by Glen Cook
Sidi led them to a stable belonging to one of his backers. He told el Senoussi to sit tight till he was needed, and to keep his men off the streets.
They moved into the loft over the stable. "Not exactly where you'd look for a nest of assassins, is it?" Haroun murmured.
El Senoussi held a finger to his lips. "The walls have ears in this town. There were too many intrigues during the Disciple's seclusion."
"When do we act?" Beloul asked.
Shadek shrugged. "He needs time to arrange it. He'll want it to happen when he has an ironclad alibi. And he'll probably try to arrange it so something happens to us, whatever the outcome. We'd make dangerous witnesses. It might take him a month."
"One thing, Shadek," Haroun said. "Be obsequious. Fawn on him. Be the desert's number one lickspittle if you have to. But make believe he's taken us in, that he needn't fear us."
"That is my plan, Lord." El Senoussi looked like an artist watching a very personal piece of work, wrought with loving care, being reshaped by another artist. "I'm going to make him so sure of me that when the day comes he'll come tell me himself. We'll slay the pup then leap at the throat of the sire. I trust that meets with your approval, Lord?"
"Pardon me, Shadek. I worry. About everything. What about escape? That bridge will be trouble if they're chasing us."
"That was an unforeseen complication, Lord."
Haroun gave him a name and address and had him bring the man to the loft.
Nine weeks ground away. Haroun and Beloul spent every minute of every one inside that stable. "I'm going out of my mind," Haroun moaned. "The Disciple is going to die of old age before we move."
Beloul started to say something. A stir below interrupted. Shadek growled something. Men scrambled into hiding. "Sidi's coming," Beloul whispered.
"Another false alarm," Haroun predicted. "Just checking up on us."
The boy visited once a week, growing bolder each time. Only two bodyguards accompanied him now. Shadek met him on the ground level.
Men watched from every shadow. Sidi and el Senoussi spoke in low tones, Shadek apparently growing excited, Sidi baffled.
Thus it had gone every time, with Shadek throwing his arms around as he spoke.
In the middle of a sentence he grunted and began to dig at his ear with the nail of his little finger. Then he dropped like a stone.
Arrows flew. Sidi and his bodyguards flung about in a grim, drunkendanse macabre under the impact of the shafts. Shadek snaked away. His men leapt from the shadows, made sure of their victims.
"Quick, quiet and easy," Haroun told Beloul. "We couldn't ask for anything more." He scrambled down and joined el Senoussi, who was slapping off dirt and straw. "Shove them under that pile of hay," Shadek ordered. "You, you, get the horses saddled." He turned to Haroun. "Lord, we're expected at the Shrines in an hour."
"Who are we supposed to be?"
"A delegation of salt merchants presenting a petition for redress. The Disciple has a soft spot for the trade. We're supposed to raise hell about the officers managing the Daimiellian salt works. Sidi said it was a pet peeve."
"Good enough. Anything to get past the Invincibles." Haroun thumbed his dagger.
They all made sure their hidden blades were accessible. Their more obvious weapons they would surrender before being permitted to approach the Disciple.
"Let me do the talking," Shadek said. "I know a little about the salt trade. I'll scratch my ear again."
Every man appeared pale and nervous. The one Shadek assigned to manage the horses was visibly relieved.
Haroun surveyed the others. They looked too hardened to be simple caravaneers. Nobody would believe their story.
Throats tightened and stomachs churned as they passed through the series of guardians shielding the Disciple. Haroun was baffled. The white robes seemed unsuspicious. Hidden weapons got by them, apparently because they surrendered blades almost as well concealed and, perhaps, because no one had ever dared stalk the Disciple in the sanctity of the Shrine.
Haroun hoped his own bodyguards never became as complacent. The Harish had struck too close too often already.
He hung back a little when they entered El Murid's throne room, keeping his head down. Beloul lagged with him. The others masked them with their bodies. El Murid knew Haroun and might recognize Beloul.
Haroun could not avoid a hungry glance at the Peacock Throne.That was his self-proclaimed destiny...
