With Mercy Towards None

by Glen Cook

  The fat man whirled, sheathed his blade, caught his mount, finished his wayside business, then returned to his place in the column. He kept bursting into giggles. That fool soldier had fallen for it.

  The fat man muttered and cursed as the column approached Al Rhemish. His companions fussed and bothered. They were eager to visit the Holy City and Shrines. Mocker sweated constantly. This was the critical period. It was here that he was most likely to encounter a familiar face. It was here that Sidi now resided. It was here that Sajac would find his best opportunities.

  El Nadim's army assembled on the lip of the bowl, looking down on Al Rhemish.

  "Where are the divisions I sent ahead?" el Nadim asked no one in particular. They were nowhere to be seen. They were supposed to have awaited him here.

  A lone. Invincible came galloping across the bridge and upslope. "You're not to enter Al Rhemish," he shouted. "Our Lord bid me tell you to go on westward."

  "But... "

  "That is the command of the Disciple." The messenger seemed uncomfortable. He was relaying orders he did not himself approve.

  "We've come a long way. We want to pay homage at the Shrines."

  "Perhaps when you're returning."

  "What's going on? What's happened?" el Nadim demanded. "Something has, hasn't it?"

  The messenger inclined his head slightly, but said only, "The Disciple has barred outsiders from the city." He indicated the bowl's south rim. "Even the pilgrims, who are old folks, women, and children."

  "Even his generals? Will he see me?"

  "No. I'm to offer his apologies and tell you that you'll understand in time. He said to remain steadfast in the Faith. He said his prayers will go with you." The messenger then wheeled and descended into the valley.

  El Nadim waited a long time before saying, "We'll camp here tonight. He may change his mind."

  There was no change of heart. Al Rhemish ignored the army's existence.

  Mocker sighed after the column began wending through the desert once more. He was safe. He could concentrate on Sajac.

  The crazy old man was careful. He had received a convincing lesson in Argon.

  Mocker found scorpions in his boots. He found a poisonous snake in his bedroll. A flung stone narrowly missed his mount while he was negotiating a particularly nasty piece of mountainside trail. He found doctored water in his canteen, and feared his food would be poisoned if he stopped eating from the soldiers' common mess.

  Sajac had his bullies. They made sure Mocker got nowhere near him.

  The problem became a challenge. Poison would have suited Mocker's sense of propriety perfectly. An agent that would cause heart failure...

  Heart failure. Sajac was old. His heart might be weak. Scare him to death? Using sympathetic voodoo magic like he and Gouch had seen in Ipopotam?

  Notions and schemes fluttered through his head like drunken butterflies. He was supposed to be a sorcerer, wasn't he? Why didn't he get with the hoodoo and the mojo and make the old bastard think he was on his way out? Sajac could never be sure hewasn't Aristithorn's apprentice.

  In minutes Mocker was telling a soldier, "Self, am tired of constant sniping." Sajac's attempts had become common knowledge. "Look!" He held up a hideous, venomous little lizard that looked more like an example of primitive beaded artwork than it did an animal. "Found same snoozing in donkey pack. Patience is at end. Am casting curse taught by master Aristithorn. Will gnaw heart of squamous old buzzard. Is slow curse. Sometimes takes months to kill victim. Beauty is in torture of waiting. Will end come immediately? Tomorrow? Will hurry to settle affairs maybe hasten same? Hee-hee. Was exceedingly difficult of learning said curse, but am glad today. Is even more beautiful because same curse can be hastened any time with proper cabalistic processes. Friend, self is not cruel. Do not like harming even monsters like bilious little villain of lizard. But, and am ashamed to admit same, am going to enjoy watching agonized waiting of nasty old back-stabber."

  He careened around the force making similar declamations. He let his imagination run with the nastiness of the curse, till he was sure Sajac would hear of it from a dozen sources and be scared out of his pantaloons.

  Still... The news might have no impact. The old man was as cynical a non-believer as he.

  Once his excitement waned he became certain that he had chosen the silliest possible means of striking back.

