by Glen Cook
"I'm hungry," Haaken complained.
"Don't seem to be much game in these parts, does there?"
They had made camp on a rocky hill eight miles northeast of Hellin Daimiel, in the only uncultivated area they could find. Hellin Daimiel was an old city. Its environs had been tamed for ages. Small game, especially agricultural pests, had been eradicated. The youths had eaten nothing but fish for three days, and those were treasures hard-won from irrigation canals.
"What're we going to do?"
Haaken sounded a little frightened.
Bragi did not mention it. He was scared too. They were on their own in a foreign, indifferent land.
"I don't know. I really don't."
"We don't have too many choices."
"I know."
"We can't just stay here. Not only will we starve, we're Trolledyngjan. Somebody's going to jump us for that."
"Yeah. I know." They had had their run-ins already. Trolledyngjans were not popular anywhere near the sea.
"We could go ahead and try the Mercenary's Guild."
"I just don't like the sound of that. All that marching around and saying ‘Yes sir, no sir, by your leave, sir.' I don't think I could take it. I'd pop somebody in the snot box and get myself hung."
"It doesn't sound so bad to me. We could try it. They say you don't have to stay if you don't like it. It isn't like joining a regular army."
"Maybe. Okay? I've been thinking about something else." Bragi rose and moved to a large boulder. He leaned against it and peered out across the plain surrounding Hellin Daimiel.
Even by night the view reflected the studious planning characteristic of these peculiar people. The lights of the planned villages where the farm laborers lived made points on the interstices of a grid. The grid was more clearly discernible by day, in the form of carefully maintained roads and irrigation canals. The city itself was a galaxy in the background.
A whippoorwill struck up its repetitive commentary somewhere downslope. Another vocalized agreement from a distance. A gentle breeze climbed the slope, bringing with it scents of crops still a few weeks short of being stealably ripe.
The lights died away till Bragi was alone with the darkness and stars. They formed an immense silver girdle overhead. He stared at them till one broke free and streaked down the sky. It raced toward Hellin Daimiel.
He shrugged. An omen was an omen. He went and sat across the coals from his brother, who seemed to be asleep sitting up. Softly, he said, "I wonder where mother is now."
Haaken shook all over, and for a moment Bragi was scared something had happened. Haaken was the sort who could become deathly ill without saying a word.
His concern was short-lived. There was enough light in the fire to betray the tears on Haaken's cheeks.
Bragi said nothing. He was homesick too.
After a time, he remarked, "She gave me this locket." He waited till he had Haaken's attention. "She told me we should take it to some people in Hellin Daimiel. To the House of Bastanos."
"That's not people. That's what they call a bank. Where rich men go to borrow money."
"Oh?" He had to think about that. After a few seconds, "People run it, don't they? Maybe that's what she meant. Anyway, we could find out about it before we tried the Guild."
"No. It's too hot down there. They'll hang us. Besides, I don't think Mother wanted us to go there. Not really. Not unless there was nowhere else we could go."
"The excitement should have died down."
"You're fooling yourself, Bragi. I say try the Guild."
"You scared of Hellin Daimiel?" Bragi was. The city was too huge, too foreign, too dangerous.
"Yes. I don't mind admitting it. It's too different to just jump into. Too easy for us to get into something we can't handle because we don't know better. That's why I say go with the Guild."
Bragi saw Haaken's reasoning. The Guild would provide a base of safety while they learned southern ways.
He fingered his mother's gift, battled homesickness and temporized. "In the morning. We'll decide after we've slept on it."
He did not sleep well.
Chapter Seven
Wadi el Kuf
E l Murid stalked around Sebil el Selib like a tiger caged. Would this imprisonment never end? Would that villain Yousif never crack? The desert was on his side, if his advisers were to be believed. Nassef claimed he could stamp his foot and twenty thousand warriors would respond.
Why, then, did the Kingdom of Peace still extend no farther than he could see? Like the Lord Himself, he was running short on patience.
The pressure had been building for months. He was growing increasingly frustrated, increasingly suspicious of Nassef and his gang of self-made generals. He had told no one, not even Meryem, but he had begun to believe that Nassef was keeping him here intentionally, isolating him from his people. He was not sure why Nassef should want it that way.
Sometimes he took his son or daughter along on his walks, explaining the wonders of God's handiwork to them. Over Nassef's objections he had had several scholars brought in to explain some of the less obvious miracles of nature. And he had begun learning to read and write so that he could promulgate his laws in his own hand.
But usually he roamed alone, accompanied only by the Invincibles. The Invincibles were necessary. The minions of the Evil One had tried to murder him a dozen times. Sometimes it seemed his enemies had more men in his camp than he did.
He would greet soldiers by name, study the ever growing barracks-city or inspect the new truck gardens being terraced into the hillsides. The army was devouring the available flatland. The gardens did not provide enough, but they helped. Every vegetable raised here meant one fewer that had to be bought on the coast and transported through the pass. And the fieldwork kept idle hands from turning to the Evil One.
It rained the day El Murid decided to end his confinement. It was not a pleasant rain, but one of those driving, bitter storms that beat down the spirit as easily as they beat down grass and leaves. The rains passed, but left the sky and his mood low, gray and oppressive, with the potential of turning foul.