It was called the Peacock Throne because its tall back resembled the fan of a peacock displayed. The twelve-foot plumes had been fashioned of planks of rare woods. Over the centuries they had been set with gold, silver, gems, ivory, jet, pearls, turquoise and semiprecious stones in contrived, garish patterns. Dynasties of Ilkazar's Emperors and generations of Quesani kings had contributed to the gaudy mosaic. The Throne was the heart and symbol of power in Hammad al Nakir, as it had been for the Empire before.
And now this usurper, this jackal without a drop of royal blood, defiled the seat of kings. Haroun stifled his anger.
Another rose to replace it. This beast had slain his family. This monster had destroyed everything worthy and dear and had unleashed the hounds that dogged him even now.
He counted bodyguards cautiously.
Shadek halted a dozen paces from the Peacock Throne. After the courtly courtesies, he advanced a few steps. He began talking in a low, persuasive voice. El Murid leaned forward to listen. He nodded occasionally.
What was Shadek waiting for? Let's do it! Haroun screamed inside.
Shadek's hands flew as if in emphatic support of his argument, as they had with Sidi. Haroun tried to relax, to still his fears. He dared not let tension betray him.
A door burst inward. A man in tatters staggered through. A pair of ranking Invincibles supported him. Rag-man croaked, "No, Lord! Beware!"
Not a soul moved for a bewildered moment. Then El Murid yelped, "Mowaffak! What are you doing here? What's happened to you?"
"Assassins, Lord," Hali croaked, extending a shaky arm to point. "They're assassins."
Haroun dove for his dagger.
"Hali!" Beloul squealed. And charged.
Men flew this way and that. El Senoussi rushed the Disciple, got sidetracked. Haroun flung himself after Shadek, only to have his path blocked by Invincibles. The white robes had been taken off guard. They began going down. Soon they were outnumbered.
Haroun dispatched the man blocking his path. He skipped the body and started toward his old enemy. He met El Murid's gaze. There was no fear there.
"You're a bold one," the Disciple said. "I never expected you here."
Haroun smiled. It was a thin, cruel, wicked little smile. "It saddens me that you'll never see me on the Peacock Throne, usurper. Unless you manage from the Other Side."
"Your father and uncle were wont to speak in that vein. Who is watching whom from where?"
Haroun sprang.
El Murid raised his left hand. The glow of his amulet shown into Haroun's eyes. He spoke one word.
Thunder rolled. A brilliant flash filled the room. The Shrines quivered on their foundations.
Haroun's knees gave way. A darkness stole his vision. He tried to shout but his mouth was numb.
El Murid did not laugh, and that infuriated Haroun. The Disciple was the villain of the piece. Villains were supposed to crow in triumph when they won.
Hands seized his arms, lifted him. A remote voice said, "Get him out of here." Haroun tried to help. His feet would not untangle. His supporters slung him around helter-skelter as they fled along a stormy shore. Every breaker smashed in with a metallic roar and muted shouting. Twice they dumped him while they hurled back the waves.
His vision began to clear. His legs worked a little. His mind regained its ability to grasp sequential events.
Shadek's men were fighting their way out. They were good, hard men but they had failed in their mission. They were leaving no one behind to be captured and tortured into betraying those who did escape.
They might have to slay a few of their own to manage but that had been understood beforehand.
The city seemed unnaturally calm after the chaos of the Shrines. "Let's don't anybody get in a hurry," el Senoussi cautioned as he helped Beloul hoist Haroun aboard a horse. "We don't want to attract attention."
Beloul laughed. "Somebody's bound to figure there's something wrong." He indicated a pair of Invincibles howling at the entrance to the Shrines.
Haroun tried to tell Shadek to get a move on. His tongue was not yet fit for duty.
Shadek led them toward the bridge spanning El Murid's lake, saying, "They didn't have any horses around. It'll take them a while to get the word out. We'll be long gone before they do."
He was wrong.
There was a new order in the Kingdom of Peace. Secretly, El Murid had withdrawn his ban on the practice of the dark arts. A few former shagh–ns had rallied to his standard. Most were in the capital city with the Invincibles. They were not the shagh–ns of old but they had their uses.
