Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Michael was led down several flights of stairs, through dark corridors, and finally to a heavy iron door. A key was inserted, and he was shoved inside so hard he almost lost his balance.

  The sight that met his eyes would have made even the bravest man recoil. A sickening stench permeated the air. Chains were attached to the rock walls, and there were several bloodstained tables. Weapons of torture hung from rusted racks. It was obvious this was a place of great evil.

  He was clapped into chains and slammed against the wall. A man dressed in a black robe that was edged with silver embroidery appeared as if from nowhere.

  "So, Akhdar 'em Akraba, you are in my hands at last. How foolish of me to waste effort trying to capture you, when all I had to do was leave my front door open. I will soon display your dead body at my front gate, so all will know that my power is mightier than yours."

  Michael stared with insolence into the black eyes of the man that could be none other than Sheik Sidi Ahmed himself.

  "This meeting is overdue, Turkish dog," Michael snarled.

  Sidi moved slowly toward him, a cruel smile curving his thin lips. "You have the insolence of your father, but I believe the time will come when you will beg for death to release you."

  "I will never beg you."

  Sidi snapped his fingers and motioned for someone to come forward. "Turn the insolent Inglizi's face to the wall and remove his robe."

  Two guards immediately complied. Michael's face was ground into the slimy rock, and he felt his robe being ripped from his back. He yanked against the chains, straining his muscles to get free, but the chains held fast.

  "Every man has something he fears—every man has vulnerability," Sidi taunted. "I wonder how long it will take me to find yours? I have yet to find your father's, but I shall before he dies."

  Michael only laughed. "Do what you will and be done with it. If you can't break my father, you can't break me either. Get on with it, or do you intend to talk me to death?"

  Sidi's voice came out with the intensity of the whiplash. "You are as uncooperative as your father, but I'll find your weakness, and then his."

  "I think not."

  "I will ask you questions, and you will answer."

  Michael merely straightened his shoulders.

  "Where is my nephew going to strike, and when?"

  "Why would I know? I don't even know your nephew."

  Sidi's voice was silken. "Do you play games with me? I know my nephew, Prince Khaldun, is your champion. I've had you watched since you saved him from death on the ship from England."

  "Your cutthroats are bungling fools." Michael sneered. "It's to be hoped that the rest of your soldiers have been better trained than those I've met thus far."

  Sidi's voice had an edge to it now, and Michael knew he'd struck a raw spot. "What do you mean?"

  "You sent your men to kill Khaldun on board the Iberia, and they failed. They later tried to capture me and failed in that. You even attempted to abduct Lady Mallory and blundered there, too. It's hard to fear anyone who is so incompetent," Michael taunted.

  With an angry yell, Sidi uncoiled his whip. Before Michael could say another word, the lash snaked out and cut into his back. The pain ripped through his body, but he closed his eyes, and he thought of how his father would expect him to resist.

  "Insolent dog!" Sidi said as he lashed out at Michael once more. The sting of the whip forced the very breath from Michael's body, and he clamped his teeth together to keep from crying out in pain.

  He tried to think of something that would make him forget about the pain. He opened his mind to the vision of a pair of blue eyes. He reminded himself of the softness of Mallory's skin, as the whip continued to cut through the air.

  "Cry out!" Sidi said, his voice coming out in an angry hiss. "Beg for mercy and I may spare you." His voice rose in volume. "Beg, you son of a desert sheepherder!"

  "Never," Michael whispered, as his knees buckled from the force of the whip.

  Again and again the whip cracked through the air.

  "Ask me to stop," Sidi's voice became more insistent.

  "May God damn your soul to hell," Michael said, biting his lip so hard it drew blood. He tried to hold onto the image of Mallory's blue eyes, but they were slipping away as pain became the only reality. The whip cut deeply, and he slumped forward, into a bottomless black abyss.

  * * *

  Mallory sat in the garden beneath a shade tree, impatiently waiting for Fizal's return. He'd been gone for hours, and it was almost sundown. Suppose something happened to him, she thought frantically. What if he was captured and was now in prison himself?