He summoned the captains of the Invincibles.
His bodyguard now consisted of three thousand men. It formed a personal army independent of that which Nassef commanded. The quiet, mostly nameless men who formed its brotherhood were absolutely faithful and completely incorruptible.
They had, for the past year, been undertaking operations of their own out in the desert. Unlike Nassef's men, they did not concentrate on attacking and looting loyalists. They moved into preponderantly friendly areas and stayed, assuming both administrative and defense functions. They spoke for the Lord, but contained their enthusiasm, proselytizing by example. They did not bother local loyalists as long as the loyalists observed a strict pacifism and tended their own business. The areas they occupied were largely free of strife. They had skirmished with Nassef's men on several occasions because they refused to allow anyone to disturb the peace of their lands.
Once the commanders assembled, El Murid said, "My brother, the Scourge of God, has returned. Has he not?"
"Last night, Disciple," someone volunteered.
"He hasn't come to see me. Someone go get him."
A half minute after an emissary departed, the Disciple added archly, "I'd be indebted if someone could manage to borrow a Harish kill dagger." Though he knew who the senior members of the cult were, and had several in his presence, he wanted to allow them their secrecy. They were useful. "We'll leave it lying around as a reminder of where the final authority lies."'
El Murid's formal audience chamber, before the Malachite Throne, was large and formularized. He had a bent toward show and structure. Petitioners had to come before him and stand at one of several podium-like pieces of furniture, wait their turn to be recognized, then present their plea and any important evidence.
At twenty-two El Murid was a hard, strong-willed, dictatorial leader—once he had suffered through his private
hells of indecision. He no longer brooked defiance. The men and women of Sebil el Selib lived to the letter of his laws.
Less than two minutes passed before an Invincible placed a kill dagger on an evidence stand near the chief petitioner's podium. El Murid smiled his approval and suggested that the man move the blade slightly, so that it could not be seen from the Malachite Throne.
They waited.
Nassef stalked in sullenly. His lips were tight and pale. The Invincible accompanying him wore a smug look. El Murid guessed that there had been an argument, and Nassef had been compelled to concede.
Nassef strode to the central petitioner's podium. He was too angry to examine his surroundings immediately. El Murid could almost read the complaints marshaling behind his brow.
Then Nassef noticed the Invincibles standing stiffly in the shadows. Some of his anger and arrogance deserted him.
"Your war-general at your command, my Lord Disciple."
Nassef went through a further subtle deflation when he spied the kill dagger. Its placement made it appear to be a personal message from the cult, unknown to El Murid himself.
There was a quiet power struggle developing between Nassef and the Invincibles. El Murid, scarcely as ignorant as some of his followers thought, was aware of it, and hoped to use it to dampen Nassef's tendency toward independence.
Sometimes he thought that his brother-in-law was trying to carve out his own private empire.
What El Murid really wanted was a lever on Nassef that he could use to pry himself free of Sebil el Selib.
He could not stand to remain tied down much longer.
He mentioned none of the real grievances he had with his war general. "Scourge of God, you've boasted that you could muster twenty thousand warriors with a word."
"That's true, Enlightened One."
El Murid controlled an impulse to grin. Nassef was going to lay it on heavy. "War general, speak that word. Gather your warriors. I've decided to move on Al Rhemish."
Nassef did not reply immediately. He surveyed the Invincibles. He found no sympathy in their eyes. They were El Murid's hounds. They would respond to his will no matter what he commanded. He looked at the dagger. He looked at El Murid. "It shall be as you command, my Lord Disciple. I'll send the summons as soon as I leave." He chewed his lower lip.
El Murid was mildly surprised. He had not expected Nassef to yield this easily. "Go, then. I'm sure you have a lot to do. I want to start as soon as possible."
"Indeed, Enlightened One. Moving an army to Al Rhemish will take a great deal of preparation. The desert is no friend to the soldier."
"It's a work of the Evil One. Naturally, it serves him. But it can be conquered, even as he can."
Nassef did not respond. He bowed and departed.
El Murid kept tabs. Not all the Invincibles wore white robes and mustered with their companies. A few remained secret members of the fraternity, providing intelligence for their commanders.
Nassef kept his word. He sent his messengers. He gathered his captains. They plunged into the problems inherent in marching a large army across a wasteland.
Satisfied, El Murid almost forgot him.
Then he stole one of his rare evenings with his family.
The Disciple's private life would have scandalized the conservative Invincibles. But he had learned from his attempt to have Meryem testify at his trial. He and she kept their abnormal equality concealed behind closed doors.
His New Castle apartments were sumptuous. Though it would serve as a cistern in time of siege, he even had a large pool in which to relax and bathe.
Meryem met him with the excited smile that had come to mean so much to him. "I was afraid something would keep you."
"Not tonight. Tonight I need you more than they need me." He closed the door and kissed her. "You're a patient woman. A miracle. You've changed so much since El Aquila."
She smiled up at him. "Men change us. Come on. There's no one but family tonight. I'm even doing the cooking myself so the outside can't get in."
He followed her into the next room—and stiffened.