Like getting swift orders to the bridge defenders.
The assassins reached the city's edge and found the causeway held by two score alert and angry white robes. "So we turn back to Bassam's," Haroun told el Senoussi.
Excitement was afoot in the city now. Those first wild rumors which come before slower-footed truth leapt from house to house like flames through a dry, brushy canyon. People moved with more speed and less purpose, certain something was wrong but unsure what it was. The Invincibles were more in evidence, though not yet asking questions. "Shadek, we'd better ditch the animals. We're too memorable this way."
"Aye, Lord." El Senoussi returned to the stable. What better place to abandon horses?
Now to move to the place his agent Bassam had prepared... The wounded were a problem. They would be more memorable than any number of horses.
The pragmatic course was obvious. Dispatch the badly injured. Hide them with Sidi and his bodyguards.
There were only two men to consider, men whose lives Haroun did not want to squander. Too many had been wasted in this cruel war. "Shadek, we just became lepers. We'll bind ourselves in rags and go by twos and threes. People will be too busy getting out of our way to look us over."
"Excellent idea, Lord."
Haroun walked with a man named Hassan who had taken a saber's bite in his thigh. "Unclean!" he moaned. "Lepers!" In a softer voice, he told his companion, "I'm starting to enjoy this."
The nervous mobs scattered ahead of them, reformed behind. People cursed them. Some muttered that the Disciple had extended his protection too far, that lepers should not be allowed to befoul the City of God. One overly bold child chucked a clod. Haroun shook a gnarly stick and howled incoherently. The child scampered away. Haroun laughed. "This is fun."
"Have you ever known a leper, Lord?"
"No. Why?"
"It's no fun for them. They rot. They stink. Their flesh falls away. They don't feel anything. If they're not careful they can injure themselves fatally. That happened to my sister."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Hassan." What else could he say?
Bassam, a long-time Royalist agent, had prepared them a place in the cellar beneath his house. Something of an innovation for a poor shopkeeper, he had begun digging it the day of their arrival. He had made no effort to conceal the work, going so far as to brag that it would be the finest cellar in the city.
He had lined its walls with sun-baked brick, then had erected a cross wall that concealed a narrow portion.
The surviving assassins moved in. Haroun's agent started bricking up the hole through which they had entered. "I stocked food and water for a month, Lord. Nothing tasty, but it'll keep you. I expect the stench will bother you most. People would wonder if I dumped too many chamberpots. Your fresh air will come through that wooden grate. You can see the street through it. Try not to get caught peeking."
Bassam left one loose block that could be removed for communication purposes. He did not take it out again for four days. "They've searched the house," he announced. "They're searching them all. El Murid has decreed that no one will enter or leave Al Rhemish till you're caught. Mowaffak Hali died yesterday, but you can't claim him. It was gangrene. He was attacked by Guildsmen coming home. The same band that accounted for Karim and the Scourge of God a few years ago."
"That damned Bragi," Haroun muttered. "Who told him he could leave camp?"
"Begging your pardon, Lord," Beloul said. "Did you think you could tell Guildsmen what to do? Consider their viewpoint."
"I can see it, Beloul. I don't have to like it."
"There's more, Lord," Bassam said. "El Murid rescinded the ban against shagh–nry. He admitted he's been trying to recruit them since his God visited the Shrines. The first division of el Nadim's army passed Al Rhemish today. He sent all he had with it. Lucky for us."
"Send down some wine," el Senoussi muttered. "We'll celebrate Hali's passing and mourn everything else."
"Wine is proscribed," Bassam retorted. "I follow the Disciple's law to the letter."
"No sense of humor, eh?"
Bassam ignored Shadek. "You may be here a while, Lord. He's damned angry. The Invincibles prowl day and night. You can't travel a hundred feet without being questioned."
Bassam paid his second visit three days later. The Invincibles had discovered Sidi's body. "He's more excited than ever, Lord. Crazy with grief and rage. Someone whispered in the right ears. News of the boy's plot reached him the same afternoon they found the corpses. He's tearing the city apart looking for the conspirators. They've caught a bunch trying to get out. The Invincibles are making them sing. The Disciple thinks they're hiding you."