  She heard the sound of soft footsteps, and glanced up to see Fizal's aunt approaching with a tray of food. The woman smiled at Mallory and offered her the tray.

  Smiling and nodding in return, Mallory lifted the glass to her lips, finding it was fruit juice. "Thank you. It is delicious."

  The woman placed the tray on Mallory lap. After she'd returned to the house, Mallory nibbled on a piece of cheese. She tore off a bit of kishk, the flat Egyptian bread she had become accustomed to, and ate it with relish. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Evidently Fizal's aunt and uncle were very poor, but they gladly shared their fare with her.

  Fizal's aunt and uncle had retired for the night, leaving Mallory alone in the small room they used as a sitting room. The candle burned low, and still she waited for Fizal. When the door opened, he stood there looking glum.

  Mallory was on her feet. "Did you talk to your cousin?"

  "Yes, and he's agreed to help us."

  She clasped her hands. "That's wonderful!"

  "Not so wonderful, lady. He has asked to guard the tower but does not go on duty for three days."

  Mallory's face fell. "That will be too late."

  "I fear it will be," Fizal agreed. "I should take you away from the city before trouble comes."

  "I will not leave until I know about my husband's father. Has your cousin seen him?"

  "No, lady. Jabl will only be allowed to guard the door, and is not permitted contact with the prisoner. He tells me there is one guard at the door and one inside who has the key to the cells. It will not be easy to subdue them both."

  "Nevertheless, you must return to your cousin and beseech him to find a way to help us. I fear they will kill my husband's father when the fighting begins."

  Fizal saw the circles beneath her eyes. He had come to admire this woman who would not give up, even against impossible odds. "I'll talk to Jabl again tonight, and we will try to work out a plan. But you should rest, lady."

  Mallory nodded. "I am weary, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep."

  He lifted the candle and placed it in her hand. "My aunt has prepared a bedroom for you. You should sleep now."

  "I'll try, but don't forget I will be waiting for your return." She reached out and touched his hand. "How can I thank you for all you have done?"

  Fizal smiled, his chest swelling with pride. "I am willing to die for you, lady."

  Mallory frowned. Never would she understand the fatalistic attitude of the Egyptians. Never would she forget the loyalty they gave unquestioningly.

  * * *

  Two guards supported Michael's unconscious body between them, while a third guard unlocked the cell. Raile ran forward and slid his arms around his son.

  "That bastard!" he ground out, pushing one of the men away from Michael. "Who has done this to my son?"

  The guards grinned, shrugged, and left, locking the door behind them.

  With considerable effort, Raile managed to carry Michael to the bed, where he gently laid him on his stomach. He felt sick inside when he saw how brutally Michael had been whipped. Each lash mark was like a pain in his own body. Michael's wounds needed attention immediately, so Raile pushed his anger to the back of his mind.

  Michael stirred and moaned when Raile bathed his back, but he lost consciousness again and his father was grateful. After Raile had cleansed the lacer
ations, there was little more he could do because he had no medication. He knew Michael would be in a great deal of pain when he awoke.

  Raile paced the floor like a wild animal. He'd been in the cell for so long that he had begun to think there was no escape. But now, he was determined to get his son out of there, even if he had to plead with that devil, Sidi.

  Raile kept vigil over his son while anger grew in his heart. Sidi would pay for this—if it cost Raile his life, the day would come when he would have his revenge.

  He heard Michael groan in his sleep, and wondered what Kassidy would think when she learned what had happened.

  Michael moaned, and Raile rushed to him. Michael gritted his teeth and managed to gain his feet, but he was so unsteady, he had to lean on his father.

  "You shouldn't be up yet," Raile told him. "You have been badly injured, Michael."

  "I'll not let that man defeat me."

  "Who did this to you?"

  "Our friend, Sidi." Michael raised pain-filled eyes to her father. "Did he use the whip on you?"

