by Glen Cook
"Look behind us, Beloul."
He hated looking back himself. That part of his force which remained was no larger than the company led by the young Guildsman. Most of the rest had scattered. It would take days for the survivors to reform.
"Hey, Bragi," a Guildsman shouted. "We'd better get into the woods. They're ready to come after us."
Haroun glanced back. The second war band had arrived. "Your man is right. We'd better run."
They entered the tangle of the Bergwold in time. Nassef's riders showed no inclination to follow them. Ragnarson laughed. "They've tried before. We taught them a lesson. If they're going to come in, they have to get off horses. They don't like that. Move your men ahead. I'll screen you."
"Bragi. They're going to try it after all."
Haroun listened to the curses of men Nassef had ordered into the wood. "You're right. They don't like it."
"They're going to like it a lot less in a little while. Haaken. Reskird. We'll set the ambush at the deep ravine."
The fight was little more than a skirmish. Nassef's men quickly retreated to the forest's edge.
They came again the following morning, this time seriously. The Scourge of God had gathered all his men for the sweep.
"There's way too many of them," Regnarson told Haroun. "They can cover the whole Bergwold. We can't play hide and seek."
Haroun nodded as he studied the Guildsman's Bergwold maps. "These are good." Megelin would have been pleased with their quality. "You read?" he asked.
"Only enough to follow those. It's part of the training, but the war broke before we got to reading and writing. Captain Sanguinet and Lieutenant Trubacik drew those. They taught all the noncoms how to read them."
"My friend, we've gotten ourselves into a classic situation here. Whatever we do is wrong. We can't run and we don't dare fight."
"Between a rock and a hard place, as we say at home."
"Nassef wants you as bad as he wants me. He was fond of Karim. What do you think we should do?"
Ragnarson shrugged. "You was trained to lead. Now would be a great time to start. I got this job because nobody else would take it. It's all I can do to figure out what to do with the volunteers we've been getting."
"Have you gotten many?"
"A lot. Your friend Nassef has been kicking ass all over the country. Most of them don't seem to know where else to go."
Dawn's light was seeping into the dank, misty forest when Regnarson's brother appeared. "They're coming, Bragi. Two lines deep. We won't have a chance if they make contact."
"Could we break through?" Haroun asked.
"That's what they want us to try, I think. Then the whole mob could close in."
"And if we run, they'll be waiting on the other side of the forest."
"That's how I'd set it up."
"Let's do it anyway. We'll locate them and I'll attack with my horsemen. You run for Alperin after they start chasing me. It's only twelve miles. Its walls are strong and it has its own garrison. I can circle around and catch up with you there."
"I don't like it," Ragnarson said. "What good will it do? We'll still be surrounded."
"But with a wall to protect us, and people to help."
"The Scourge of God hasn't been intimidated by walls yet." Nevertheless, Ragnarson acquiesced. He could muster no plan of his own. "All right," he grumbled. "I kind of stumbled into this, you know. I kind of hoped I could make some kind of showing before High Crag replaced Sanguinet. I thought this was my big chance."
Haroun smiled thinly. "Look what I'm going to lose. A whole kingdom. It's so huge. It stretches as far as I can throw a rock."
"Yeah. Haaken! Reskird! Let's move out."
Haroun came to respect the Guildsmen even more. The passage through the wood took a day and a night and most of another day. The warrior brothers seldom rested, and frequently spent their own strength to help the weaker of their allies. And many of them were burdened with wounded. He questioned Ragnarson about it, but the youth could not explain. That was the way his brotherhood did things.
Yet the Guildsmen were no less weary than the others, Haroun saw. They just seemed to have more will.
And these, he thought, are the Guild children. No wonder old generals like Hawkwind and Lauder, with their select followers, were so feared.
The sun was well to the west when they reached the nether verge of the Bergwold. Haroun considered the time of day. "We'd have a better chance of pulling it off after dark."
Ragnarson agreed. "We can use the rest. Send some of your people to scout it out. They're better at it than mine. Mine can't see anybody out there, and I think that's too good to be true."