"I wish him luck. I hope he hangs them all." Haroun laughed wickedly.
"I won't be down for a while, unless there's crucial news. I have to mind the shop every second. Half of our good citizens have turned thief."
Nine days passed. The cellar began to wear. Nerves frayed. Tempers flared. It promised to get worse. Haroun collected the weapons and piled them in a corner. He and Beloul took turns guarding them.
Bassam came in the middle of the night. "It's gotten no safer, Lord. If anything, it's worse. They're calling it the Reign of Terror. The Invincibles have become a pack of mad dogs. Their killings make less sense every day. I don't know how long it'll last. People are getting hungry. There'll be riots. And my own days may be numbered. If they take one of my men and he talks... "
"Then we'd better get out now."
"You wouldn't have a prayer. They'd cut you down before you got out of sight of the shop. It's worth a man's life to walk the streets in broad daylight, Lord. Sit tight and hope it runs its course. Or that the riots start before they get on to us. They might even get sick of it themselves."
"And if they do take you?"
"I'll hold out as long as I can."
"And we'll be buried down here without knowing anything is wrong," el Senoussi growled. "Like sleepy birds caught in their nests."
"We'll fix that. Right now." In less than an hour Bassam rigged a bell that would ring at a tug on any of several cords concealed around the shop. Its installation required making a small hole through his expensive new wooden floor. He bemoaned the vandalism the whole time he was drilling.
"I won't ring unless I'm sure I'm caught," he said. "Can't guarantee I'll be able to then. I'll only do it if it won't give you away. If I do ring, you're on your own. I don't know how long I can hold out. I've never faced any real test of courage."
"Of course you have, Bassam. No coward would have hidden himself in the Disciple's shadow all this time."
"One last thing, Lord. El Nadim is camped outside town. His is the last division of the eastern army. It'll be a tough spring for the Disciple's enemies out west."
"That's the way it looks."
"That's a good man," Shadek said a moment after Bassam departed. "And a scared one. He's sure he won't last much longer."
"He's the best," Haroun agreed. "Beloul? You think
our fat friend failed?"
"It does look like his luck ran out."
That cellar became worse than any prison. A prisoner had no hope, no essential belief in his existence as a free man, no knowledge that he could break out at will. The days were interminable. The nights were longer. The stench was as bad as promised. Haroun began worrying about disease. He made everybody take turns exercising.
Bassam seemed to have forgotten they existed.
Twice they heard the mutter of searchers beyond the false foundation wall. They held their breaths and weapons and waited for the worst.
The bell tinkled gently eight days after its installation.
Its voice was so soft Haroun was not immediately sure it was not just his nerves.
"They've taken him!" Shadek snarled. "Damn!"
"How long will he last?" Beloul asked.
"I don't know," Haroun replied. "He was right, in a way. Good intentions don't count for much if there's a hot iron gnawing on you. Hoist me up to the grate."
He peered into the dusty street. He watched the white robes take Bassam away. They had bound him so he could not fight and force them to kill him.
"They did get him. Damn! Brave in the shop and brave in the Shrines, when they're breaking your fingers and toes, are two different things."
"We'd better move out."
"Not before dark. We wouldn't have a prayer before then. Get with the exercises. We'll need to be loose."
"At least let's get out where we can give them a fight if they come back," Shadek suggested.
"All right. Knock the wall apart. Carefully! Keep the noise down. We'll put it back together. Make them break it down to find out if we're gone or not."
The foul tempers and abysmal morale evaporated, to be replaced by anxiety.
They spent a tense afternoon waiting for Invincibles to appear. None came. Beloul and Shadek took turns studying the movements of the patrols in the streets. Haroun and the others continued their exercises.
There was no moon that evening. The winter moon would not rise till early morning.
They moved out right after sentry change. Shadek and Beloul said the watch officers would not check back for at least an hour. They had determined that there were both posted sentries and walking patrols. The latter were the greater danger. They roamed at random, in twos and threes.