  "No. I was not harmed in any way. As you can see, he's allowed me to live in comfort, if you can call being caged like an animal comfort. I'll kill him for what he's done to you!"

  "This was his way to strike at you, Father. But I told him nothing."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He wanted to know about Khaldun and his army, and when they would attack."

  Raile's heart contracted. Michael had the same proud spirit of his mother. "So you endured his whip in silence to save your friends."

  "I can confess to you that I wanted to cry out, but I wouldn't give that man the satisfaction of hearing me beg."

  "He's cunning, Michael—ambitious and dangerous."

  Michael's legs almost buckled under him, and his father led him to the bed. "You should rest."

  "No. I need to regain my strength."

  "Michael, you're badly injured, and we have nothing to put on the wounds. I doubt you could even walk across the cell without my support."

  "I have to. Have you another shirt?"

  "Michael, you aren't thinking rationally. "You can't wear a shirt with those wounds."

  "I must. Bind me so the blood won't soak through."

  "The blood would dry and stick to the shirt," Raile reasoned. "It'll hurt like hell when you remove it."

  "I can't think about that now, Father. When the battle begins, we have to be ready. I know Khaldun will come for us."

  Raile helped Michael sit on the bed, and then went to his valise. "I'll do as you ask, Michael, but I fear we will regret it later."

  "I'll endure anything to get us out of here. I have a feeling Sidi will send for you next, and I don't know what he'd do to you now. He's a madman!"

  Raile took one of his white shirts and ripped it so he could bind it around Michael. "I wish I had some ointment to put on your wounds."

  Michael winced in pain. "Just do it quickly. I can stand anything if it doesn't last too long."

  * * *

  Mallory was sleeping fretfully in the small bedroom at the back of the house. It was oppressively hot, and no breeze stirred the curtains at the window. In her dream state, Mallory imagined she was again the prisoner of the Arabs, and she cried out in distress.

  "Lady," a worried voice spoke from the other side of the curtained doorway. "Lady, awaken."

  Mallory sat up. "Fizal?"

  "Yes, lady. "I have good news to tell you. Hurry, we must make haste."

  Mallory shook her head to clear it. "Just one moment, and I'll join you."

  She dressed quickly and pushed her foot into the soft red leather boots. When she moved out of the bedroom, Fizal and his aunt were waiting for her.

  She looked at Fizal expectantly. "What has happened? Did you find a way for us to get into the tower?"

  "Yes, lady. My cousin offered to stand in for the guard on duty tonight. The man was only too willing to agree. Is that not fortunate for us?"

  "Do you mean your cousin is guarding my father-in-law tonight?"

  "He will be on duty for three more hours, lady. We must hurry. And do not forget about the other two guards. We will have to overcome them."

  Mallory smiled at Fizal. "Thank you."

  "There is no need for thanks. I do this for you and the great one."

  The elderly woman smiled widely and handed Mallory a black burka, saying something Mallory could not understand.

  Fizal translated. "My aunt says you are to have her best burka."

  Mallory leaned forward and hugged the tiny woman who had taken her into her home without asking questions. "Please express my gratitude to your aunt. Tell her how much I appreciate her kindness."

  When Fizal spoke to his aunt, she bowed and touched Mallory's hand. "She says she wishes Allah's blessing on you."

  Mallory pulled the veil over her face. "Let us leave immediately."

  Chapter 25

  The half-moon gave off little light as it hung above the ancient city of Caldoia. The oxcart that carried Mallory and Fizal rolled along with its load of cheese and goats' milk. The streets were filled with frantic people who paid little attention to Mallory and Fizal, but conversed fearfully as they prepared for war.

  Mallory sat beside Fizal, her head bent, and her white hands tucked beneath her veil. "I noticed your aunt and uncle were packing when we left. I hope you warned them not to stay in the city."

  "They are leaving for the Bedouin camp where my aunt was born. They will already have passed through the gate."

  She held her breath when several armed guards approached, and didn't let it out until they rode past.