"You're right. Beloul!" Haroun called. "I have a job for you." He explained what he wanted.
The sun had set before Beloul returned to say, "Lord, he's there. The Scourge of God himself, with the Invincibles. They're hiding in a ravine beside the road to Alperin. They don't know that we're here yet. And from what I could overhear, they're exhausted from their ride around the forest."
Haroun translated for Ragnarson. He added, "Let's give it another hour. Then I'll try to draw them off to the south."
"Make it two hours and you'll have the moon."
The time rushed away. The moon seemed to streak into the sky. Suddenly, Haroun was on his mount and Altean countryside was rushing beneath him. He was kicking his mare because she was reluctant to run in the weak light. To his left, one of his followers went down as his mount stumbled.
Nassef was not ready for him. Not for him to come smashing straight in behind a swarm of arrows. The Invincibles remained disorganized for the critical few minutes Haroun needed to lead his band past and take them flying into the night.
Then they came after him.
He could see little, looking back to the northwest, but he could hear the thundering hooves and the exultant warcries.
The Invincibles, like their Guild enemies, were tenacious. Haroun could not shake them. His success consisted of staying ahead. Gradually he swung round northward, circling back toward Alperin.
"Why are we doing this, Lord?" el Senoussi wanted to know. "Why aren't we escaping? Towns are traps."
Haroun did not answer for a while. He did not know how to put it into words. "There's a duty, Shadek. A responsibility. How can I explain? You imply an argument, and the sense of it is inconstestable. Radetic would have commended you. Mine is purely emotional. Maybe it's the hand of fate that moves me. But I do have a feeling this Ragnarson might be critical to my future. To all our futures."
"You're the King, Lord."
Haroun laughed. It was a weak, drained gesture. "I love your enthusiasm, Shadek. You're like an oasis after six days of hard desert. You shelter me from the sandstorms of tomorrow."
El Senoussi chuckled. "Thank you, Lord."
Moments later, Beloul said, "Something's wrong, Lord. They're not pushing us as hard as they should be."
"I've noticed. We must be doing what they want."
"I told you, Lord," said el Senoussi.
Daylight arrived. And Haroun learned why the Invincibles had relaxed. He had come back to Alperin.
"Damn! He's outfoxed us again." There was fierce fighting at the town gate. "He let the Guildsmen get there so he could catch them with their gates open."
"Would that we had such a plotter in our ranks, Lord," said el Senoussi.
"Be patient, Shadek. He's teaching me."
"Indeed, Lord. What now?"
"What about our friends back there? In no hurry, eh? Unless we try to break away? Let's see if we can get up on yon hill and watch for a while. Our friends might get so interested they'll give us a chance to get away."
He spoke lightly, as if unconcerned, but he was sure this was the last day of his life.
The Invincibles allowed them the hilltop and did not offer battle immediately. The Scourge of God seemed content to delay his gratification while he dealt with the Guildsmen.
"That's the end of some bra
ve boys," Beloul said gently.
Haroun glanced at the town gate. Fanatics in white were flooding through. "Yes. A pity."
"That Nassef is one crafty bastard," Haaken told Bragi as the Alteans defending the gate collapsed. They had made a valiant stand. Their task had been hopeless, but they had held long enough.
"He thought on his feet," Bragi replied. "He outguessed us. We've got to pay the price. Let's just hope this trick is something he's not expecting. Come on, Reskird!" he shouted. "Quit screwing around over there. They're coming." He could see most of the curved street running from the gate. Horsemen swept toward them like a sudden spring flood, forced on by those behind them.
Alperin was typical of towns that spent centuries constrained within walls. It had had to grow upward and together instead of spreading. Its streets were narrow and twisted. Its buildings stood three, four and sometimes five storeys high, often overhanging the cobbled streets.
It was a bad place for horsemen to engage bowmen who had taken to the rooftops.
