The guard yelped with pain and fell back, allowing Nisreen to slip away.
Kamal grabbed his guard’s arm with both hands and used all his strength to swing him around onto his fallen comrade, sending him slamming into the injured man. Only the guard wasn’t that easily dispatched, and he righted himself with unexpected resilience, using his elbow to pound Kamal in the chest and push him back.
Kamal staggered back, stubbornly hanging on to the man’s hand and righting himself to keep the deadly blade out of reach. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Taymoor and Kolschitzky locked in battle with the two other men, with Rasheed still standing in place, frozen by the sudden outburst of savagery.
He deflected an attempted jab from his adversary and countered it with a punch to the man’s neck that didn’t connect full brunt. As he did, he saw Nisreen standing by one of the large poles, watching in terror.
But not just watching.
Her lips were moving.
She was reciting something.
70
While Kamal had used the long ride to the camp to run various scenarios of what might happen once they were facing Rasheed, Nisreen had used the time differently.
She’d spent it sneaking furtive glances at her forearm, plugging in the right wording for ten days and committing it to memory as much as possible.
She knew she wouldn’t have more than a few seconds to act. On pure instinct and throwing caution to the wind, she decided to use it.
Ten days in the past.
Her lips mouthing the words as fast as they could.
The last things she saw were Rasheed, still riveted in place, stunned by Taymoor’s move—and Kamal’s eyes, wide with shock as he realized what she was doing.
Then the familiar rush, the same sensation of cataclysmic tearing apart and searing reassembly that she’d experienced before, and she was in the tent, in the same spot, naked, frozen with terror—and alone.
Rasheed wasn’t there.
Her mind raced to decide what to do and quickly settled on the only thing she could do.
Save Kamal.
Hoping he was still alive
Hoping the man he was fighting was too stupefied by her disappearance to react, hoping she might have bought Kamal a crucial few seconds that could make the difference between life and death.
She took a few quick steps across the tent, to where she’d last seen Rasheed standing, then positioned herself a couple of steps behind it and did the one thing she thought they wouldn’t expect.
She hadn’t just memorized the version for traveling into the past. She’d also memorized the variant she’d come up with, the one Rasheed had now confirmed she’d got right, the one that would allow travel into the future.
The same future she’d just come from, only a few seconds later.
Which was right now.
She raced through the words, the fierce jolt ripping her apart again, and she was back.
In the tent.
Still naked.
With a fusillade of images scoring direct hits in her frazzled brain.
Taymoor’s face crunching with pain as his opponent’s blade cut into his side.
Kolschitzky, locked in a ferocious tussle with his guard.
Kamal, on the ground, looking dazed, edging back from the janissary who held his blade up and clearly had the upper hand but seemed momentarily stunned and frozen in place by Nisreen’s disappearance.
And Rasheed.
Not where she last saw him, not where she expected him to be.
Instead, he had his saber out and was also circling Kamal, looming over him.
Going in for the kill.
“No,” she screamed.
All heads turned—and for the briefest of moments, the inside of the tent just froze in place, a still-life study in unbound ferocity.
It was just long enough to buy Kamal a reprieve.
* * *
Kamal heard the scream before he saw Nisreen.
She was blocked out by Rasheed, who spun around when he heard it, as did the soldier.
Besides grabbing their attention, her scream did something else. It sent a blast of adrenaline through Kamal, one that was potent enough to cut through the daze, obliterate the pain from the pounding he’d just suffered, and set his battered senses on fire.
But it was all happening too quickly.
He sprang up and launched himself at his stunned and distracted opponent, just as Rasheed began moving toward Nisreen.
His limbs jumped into overdrive, along with his fear.
He caught the guard by surprise with a savage blow to the ear and followed with a knee to the man’s groin that sent him crashing to the carpet. Kamal’s eyes were locked on the yataghan’s blade, but they still registered Nisreen edging backward, deeper into the darker recesses of the tent, with Rasheed rushing toward her.
Everything became a rush of frenzied imagery, a nightmare unfolding at lightning speed.
Wrenching the dagger out of the fallen eunuch’s grip and slitting his throat in the same move.
The jarred image of Rasheed skulking deeper into the tent, his bulk blocking Nisreen from view.
Hurdling over the fallen guard and charging toward Rasheed.
Rasheed’s arm swinging back and lunging as his back rushed closer into view.
Hearing Nisreen’s high-pitched, pained grunt just as he reached Rasheed and tackled him.
Driving his big blade deep into Rasheed’s side.
Hearing him roar with agony as he twisted it upward ferociously before shoving him off Nisreen.
Nisreen staring at him, her face twisted with shock and pain, her hands clutching her belly.
The blood seeping through her fingers.
The look of terror in her eyes as her legs gave way and she tumbled to the ground.
71
Kamal dove to the carpet and scooped her up in his arms.
His hands trembling, he caressed her face; then he moved his gaze downward, at the mess of blood spreading across her midsection. Gently, he moved her fingers away to take a look at her wound.
He had enough experience to know that it was bad.
