Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

by Glen Cook

  He saw doubt. He saw unhappiness. Neither el Nadim nor Hali wanted him along. They feared he would become more burden than help. Nor had they witnessed the drama at the el Habib oasis. For them the amulet was more symbol than reality, without proved efficacy.

  "There will be no Wadi el Kuf," he declared. "And I won't be a burden. I'll neither overrule your commands nor interfere with your operations. I'll be just another soldier. Just a weapon."

  "As you will, Lord," el Nadim replied, without enthusiasm.

  "Shall we attempt it?" El Murid asked.

  El Nadim responded, "It's face them here or face them there, Lord. There we'll have the advantage of having done the unexpected."

  "Then let's stop talking and start doing."

  The country was wild. Chaos had frolicked there, leaving the hills strewn with perilous tumbles of boulders. El Nadim halted at the eastern end of a white plain which was the only memory of an ancient salt lake. The road to Sebil el Selib crawled along its southern flank. The general ordered camp made.

  He rode onward with the Disciple, Hali and the Disciple's bodyguards to examine the salt pan. After a time he remarked, "You were right, Lord. It's a good place to meet them."

  El Murid dismounted. He squatted, wet a finger, touched it to the salt, then tasted. "As I thought. Not mined because it's bad salt. Poisons in it." Childhood memories came, haunted him momentarily. He shook them off. The salt merchant's son was another being, simply someone with whom he shared memories.

  He surveyed his surroundings. The hills were not as tall as he had imagined them, and less rich with cover. And the pan looked all too favorable for western cavalry. He offered his doubts.

  "Let's hope they see only what's visible, Lord," el Nadim replied. "They'll beat themselves." Hali, puzzled, refused to ask the questions puzzling him. El Nadim did not enlighten him. El Murid suspected he was being deliberately vague. When the dust settled the Invincible would be able to stake no claim on having engineered any victory.

  The party continued westward. At the far end of the lakebed el Nadim told Mali, "Choose five hundred Invincibles and hide in those rocks. After dark. Travel the reverse slope so you leave no traces. Take water rations for five days. Don't break cover till the Guild infantry closes with my line."

  "And if they don't?" Mali demanded.

  "Then we'll have won anyway. They have to retreat or break through. They won't have the water to wait us out. Either way we embarrass them."

  El Murid fretted. He would bear the odium if this failed. If it succeeded, el Nadim would harvest the credit. That didn't seem fair. He smiled wearily. He was getting as bad as his followers.

  Hali remarked, "Our scouts say they're on the march, Lord. We won't wait long."

  "Very well." He checked the altitude of the sun. "Time for prayers, gentlemen."

  Hawkwind and the Wahlig reached the western end of the salt pan the following afternoon. Invincible horsemen blocked the road and skirmished with Yousif's riders till the Royalists elected to make camp.

  Confidence filled that camp. The Wahlig had more and better men. He exercised only the caution necessary to abort a night assault.

  El Murid missed the skirmishing. El Nadim had assigned him a small force placed well west of Hali's, where the road to the lakebed wound between steep hills. The Disciple suspected the General simply wanted him out of the way, though his companions were the cream of the Invincibles.

  He did not sleep that night. He could not shake the specter of Wadi el Kuf—and this, though a smaller action, could generate even more devastating repercussions. Sebil el Selib would be vulnerable till the troops arrived from the coast. It would fall to a featherweight attack. He was terrified. He had bet too much on one pass of the dice. But it was too late to stand down.

  He prayed often and hard, beseeching the Lord's aid in his most desperate hour.

  El Nadim roused his men before dawn. He addressed them passionately while they ate a cold breakfast, claiming the whole future of the Movement hinged on their courage. He then arrayed his infantry across the end of the pan, with horsemen stationed on the wings. The slave volunteers he posted in front of his primary line, carrying shovels as well as weapons. His army was in place when dawn broke. A morning breeze rose from behind him.

  He assembled his officers. "Keep the men to the standards," he told them. "Set an example. If the Lord won't yield us the day, let's die facing our enemies."