  Yet Sajac began watching his every move, squinting his myopic little eyes. Mocker grinned a lot, wondered aloud when the end would come, organized a betting pool that would pay the man guessing the correct moment, and occasionally pretended to be aggravated enough to consider hurrying matters. Sajac began to cringe, to become defensive and irritable. His forecasts for el Nadim degenerated.

  "See?" Mocker crowed all over camp. "Curse is devouring wicked old man."

  El Nadim became critical of Sajac's work. He had Mocker second-guess every reading. Which only made the old man more nervous.

  There were no more attempts on Mocker's life. Sajac shifted to attempts at negotiation and bribery. The fat man dismissed these with derisive laughter.

  Sajac lost his eyesight suddenly, completely. Mocker moved closer, began tormenting him verbally. The old man's protectors faded away, sensing the shift of power.

  The Kapenrungs were in sight. When el Nadim summoned him, Mocker fought down his evil glee and began marshaling the courage needed to lead the general astray. Blind, Sajac could no longer dispute his readings.

  The general did not want a divination. He said, "I want you to stop persecuting the old man. He's tormented enough, don't you think? El Murid teaches us not to answer cruelty with cruelty, nor to prey upon the old simply because they're weak. You may have been justified in what you did in Argon. You saw yourself trapped. But that excuse no longer obtains."

  Mocker sputtered in protest.

  "Go. And cease tormenting that pathetic old man."

  Mocker went. And, in spite of his hatred, he thought about what el Nadim had said. He took a look at himself. And he was not pleased.

  He saw a cruel thing no better than the Sajac he had known back when, feeding its insecure ego on its ability to injure someone weaker.

  The fat man was not given to extended introspection. He did not examine himself for long. He simply decided to pretend that Sajac had perished in his leap from Argon's wall.

  He caught a taste of the cool breeze off the mountains, grinned, went off to badger one of el Nadim's captains.

  When next he presented himself for a reading, he went armed with a crude map. "Lord," he said, "have been on job, guaranteed. Have come up with plan for circumventing dread forecasts of past. Relies on very positive attributes of Hammad al Nakir, for outflanking Fates. Can move too fast for same to keep track. Before same catch on, voila! Here is new general in back pastures of enemies." He waved his map wildly. "Hai! New Empire is victorious! Tiresome war is finished. Self, being genius to suggest plan, receive great reward, am finally able to leave employ of penurious wizard and go into business for self."

  "Let's see the map. And let's hear your suggestion. Not about it."

  Mocker surrendered the map. "See how Kapenrungs cut across to west, forming barrier? Suppose way could be found through same? Exiting in Tamerice, crossing Altea, Host could be over Scarlotti and far north before enemy spies realize same is coming. Same spies will be far to west watching traditional routes from Sahel. Not so? So... "

  "There are no passes through the Kapenrungs. And I don't have the whole army here even if there were." El Nadim's force, a quarter of his army, numbered twenty thousand.

  "Latter is immaterial," Mocker said. "Spies can dog forerunner forces, thinking same are whole army, thinking new general is there. As to pass, self did not come unprepared to reveal same." He sketched a jagged line with a pudgy finger. "So." The route was identical to that he and Yasmid had followed earlier. And it passed within fifteen miles of Haroun's present main camp.

  "Last night, while army slept, notion
came upon self. Ran round it like silly dog on leash, getting tangled and snarled. Then decided to take first-hand look. Hai! Leaving body was difficult of accomplishment. So much body to leave. But managed same, and flew to inspect mountains, discovering route just outlined. Will be difficult of crossing, assuredly, but not impossible of achievement."

  He had concluded that he'd never manage to eliminate el Nadim himself. Not with any hope of getting out alive. So he had decided to lead the man into a position where Haroun could do his own killing. The presence of the army would be noted quickly if it entered the mountains.

  "I like the basic notion. As to its practicality... Let me think it over."

  Did the general know these were Haroun's mountains? Mocker hoped not. But el Nadim never said anything about bin Yousif. It was almost as if he were pretending Haroun did not exist.

