if he couldn't find her?

  Karkur, of course. That old lump did not dare smash things up in the Jebal. He would not want his hand seen. But he could confuse his enemies.

  Brush crackled. Narriman froze. He was close. She sank into a patch of shade, arrow on bowstring.

  "Narriman!" His voice boomed. More softly, he talked to himself. "Damned crazy woman. I'll use her hide to bind books." His anger was hard but controlled. Fear wriggled through Narriman's hatred.

  Memories flashed. His ride down Wadi al Hamamah. Her rape. The day he had come for Misr. Her knees weakened. He was a shaghûn. He had conquered her easily. She was a fool to challenge him.

  Brush crackled ever closer. She saw something white moving among the trees. His horse. That was him. Coming right to her.

  There he was. Black rider. Nightmare lover. Misr's father. She pictured Mowfik and Al Jahez. "You!" she breathed. "For what you did to my father."

  A twig snapped as she bent her bow. The horse's head snapped up, ears pricking. Her arrow slammed into its throat. It should have struck the shaghûn's heart.

  The animal kept rising into a screaming rear, hooves pounding air. The rider went over backward. Narriman heard his breath explode when he hit ground.

  Up she sprang. She let fly again. Her shaft passed though his djellaba as he rolled, pinned him for a second. In that second Narriman loosed her last arrow.

  It glanced off his hip bone, leaving a bloody gash across his right buttock. He stumbled a step, fell, regained his feet with a groan.