Very bad.
“Stay with me, hayatim,” he told her, pressing down on the gushing blood, trying to clear a path through the onslaught of emotions crashing through him. “I’m going to take care of this, hayatim. We’re going to fix this.”
Nisreen didn’t reply. Her eyes were moist as she shook her head slowly, ruefully, her eyes alternating between staring into his and shutting tight to block out the waves of pain and dread.
Kamal held back tears as he shot a quick look behind him. Rasheed wasn’t moving. His eyes were locked in a dead upward stare, his midsection a mess of blood and guts. Farther back, he glimpsed a bloodied Taymoor draining every ounce of strength left in him to choke the life of the guard he’d been fighting before letting him drop, scooping up his crutch, and stumbling across the tent to help Kolschitzky, who was locked in a knife fight of his own.
Kamal spun his attention right back to Nisreen, his mind racing for a solution, something, anything that might save her.
He could only see one possibility.
“We have to jump, hayatim. Jump forward. Go back to our time.”
“No—”
“I’ll get you to a hospital,” he insisted. “Vienna will be bigger than now. We’ll be in the city. There are ambulances. People have phones. We’ll get you fixed but we have to do it now.”
Her fingers curled into his. “No,” she muttered. “There’s no time.”
“Of course there is,” he pleaded. “Come on. Say the words. I’ll be right behind you.”
Her fingers clasped his tighter, and her face tightened with resolve. “No, canim. You have to stay. You need to finish this. You have to warn Sobieski.”
“I’ll go with you. We’ll get you looked after; then I’ll come back.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re so close … and there are too ma
ny unknowns. And you know how this works. We could land in the middle of a highway. Or a wall.”
“I’ll wait with you,” he managed, fighting his own tears, trying hard to give off an appearance of confidence. “We’ll get you taken care of—we’ll take our time to plan it better. Then I’ll come back and get it done. I promise.”
She shook her head more forcefully. “I’d have to come back with you. Otherwise, I’ll be gone … after you change everything.”
“So we’ll come back together.”
Her expression softened, as if she was finding some kind of inner peace, some stoic acceptance. “Canim,” she said in between soft coughs, her voice soft, her eyes warm, her hand straining to rise enough to caress his cheek. “We came here for a purpose, and you can make it happen. I know you can. Go. Get it done. Get it done for me, for your brother, for our family … for everything we talked about. I have nothing left to live for.”
“Of course you do—”
Her fingers slipped across to cover his lips as she coughed again before continuing in a faint, faltering voice. “No. It’s too painful. It’s all too painful. I’ll never get over what happened. And I don’t want to live with that pain. Doing this … it’s the only thing that kept me going.” She coughed up some blood, squeezing her eyes shut as she did, clearly ravaged by pain now. Her voice was weakening. “This … and you. You’ve been wonderful … the true Kamal, the one I always kept in my heart.”
“Say the words, hayatim, please … say them. Say them.”
Her touch went lighter. “Go, canim … finish it.”
He couldn’t hold back his tears, and he leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed her, melding his lips into hers, wishing she wouldn’t die if he stayed that way, if he kept her tethered to him as he breathed life into her.
But he couldn’t. He just held her there as her last breath slid into him. He felt her very soul curl deep into him and root itself inside him, and he didn’t want to move, ever, didn’t want to sever that connection, didn’t want to risk having her break free and evaporate into the savage, bloodstained air of that malevolent tent.
But she was gone, and, after a long moment, it sank in.
He pulled back slightly, stared at her resting face. Her eyes were mercifully closed, and her expression was one of peace, not pain.
Perhaps he had managed to somehow help her escape to a warm and safe resting place.
He heard movement behind him and twisted around, his body coiled up defensively.
It was Kolschitzky. He was standing over the dead guard he’d been battling, his back hunched with exhaustion, his arms dangling limply by his side, his right hand holding a bloodied yataghan.
Taymoor lay beside him, but he wasn’t moving.
Kolschitzky looked at Kamal. The Pole was breathing hard, his face animated by the exhaustion, the resolve, and, above all, the bewilderment at what he had just witnessed.
As Kamal held his gaze, all he could think about were two words.
The last words the love of his life had uttered just before she took her final breath.
Finish it.
72
No one else came in.
It was unlikely anything had been overheard, not through the twin sets of thick curtains that blocked the tent’s interior from the outside world, not given the noisy battle raging on the city walls and the preparations for the next day’s long march. Even if the fight had been heard, it was clear that Rasheed’s men took his instructions of not being disturbed with utmost seriousness.
Inside, after Kamal was able to tear himself away from Nisreen’s body, he went around the fallen bodies, checking them quickly while Kolschitzky, armed with two sabers, kept watch by the entrance curtains to the tent.
They were all dead—Rasheed, Taymoor, and the four guards.
And Nisreen.
Kamal lingered for a moment over Taymoor’s body, mixed feelings of anger and regret swamping him. Then he pulled himself away and joined Kolschitzky.