  And what of these wild rumors they had been hearing, about Haroun and Beloul being dead, having been betrayed by Shadek el Senoussi? If they were true he might be guiding el Nadim to a toothless tiger, truly giving him the surprise maneuver he was promising.

  "Must waste no time, Lord. Point of entry to mountains is near."

  "I can read a map. Go away and let me think."

  Next day the van turned northward. And Mocker found himself riding point, charged with showing the way and using his alleged thaumaturgic powers to anticipate danger.

  Days crawled by. The mountains rose ever higher. The air grew colder as the wintery north wind leaked between the peaks. They began to encounter snow. The fat man's nerves grew ever more frazzled.

  They were out there watching. He could feel the touch of their eyes. He had seen signs no one else had recognized.

  What would he do when the hammer fell? One side or the other, or both, would label him traitor.

  Even he was surprised when the boulders began thundering down the canyon walls.

  Men shouted. Horses reared and bolted. Boulders started knocking people around. Arrows zipped out of the sky. Mocker flung himself off his mount and scurried to the shelter of an overhang. He crouched there momentarily, getting the lay of his surroundings. Then he started creeping up the canyon. He wanted to disappear before anyone noticed.

  He glanced back after he had crawled three hundred yards.

  The canyon floor was a mess, and the mess was getting worse. Yet el Nadim's soldiers were counterattacking. They were headed upslope, darting from the protection of one tree to the next. El Nadim himself had arrived and, oblivious to stones and arrows, was whipping them on.

  He spied Mocker among the rocks ahead. He intuited what had happened.

  His arm snapped up. A finger pointed. His mouth worked. A dozen soldiers started toward the fat man.

  The fat man hiked the skirts of his robe and ran.

  Chapter Twenty:

  END OF A LEGEND

  Suppose they get past Reskird?" Haaken asked.

  "Suppose. Suppose. All the time with the supposes," Ragnarson growled. "If they do, then we've wasted our time."

  He was shaky and irritable. He had looked el Nadim over and now doubted his trap would work.

  Kildragon, commanding a force of Royalists, was to attack el Nadim's van in a narrow place ten miles to the north. He was to use boulders and arrows till el Nadim decided he could not break through. When the general turned back he was to find escape to Hammad al Nakir cut off here. Ragnarson had assembled six thousand men, rushed them through the mountains, and gotten them into hiding barely in time to let el Nadim pass. Now he was digging in.

  "Let's check the works," he said. He could not stand still. He was too worried about Kildragon.

  "They should've reached Reskird yesterday," Haaken said, following his brother. "We should've heard something by now."

  "I know." Ragnarson slouched, stared into a narrow trench.

  At that point the canyon was two hundred yards wide and had a relatively level floor. Its walls were sheer, towering bluffs of granite. There was a small, cold stream and dense stands of pine. Ragnarson's line lay across a meadow before one such stand.

  He had assembled his infantry there and backed them with a few hundred Royalist horsemen. The remaining Royalists were either with Kildragon or hidden in a side canyon slightly to the north.

  "The golden bridge," Haaken muttered. "Not to mention that we're outnumbered."

  "I know." Ragnarson went on worrying. The golden bridge was a Hawkwind concept. It meant always showing the enemy an apparent route of flight. Men who saw no escape from a poor battle situation fought more stubbornly.

  Ragnarson's dispositions left el Nadim with no easy avenue of flight. And the general had the numbers.

  "Here comes Reskird's messenger."

  The courier reported that Kildragon was holding. But, he announced, el Nadim had smelled the trap. A quarter of his force was headed south to make sure of his line of withdrawal.

  "Maybe that's a break," Bragi mused. "If we can finish part of them before the main mob shows... "

  "We'll just tip our hand," Haaken replied.

  "No. Send somebody over to tell those Royalists to stay out of sight unless this first bunch starts to whip us."

  Haaken's courier vanished into the side canyon just in time. El Nadim's horsemen appeared only minutes later.

  Bragi's men scurried around, getting to their places. El Nadim's men halted. They sent skirmishers forward. Nothing happened after the probe had been repulsed.