Arrows swarmed down onto the Invincibles and their animals. The desert warriors tried fighting back with their saddle bows, but could find few targets. The Guildsmen exposed themselves only long enough to loose their shafts.
The Invincibles still entering the town kept forcing their fellows into the deadly streets.
"Keep it up! Keep it up!" Bragi screamed. He scuttled across a steep slate roof. "We're going to do it, Haaken! We're going to do it! They don't know what's happening."
He was right. The Invincibles, absolutely certain of victory and unable, because of the twisting streets, to see that the slaughter was not localized, kept driving into the killing rain.
"Haaken, I'm going to find that Altean captain. What was his name?"
"Karathel."
"Yeah. Maybe he can rally his men and grab the gates again. We can trap them in here and murder them all."
"Bragi."
"What?"
"Don't push your luck. Things can change. They still outnumber us a skillion to one. We should just worry about getting out alive. Just make them back off."
"Yeah. Okay." But Bragi was not listening. He was too excited to accept the possibility of disaster. He had thought on his feet too. He had turned Nassef s trap into a counter-trap. He was flying high. "Be back in a few minutes."
He scrambled from roof to roof, moving toward the wall, parallel to the street. He paused occasionally to loose an arrow. He had told his men to concentrate on leaders. Confused followers could be dispatched later.
Nowhere did he see anything to warrant Haaken's pessimism. The streets were filled with dead men. It was a target shoot.
His trip proved needless. Karathel's thinking paralleled his own. His was counterattacking when Bragi arrived. The Invincibles at the gate were hard pressed. Then more Invincibles attacked from outside. They overran the Alteans while Bragi watched, feeling completely helpless.
"Damn!" he snarled. "Damn! Damn! Damn! We had it in the palm of our hand."
Haaken's warning came back. Nassef had thousands of men in Altea. If they kept converging nothing could prevent their victory.
He could see Haroun's men on their hill, watching, unable to help. He sighed. "Just not enough people."
Below, the new wave of Invincibles surged into the deathtrap streets. It was time to rejoin Haaken. If this was the end, they should go down together.
He found his path barred. Some not too bright Invincible had fired a building in hopes of driving the Guildsmen off its roof. He had overlooked the fact that the fire would be as hard on the men in the narrow street. Bragi decided to descend and circle round the burning house. He dropped into a tight alleyway lying behind a long row of shops and houses. He had taken no more than a dozen steps when horsemen overtook him
He whirled, let an arrow fly. A man groaned. He loosed a second shaft into the flesh under a man's chin as a horse reared over his head. He fumbled for a third arrow, dropped it, clawed at his sword. The certainty of death nearly paralyzed him.
The third rider let out a strangled wail and fled, though he had been in perfect position to split Bragi's head with his saber.
Bragi stood there a moment, stunned. "What the hell?" He glanced at the men he had downed. The Invincible was still alive, groaning. The other was stone dead.
"What the hell?" Bragi said again. Then he shrugged. "Why look the old gift horse in the mouth?" He ran while the running was good.
"Something's happened," Haaken said when Bragi finally found him. "Look how they're howling and carrying on. And hardly fighting back."
Regnarson looked into the street. He loosed an arrow. "Looks like they've gone crazy. I don't get it. But keep hitting them."
"We won't be able to much longer. We're about out of arrows."
"Use them all. We'll worry about what to do next when we have to."
The arrow shortage never mattered. Within minutes those Invincibles who could were flying out the gate, where Haroun's men took advantage of their confusion and despair to hurt them further.
Haroun rode into the jubilant town an hour later. "Look at his face," Bragi whispered to Kildragon. "He'sglowing. I never saw anybody look like that."
"I don't know how you did it, my friend," Haroun said softly, awed. "I don't even care. But today will live in memory ever green."
"What? Come on. We didn't... We survived, that's all."
"No. You did more. Much more. Today El Murid lost his war. The Invincibles have been broken. Now it's only a matter of time till the Disciple has been destroyed."
"What the hell are you raving about? So we finally won one. It didn't amount to that much. And the rest of them will be after us in a day or two."