  He had expressed the same sentiments to the troops, only now he indicated a willingness to cut down any officer who forgot his courage. He told his cavalry commanders, "The breeze is rising. Begin."

  Moments later horsemen began riding back and forth ahead of the infantry. The westbound wind filled with alkaline dust. Horns and drums sounded in the distance. The enemy formed ranks. El Nadim smiled. The Wahlig would challenge him. He moistened a finger, felt the breeze. Not as strong as he had hoped. The dust was not carrying as well as he desired. "Trumpets," he snapped. "Speed them up."

  Bugles called. The cavalrymen urged their mounts to a trot, kicking up more salty dust. El Nadim turned. The sun was about to break over a low, distant mountain, into enemy eyes.

  He examined what he could see of the Wahlig's dispositions. Guild infantry in the center. Light horse on the wings and behind. And the heavy cavalry forming for the first charge, that should be enough to shatter his line. Good again. They were doing the obvious. Exactly what he wanted.

  The breeze was not rising. "Trumpets. Speed them up again. Messenger. I want the slave volunteers to start digging."

  The volunteers used their shovels to hurl the fine, salty earth skyward, putting more dust into the air.

  Let them breathe that, el Nadim thought. Let them become parched of throat and sore of eye. Let them want nothing so badly as they want to break away for a drink. He glanced back. The sun was up. Let them advance into the face of that, glaring off the white lakebed.

  Let the men in iron come, he thought, half blinded as they charge... .

  "They're coining, General," an aide announced.

  Distant trumpets called. Dust boiled up as the chargers started forward. "Recall," el Nadim ordered. "Let them bury their infantry themselves."

  His trumpets sounded. The cavalry fled to the wings. The slave volunteers retreated through the front to form a reserve.

  The enemy advanced, armor gleaming through the dust, pennons fluttering boldly. "You're great, Hawkwind," el Nadim murmured. "But even you can become overconfident."

  His heart hammered. It was going exactly as he wanted. But would that be enough?

  The Wahlig's light horse followed the heavy cavalry, eager to fall on the scattered, terror-stricken infantry Hawkwind's charge would leave in its wake.

  Both waves went to the gallop.

  And when they were two thirds of the way across the lakebed they fell into el Nadim's trap, the trap suggested by a salt man's son.

  It was no manmade trap. Nature herself had placed it there. Out where the old lake had been deepest a bit of water remained trapped beneath a concealing crust of salt and debris. It was seldom more than two feet deep, but that was enough.

  The charging horses, already running shakily on the powdery lakebed, reached the water, broke through the crust. Their impetus was broken. Many of the warhorses fell or dumped their riders. Yousif s light horse hit from behind, worsening the confusion.

  El Nadim signaled the advance. His men poured missile fire into the uproar. Selected veterans ran ahead to hamstring horses and finish dismounted riders.

  El Nadim's horsemen circled the confusion and assaulted Yousif's men from their flanks.

  The enemy broke. El Nadim's horsemen harried them back to their lines, killing scores, then flew back to their stations on their infantry's flanks, howling victoriously.

  "Don't sing yet," the general muttered. "The worst is to come."

  The historians would declare the honors even. Casualties were about equal. But the Guildsmen had been hurled ba
ck, and rendered incapable of delivering another massed charge.

  El Nadim backed away from the brine. "Water for everyone," he ordered. "Horses too. Officers, get those standards aligned. I want every man in his proper position. See to the javelins. Slave volunteers out front with the shovels." The breeze was stronger. The sun had turned the lakebed into a gleaming mirror over which heat waves shimmered. He doubted the enemy could see him.

  "Come on, Yousif," el Nadim muttered. "Don't stall."

  The Wahlig decided to attack before the dust and heat completely debilitated his men. The Guild infantry began its advance.

  "Now we find out." El Nadim moved up to the edge of the brine. When the enemy came in range, he ordered javelins thrown. The Guildsmen took the missiles on their shields, suffering little harm. But the javelins dropped into the water, where they floated haft up and tangled feet. The Guild line grew increasingly ragged.