  "Sent for instructions," Ragnarson guessed. "Should we stir them up?"

  "Let's don't ask for trouble," Haaken replied. "They look too professional."

  The easterners pitched camp in the Imperial fashion, surrounding themselves with a trench and palisade. They were equally professional in mounting their morning attack.

  The westerners repelled them easily. The easterners retired to their encampment and stayed put till the balance of el Nadim's force joined them.

  "Guess they found out what they wanted to know," Bragi said when it became clear that no new attack would develop.

  The damned easterners bounced from rock to rock like knobbly old mountain goats. The rate they were gaining, Mocker thought, he might as well sit down, save his breath and be fresh when they arrived.

  He scooted between two jagged hunks of granite and headed for the nearest tangle of brush. He would ambush them. He squirmed in with the grace of a panicky bear cub... And found himself face to face with a Royalist warrior.

  The man knocked his sword away. Glee animated his leathery face. "You!" He grabbed Mocker's clothing and yanked him forward onto his belly. He jumped astride. The fat man protested, but without much volume.

  "You cheated me one time too many, tubbo."

  El Nadim's harriers charged into view. Not seeing their quarry, they paused to talk.

  A blade caressed Mocker's throat. "One peep, fat boy, and it's all over."

  Mocker lay very still. The soldiers began probing hiding places.

  An arrow streaked off the mountainside. Then another and another. The soldiers fled whence they had come.

  "Bring them out of there," someone ordered. He had an abominable accent.

  Mocker felt his captor tense, torn between obedience and a lust to use his knife. His life hung in the balance. The balance needed tilting. "Hai!" he moaned. "Self, thought same was goner. Thought knives of pestilent foemen would drink blood sure. Months of labor to bring same into trap wasted in blood. Would have been sad end for one of great heroes of war against madman of desert."

  The someone who had spoken waded into the brush. Mocker's setting hen rose from his plump nest. A boot pushed against the fat man's side, rolled him over. He stared up into the unfriendly face of Reskird Kildragon.

  "Hai! Arrived in nick, old friend. Not so happy about self anymore, men of el Nadim. For some strange reason have decided former master magician betrayed same into trap." He forced a laugh.

  "I'm no friend of yours, fat man. Get up."

  Mocker rose. Kildragon bent a
nd recovered his sword. Mocker reached for it. The Trolledyngjan refused to yield it. "Sorry. Thank your heaven that I'm going to go against my better judgment and let you live. Come on. Before your playmates come back with help."

  "Is wise decision," Mocker averred. "Self being intimate friend of Royalist chieftain Haroun. Like so." He held up a pair of chubby fingers pressed tightly together. "Same would be displeased to learn that old friend and chiefest agent met misfortune at hand of professed ally."

  "I wouldn't lean on his protection too much, was I you," Kildragon told him, urging him up the mountainside with an ungentle shove. "The last word we had was that he's dead. That's been months, and nobody has said different since."

  The fat man shivered despite the warmth generated by his exertion. He was going to have to get himself onto his best behavior. A lot of these people would be hunting excuses to pound him.

  It just was not fair. Everywhere he went somebody was out to get him. The whole damned universe had it in for him.

  Kildragon herded him up and across the mountainside and before long he was half-convinced the man was trying to work him to death. "Sit down," the Guildsman told him suddenly, planting him on a boulder. "And stay put."

  He stayed put, more or less, for the next four days.

  That mountainside provided a fair view of the canyon floor. He watched el Nadim make repeated, valiant, futile efforts to break through. The general finally reached the not unreasonable conclusion that doing so would not profit him anyway. It was well known that there were no decent passes through the Kapenrungs. Why believe one assertion of a man proven faithless in other ways?

  Mocker tried to determine the fate of Sajac by examining the dead after el Nadim departed. He found no sign of the old man. Prisoners could not tell him anything. His Royalist companions would not deign to answer his questions.

  He needed to know. Despite el Nadim's admonitions, blind or not, he did not want that nasty creature skulking around his backtrail.