Bin Yousif considered him momentarily. "You really don't know, do you? I forget, you don't speak my language well. Listen, my friend. Outside. That's a death song the Invincibles are singing. And inside, that's a victory song by my people. They're not singing for today, but for the war. You did two things. You destroyed the biggest band of Invincibles El Murid had left. And you slew the Scourge of God. You. Yourself."
"That man in the alley... ?" Bragi muttered to himself. "But... " He sat down on a stone wall surrounding a fountain. "Really?"
"Really. And it'll change the whole shape of the war.”
Chapter Thirteen:
THE ENTERTAINER
The fat youth crouched in the scraggly brush and studied the enemy encampment. Fifty Invincibles guarding two children. What made them so important?
He had come close to stumbling into them. He had made cover just in time. His curiosity was aroused. Two children!
He had been headed north, skirting the edge of the Sahel, making for Altea, where he hoped to rejoin bin Yousif. But now the north had fled his mind. This might be a chance to strike a real blow on behalf of Sparen and Gouch.
He shook. "Fat one, O flabby friend, am in no wise able to brave fifty swords of enemies implacable as Lady Death Herself. Only fool would do same.
"Pusillanimous pretender," he answered himself. "Is potential opportunity of unparalleled magnitude. Must at least investigate. Establish identity of protected children. Same might be of tremendous value. Elimination of same might be mighty blow against fell empire of madman El Murid."
Mocker was easily frightened. Sajac had kept him afraid for years. But the constant pressure had schooled him to control his fear.
He was scared silly when he led his donkey into the encampment, pretending less familiarity with the desert tongue than he possessed.
"Go away, vagabond," a sentry told him.
Mocker just looked puzzled and, more brokenly than usual, claimed a right to use the spring. He offered to entertain the band in return for his supper.
He had learned some of the desert tongue during his half-forgotten trek down the coast of the Sea of Kotsum, and had picked up more while traveling with Haroun. He understood most of what was being said around him.
Thus it was that, shortly after the I
nvincible commander let him lay out his bedroll, he learned who the children were.
Malicious glee almost overcame him.
They were the spawn of the Disciple himself! Ah, but weren't the Fates playing a curious game? The general at Dunno Scuttari, el-Kader, had ordered them moved to the safety of the Sahel. He was concerned about the approach of the northern army.
What sweet opportunity! The children of El Murid! He nearly forgot his fear.
His devilish mind began darting around like a whole swarm of gnats. How best to exploit this chance encounter?
First he would have to infatuate the children and attach himself to their party.
How? The Invincibles were keeping them carefully segregated.
He opened his packs as evening settled in. He joined some of the younger Invincibles at their campfire. Sealing his eyes, he commenced the dexterity drills he had so often cursed Sparen for forcing upon him. They amounted to little more than making a common object-a copper coin in this case-appear and disappear between his fingers.
"Sorcery!" someone muttered. Mocker heard the fear in the voice.
He opened his eyes, smiled gently. "Oh, no, my friend. No witchcraft. Is simplest trick of prestidigitation. See? Coin is on back of hand. Is finger game. Watch." He pulled a short stick from the fire and made it appear and disappear, slowly and clumsily enough for the warriors to get the drift. "You see?"
Stage magicians were not unknown in the desert, but they had shown no eagerness to perform since El Murid's ascension. The Disciple's followers were too sensitive about sorcery.
"Hey! I think I saw it," said a warrior. "Do it again, would you?" The man squatted in order to see better.
"Self, am humblest of entertainers," Mocker said. "Have been perilously buffeted by winds of war."
"Got you," the warrior said. "That's neat. Could you teach me how to do it? I've got a kid brother who would love something like that."
Mocker shrugged. "Self, can try. But take warning. Is more difficult of achieving than looks betray. Takes much practice. Self, am professional, yet must practice two hours daily."
"That's all right. Just the coin trick. Come on." The warrior, who was hardly older than Mocker, produced a coin of his own. Several others crowded around, equally interested.