  "Fear not, lady," Fizal said, "no one will question that you are not what you seem."

  She bit her trembling lip. "I never thought I'd be so frightened."

  "I can yet take you back," he said hopefully.

  "Never—we go forward."

  The cart creaked and groaned so slowly over the rutted street that Mallory wanted to scream. Her heart was beating in her throat as a group of over fifty soldiers rode past.

  "I fear they go to engage Prince Khaldun in battle," Fizal observed.

  "I know you want to be with him at this time, Fizal."

  "I will join him after we have tweaked Sidi's nose, by taking the great Inglizi out of his grasp."

  As they passed a bazaar that was closing for the night, Fizal's voice rose excitedly. "There, lady, look ahead and you will see the tower where they keep the prisoner."

  Mallory raised her eyes and was suddenly overcome with the magnitude of the task that awaited them. "It looks so formidable. How will we ever get in there?"

  "Put your trust in me, lady. I will get you in—and if Allah is willing, I will get you safely out again."

  * * *

  Michael saw that his father was sleeping, so he turned to stare out the window helplessly. He was beginning to lose hope, but he couldn't let his father suspect. Three days had passed since he entered Caldoia. Surely if Khaldun was going to attack, he would have done so by now. Why was he delaying? He knew the answer to that— Khaldun was giving him more time to get his father out.

  He turned suddenly, and pain ripped through his back, leaving him gasping. He clenched his fists and stiffened his body until the pain subsided a bit.

  Michael's mind turned to his new bride. They had known one another such a short time, but she had aroused feelings in him that he'd never had before.

  He realized that he and his father would never leave Sidi's lair alive. If only he knew that Mallory was with child, and the DeWinter line would continue, he could die without remorse.

  He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. He had badly bungled his attempt to rescue his father. He had many regrets, but he wasn't sorry he was with his father. If they were going to die, let it be together. But how his mother and sister would grieve—for that he was sorry.

  Would Mallory grieve? He wondered.

  * * *

  Fizal halted the cart at the back d
oor of the tower, and jumped to the ground. He banged on the door with his fists, while Mallory waited in the cart.

  The door was suddenly thrown wide, and a man in a green uniform barred the way. She watched the exchange between the two men, and it appeared that they were arguing. She surmised that this was not Jabl. The surly look on the guard's face told her that he was none too happy at being disturbed.

  At last Fizal returned to the cart and spoke under his breath to Mallory. "Keep your head down." He shoved a basket into her hand. "He knows me as Jabl's cousin, and I have convinced him that you are Jabl's sister, come to bring his dinner."

  When Mallory and Fizal entered the tower, bright torches illuminated the large anteroom. The guard gave them a muffled command and unlocked a heavy wooden door which closed behind them. Mallory heard a key grind in the lock. There was no turning back now, they could only go forward.

  They moved through a labyrinth of hallways and then ascended steps until at last they came to a room were two men sat at a table playing backgammon. When they stood up, Mallory saw that one man wore a ring of keys at his waist, and she knew the other would be Jabl.

  Fizal engaged both men in conversation, and although she couldn't understand them, she knew he was explaining that he was Jabl's cousin and that Mallory was his sister. The man was easily convinced, because he dropped back in the chair while Jabl approached Mallory.

  He spoke in a whisper. "You will distract the guard by offering him food from your basket. All you need say to him is molokhiya, for that is his favorite meat dish."

  Mallory nodded, glad for the heavy veil she wore so they wouldn't see how she trembled with fear. Taking her courage in hand, she moved forward, pronouncing the unfamiliar Arab word over and over to herself. As she approached the guard, he glanced up at her, and she flipped aside the heavy cloth that covered the basket.

  "Molokhiya?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice how badly she was trembling.

  He grinned widely and reached inside the basket. Greedily, he attacked the meat-and-rice dish.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mallory watched Fizal approach. With the hilt of a heavy sword, he came down hard on the back of the guard's head and the man crumpled to the floor.