Nassef sat with his son Sidi and the still unnamed girl, telling them some outrageous tale of the desert. El Murid pursed his lips unhappily, but settled to his cushion without a word. Nassef was Meryem's brother, and the children loved him. Especially the girl. Sometimes she would sneak out and follow her uncle all over the valley. She could not believe that her father's enemies were capable of attacking him through her.
"It'll be a while," Meryem told him. "Why don't you relax in the pool? You haven't had a chance all week."
"Me too!" Sidi yelped.
El Murid laughed. "You're going to grow scales like a fish if you spend any more time in the water. All right. Come on. Nassef, when we reach the sea we'll make Sidi our admiral. I can't keep him away from the water."
Nassef rose. "I'll join you. This old skin hasn't been clean for two months. Sidi, I've got a job for you. Show me how to swim. I might need to know if your father is going to take us to the sea."
"What about me?" the girl demanded. She hated the water, but did not want to let her uncle out of her sight. She was beginning to remind her father of her mother at an earlier age.
"You're a girl," Sidi told her. His tone suggested that that was cause enough for her to be thrown into stocks, let alone banned from the bath.
"You might melt, sugar," her father told her. "Let's go, men."
Lying in the cool water, letting it buoy him up, allowed him a relaxation that was missing even in Meryem's arms.
Her relaxed for half an hour. Sidi and Nassef squealed and splashed and laughed and dunked one another. Then he said, "All right, Nassef. Now."
His brother-in-law did not pretend to misunderstand. He hoisted Sidi to the edge of the pool. "Time to get out. Dry yourself off, get dressed and go help your mother."
"How come I have to leave whenever anybody wants to talk?"
"Do as he says, son," El Murid told him. "And make sure you're good and dry before you get dressed."
Sidi was gone in a minute. Nassef said, "I'm beginning to be sorry that I never married. I miss having children."
"You're not too old."
"No. But I'm in the wrong business. Taking a wife would be tempting fate too much, wouldn't it? Fuad would catch me the first time I took the field."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe a soldier shouldn't marry. Too much strain on the family."
Nassef said nothing for several seconds. Then, "We're alone. No ears to hear. No hearts to offend. Can we speak as brothers? As the two who rode out of El Aquila together, and who fought the desert side by side? Simply as Nassef and Micah, men who have too much in common to be at odds?"
"It's a family occasion. Try to keep it at a family level."
"I will. You married my sister, who is my only true friend in this world. I am your brother.
"I'm deeply troubled. We're embarking on a doomed enterprise. My brother, I tell you this out of my love for you, and for no other reason. We can't take Al Rhemish. Not yet."
El Murid conquered his anger. Nassef was following the rules. He could do no less. "I don't understand why not. I look and I listen. I see hosts pass through Sebil el Selib. I hear that we can summon a horde to our banner. I'm told that much of the desert is with us."
"Perfectly true. Though I can't say how much of the desert is on our side. More with us than with our enemies, I think. But it's a big desert. Most people don't care one way or the other. What they really want is for us and the Royalists both to leave them alone."
"Why, then, do you urge me to delay? That's the argument you want to present, isn't it? And I remind you of your own observation that we're alone. You can be as frank as you like."
"All right. Stated simply, twenty thousand warriors don't make an army just by gathering in the same place. My forces are only now beginning to coalesce. My men aren't used to operating in large groups. Neither are the Invincibles. And the men from areas that we've
controlled a long time have lost their battle edge. Moreover, there isn't a man among us, myself included, who has the experience to manage a large force."
"Are you claiming we'll be defeated?"
"No. I'm telling you that we'd be risking it, and that the risk will go down every day that we put off fighting them on their own terms. Which we would be. They would know we were coming. They have their spies. And they have men who do know how armies work."
El Murid said nothing for a minute. First he tried to assess Nassef's sincerity. He could not fault it. Nor could he challenge his brother-in-law's arguments. His frustration at being trapped in Sebil el Selib returned.
He could stand his containment no more. He would tolerate it not one minute longer than it would take to assemble the host.
"My heart tells me to go ahead."
"That's your decision? It's final?"
"It is."
Nassef sighed. "Then I'll do everything I can. Maybe we'll be lucky. I do have one suggestion. When the time comes, take command yourself."
El Murid scrutinized his brother-in-law narrowly.
"Not because I want to shirk responsibility for any defeat. Because the warriors will fight harder for the Disciple than they will for the Scourge of God. That might be the margin between victory and defeat."
Again El Murid had the feeling that Nassef was being sincere. "So be it. Let's go see if Meryem is ready for dinner."
It was a quiet family meal, with few words spoken. El Murid spent much of it examining his ambivalent feelings toward Nassef. As always, Nassef was hard to pin down.
Nassef had argued no harder than a man of conscience should have. Had El Murid misjudged his brother-in-law? Was the news reaching him becoming distorted by the Invincible minds through which it passed?
His frustration mounted as the days turned into weeks. The army grew, but the process was so damnably slow! His advisers frequently reminded him that his followers had to come long distances, often pursued by Royalists, and as they approached Sebil el Selib they had to contend with Yousif's patrols.