“Doesn’t look like anyone heard anything,” the Pole told him. “The camp’s busy tonight; they’re preparing for the big march tomorrow.”
Kamal nodded, though his mind was already elsewhere. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Kolschitzky was eyeing him quizzically and expectantly.
“You want to explain what I saw?” the Pole finally asked.
Kamal let out a weary breath. “There’ll be time for that later.”
“Everything they said … about the future. About what happened. It’s true?”
“Yes.”
Kolschitzky looked bewildered. “And that thing she did … can you do it too?”
Kamal gave him a reluctant nod.
“What are you…? Zauberers?” His scrambled mind had plucked the German term for sorcerer before remembering to revert to Ottoman. “You’re a Büyücü?”
The question wasn’t that easy to dismiss.
Kamal shrugged. “Only in this respect,” he replied. “Look, we can talk about it later. Right now, we need to figure out what to do.”
He reconsidered the timeline and ordered his thoughts.
“Tomorrow’s Tuesday,” he told Kolschitzky. “Kara Mustafa’s army will leave the camp at dawn to get into position for the attack on Wednesday morning, after the bombing. We need to warn Sobieski before then.” He tried to visualize the map of the region and the various players’ positions. “Sobieski and most of the others should have crossed the Danube and arrived at Tulln today. The rest of the armies will arrive tomorrow; then they’ll all be in place for the ceremonial review on Wednesday.”
“Which is when the suicide bombers will strike.”
“Exactly.” Kamal nodded. “How long a ride is it from here to Tulln?”
Kolschitzky thought quickly. “It’s around five fersahs from where we are. But there’s the Wienerwald standing between us. The most direct way is to take the high road that snakes up the hills and back down to the plains outside Tulln.”
“That’s the road Kara Mustafa’s men will take tomorrow to cross to the other side.”
“It has to be,” the Pole said. “It’s the only passage across. The rest are just small trails and pathways through the valleys and forests.”
“We need to make sure Sobieski and his men are in control of the peak before the Ottoman army gets there,” Kamal said. “We have to get to him and convince him to make a push for it at first light. If he takes command of the higher ground, the sultan’s men will be walking into a trap. They’ll get bogged down on the way up and the hussars will be able to cut them down at will. Then this whole camp will be at his mercy.”
“But it’ll be dangerous for us to take the high road. Kara Mustafa is bound to have dispatched advance patrols to secure it.”
“How else can we get to Tulln?”
“We can go around the hills. Either from the east—the way they brought us here, or from the west, along the Vienna River. We’d be much less likely to run into patrols that way, but it’ll be longer.”
“How much longer?”
The Pole mulled his answer. “During the day, given the terrain … we could do it in three hours.”
“What about right now, in the dead of night? Can you get us there?”
“It might take twice as long, but … yes, I think I can.”
Kamal nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Right now. We need to get going.”
Kolschitzky glanced around the room. “We can cut through the tent covers and sneak out the back. In the dark, we should be able to slip away unseen.”
“We can’t leave like this. If they find the dead bodies, it might change things. It could affect their plans.”
The Pole looked at him quizzically. “What does it matter? Better that they do, no?”
“No. I don’t want to give them any reason to think something’s wrong. We need to keep up the appearance that things are proceeding as planned.”
“But Rasheed is dead.”
Kamal nodded.
“They don’t need to know that.” He took in the grim scene. Then his eyes settled on Rasheed’s body. He formulated a quick plan and turned to Kolschitzky. “You said before you can pass for anyone?”
“Within reason.”
Kamal pointed at Rasheed. “You’ll need to pass for him.”
Kolschitzky’s brow furrowed. Then he shrugged with acceptance. “In the dark … it’s doable.”
Kamal crossed the room and knelt before Nisreen’s body. He knew he couldn’t just leave her lying there like that either. He stared at her solemnly as he laid his hand on her cheek; then he ran his fingers gently up her forehead and through her hair. She was still warm to his touch.
He turned to the Pole. “We’ll start with her.”
73
Kolschitzky made for a surprisingly passable version of Rasheed.
Both men were of around the same height and build. They were both dark skinned and wore their beards in a similar fashion, and Rasheed’s layers of dress—the richly textured robes, the elaborate turban—left very little of him actually visible.
In the dark of night and only illuminated by the flicker of camp torches, Kolschitzky could easily pass for Rasheed. He’d also heard enough of the man’s voice and manner of speech to be able to mimic him should he need to speak. Passing himself off for others was, after all, a talent he’d put to good use already.
For his part, Kamal slipped on the outfit of the guard that Taymoor had strangled. It was the only one that wasn’t drenched in blood. He and Kolschitzky got dressed after dragging the bodies into a far corner of the huge tent, pulling back the layers of thick Persian carpets that covered the ground there, positioning the bodies flat and next to each other, digging up just enough soil to lower them and flatten the edges around them before covering them up with the carpets.
He didn’t want to leave Nisreen next to them. Instead, they half buried her under the carpets across the tent from the others. Before covering her, he gave her one last kiss on the forehead, holding there for a long moment.
Empire of Lies Page 46