  The slave volunteers used slings to hurl stones over their comrades' heads, further sapping enemy morale.

  "Now, Hali," el Nadim murmured. "Now is your time."

  And in the distance white boiled out of the rocks and swept down on the enemy's camp and mounts and reserves. The Invincibles were outnumbered, but surprise was with them. They drove off most of the horses and slaughtered hundreds of unprepared warriors before Yousif forced them back into the shelter of the rocks.

  El Nadim was pleased. Execution had been perfect, and the rear attack threat remained.

  But now the Guildsmen were slogging up out of the brine. His own men were half ready to flee. He galloped across the rear of the line, shouting, "Hold them! Thirst is our ally."

  The lines met. His men reeled back a step, then steadied up. Only a handful lost their courage. He chevied most back into the line with strokes from the flat of his blade.

  The Guildsmen were as tough as ever. Without the heat, the sun in their eyes, the bitter dust, without their thirst, it would have been no contest.

  The Guildsmen who had waded the deepest water appeared less than perfectly efficient. They had lost the cohesion of their shield wall, could not get it together again. El Nadim galloped back to his slave volunteers, ordered half to add their weight to that part of the line.

  Javelins and stones rained on that sector. El Nadim's troops pushed forward by sheer body weight. The Guild line bowed. El Nadim signaled his cavalry.

  The majority went to challenge the Wahlig's men, still busy skirmishing with Hali's Invincibles. A handful crossed behind the Guild line to harass Hawkwind's reserves and his least steady company.

  Slowly, slowly, a fracture developed in the mercenary line. El Nadim bellowed with joy, gathered the rest of his reserves and plunged into the fray.

  El Murid tried to follow the battle from a remote perch. He could tell little through the dust and heat shimmer. Nevertheless, it felt right. He gathered his officers and told them. They began placing their men.

  The Guildsmen fought as well as ever they had, as magnificently in defeat as in victory. El Nadim could not rout them. But he drove them into their camp, then broke off to rest his men and water his mounts.

  The victors laughed and congratulated one another, battered though they were. They had beaten Hawkwind! El Nadim withdrew them to their original stations and dared the enemy to try again.

  Hawkwind and the Wahlig chose to withdraw. One Guild company contained Hali while the main force moved out, headed west.

  In the gloaming a man approached El Murid. "They come, Lord. El Nadim did turn them back."

  "The Lord is great." The Disciple could not stifle a grin. "Good. Spread the word."

  The clatter of hooves and tramp of boots swelled in the darkness. A sour aura of disappointment reached the Disciple where he crouched, praying. A small unit passed below. The vanguard, he thought. He had to await the main force...

  The time came. For a long minute terror paralyzed him. He could not shake his recollections of that fox den... Not again. Never again. Not even for the Lord...

  He leapt up and screamed, "There is but one God, and he is our Lord!" And, "Attend me now, O Angel of the Lord!"

  His amulet blazed, illuminating the slope. He flung his arm down. Lightning hammered the canyon walls. Boulders flew around like toys at the hand of a petulant child. The earth quivered, shivered, shook. The far slope groaned in protest, then collapsed.

  The roar of falling rock obliterated the cries from below.

  When the rumbling stopped El Murid ordered the Invincibles down to finish the survivors.

  He settled on a stone and wept, releasing all the fear that had plagued him for days.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lightning Strikes

  C ome on, Reskird. You're dogging it."

  Haroun cocked his head. That was the one called Bragi. The northern youths argued all the time. The more so since their company had cracked on the battle line. The one called Reskird was wounded. His friends ragged him mercilessly while they helped him walk.

  The clang of weapons round the rearguard redoubled. The Disciple's men were keyed to a fever pitch by their success. He wished he could drop back and use his shaghûn's skills, but his father insisted he remain with his Guild charges.

  This feuding between northmen was irritating. He dismounted. "Put him on my horse. Then you won't have to carry him."

  The one called Haaken grumbled, "Fool probably never learned to ride. You ever been on a horse, Reskird?"

  Kildragon's response was as testy. "I know one's arse when I... "

  A brilliant light flared on the slope to the south. A man screamed words Haroun did not catch. Then the lightning came.

  Boulders thundered into the column. Horses reared, screamed, bolted. Men cried out. Confusion quickly became panic.

  Haroun retained his self-control. He faced the light, began mumbling a spell...

  A fist-sized stone struck his chest. The wind fled him. He felt bones crack. Red pain flooded him. Hands grabbed him, kept him from falling, hoisted him. He groaned once, then darkness descended.

  A sliver of moon hung low in the east. Haroun saw nothing else, and that only as through a glass of murky water...

  "He's coming around." That was one of the northerners. He forced his vision to focus, rolled his head. The brothers squatted beside him. Haaken had his arm in a light sling. He appeared to be covered with dried blood.

  Around them, now, Haroun discerned other shapes, men sitting quietly, waiting. "What happened?"

  Bragi said, "Some sorcerer dumped a mountain on us."

  "I know that. After that."

  "We threw you on the horse and headed for the wizard just as his men charged us. We cut our way through and wound up here with the General. More men keep turning up. Your father is out looking for strays."

  "How bad was it?"

  The mercenary shrugged. He was floating on the edge of shock. For that matter, everyone around them seemed dulled, turned inward. It had been bad, then. A major defeat, consuming all the hopes raised by the advent of the Guildsmen.

  Haroun tried to rise. Haaken made him lie still. "Broken ribs," he growled. "You'll poke a hole in your lung."

  "But my father—"

  "Sit on him," Bragi suggested.

  Haaken said, "Your old man's gotten along without you so far."

  Still Haroun tried to rise. Pain bolted across his chest. Lying still was the only way to beat it.

  "That's better," Bragi said.

  "You cut your way out? Through the Invincibles?" He vaguely recalled a clash of arms and flashes of men in white.

  "They're not so hot when they're not on their horses," Haaken said. "Go to sleep. Getting excited won't do you no good."

  Despite himself, Haroun followed that advice. His body insisted.

  Yousif was standing over him when next he wakened. His father's left arm was heavily bandaged. His clothing was tattered and bloody. Fuad was there too, apparently unharmed, but Haroun had no eyes for his uncle. Wearily, his father was interroga
ting the Guildsmen through Megelin Radetic.

  His father looked so old! So tired. So filled with despair.

  Haroun croaked, "Megelin," overjoyed that fate had not seen fit to slay the old man. His death would have made the disaster complete.

  His father knelt and gripped his shoulder, as demonstrative a gesture as the man could manage. Then duty called him elsewhere. Megelin stayed, seated cross-legged, talking softly. Haroun understood only a third of what he heard. The old scholar seemed to be talking about economic forces in one of the western kingdoms and deliberately ignoring present straits. Sleep closed in again.

  When next he wakened the sun had risen. He was lying on a rolling litter. He could see no one who was not injured. His mercenary saviors had vanished.

  Megelin appeared, drawn by some signal from the bearers. "Where is everybody, Megelin?"

  Radetic replied, "Those who are able are trying to stall the pursuit."

  "They're close?"

  "Very. They smell blood. They want to finish it."

  But Sir Tury Hawkwind in defeat proved more magnificent than Sir Tury Hawkwind achieving victory. The defeated column reached el Aswad safely.

  Physicians set and bound Haroun's ribs. He was up and around almost immediately, against medical advice, blindly trying to encompass the enormity of the disaster.

  Two thirds of the force had been lost. Most had been slain in the landslide and following attack. "But that's history," his father told him. "Now the enemy is at the gate and we don't have enough soldiers to man the walls."

  It was true. El Nadim had pressed the chase right to the gate and though he did not have the manpower to undertake a proper siege, he had begun siegework. He had erected a fortified camp and begun constructing engines. His men were digging a ditch and erecting a barricade across the road. That looked like the first step toward circumvallation.

  "What are they up to?" Haroun asked Megelin. "Three thousand men can't take el Aswad."

  Radetic was glum. "You forget. Nothing is impossible to the True Believer."