The Hoard of Mhorrer

by M. F. W. Curran

  William was still staring into the fissure.

  ‘Captain?’ Peruzo said again. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘A lost opportunity,’ William replied sadly, and turned his back on Thomas Richmond’s grave.

  V

  They found Hisham’s head a mile down the road, impaled on a spike and surrounded by the heads of five other scouts. Already flies had clustered around the slowly congealing blood oozing down the spike’s shaft.

  Sheikh Fahd was enraged, his voice echoing throughout the mountains as he screamed his venom to the sky.

  William rode back to the column. The riders had stopped and there were murmurs of dissension. ‘What has happened?’ Peruzo asked as William approached.

  William swatted a fly from his face. ‘The sheikh’s personal bodyguard is dead. They ambushed him and the rest of the scouts while we struggled with the wagon.’

  Peruzo bowed his head. ‘They were fools, Captain.’

  ‘No, Peruzo, they were not fools,’ William disagreed. ‘These were some of our sheikh’s most trusted men. I think Hisham was close to Sheikh Fahd. He feels his death as dearly as his brother’s . No, they weren’t fools. Our enemy is cunning. They used the trap at the ridge as a diversion.’ William took a sip of water. ‘They are weakening us, Peruzo. Taking bites out of our courage, gradually.’

  ‘It is a good strategy. Look . . .’ Peruzo said, nodding to the Bedouin riders around them.

  William searched their faces and saw doubt and fear. The attacks were undermining their resolve. ‘We must get to this Valley of Fire before dusk. The battle must take place today,’ William insisted and took another sip of water. He turned his horse and kicked in his heels to ride back to the front of the army, Sheikh Fahd having ridden a few yards away in private to grieve.

  William hung back with the other two sheikhs, who looked on gravely. He could understand the sheikh’s loss, but had no time for tact. He trotted his horse over, much to the consternation of the Bedouins.

  Sheikh Fahd turned angrily in his saddle. For a moment his rage remained, and then he held up his hand to stop his bodyguards from hauling William back. ‘What is it?’ he demanded, and wiped his wet eyes. ‘You disturb me now?’

  ‘We have to go on, Sheikh Fahd. We have no more time to mourn. Is the valley far from here?’ William said.

  ‘It’s over the next rise. And then it swings low into the gorge. Beyond that is the valley,’ Sheikh Fahd confirmed. ‘We could be there in two hours or less.’

  ‘Let’s make it less, sir,’ William said, striving to hearten the sheikh. ‘Our enemy knows our weaknesses and will continue to demoralize us if we take too long to face them. Let us surprise them instead. We no longer have the wagon to slow us down, and it has been a while since these horses galloped.’

  Sheikh Fahd looked bewildered. ‘These passes are not for galloping, my friend.’

  ‘Then we will be careful. We cannot risk another night where the Rassis can attack us at their leisure.’

  Sheikh Fahd pondered. ‘I would like my revenge today.’

  ‘And I would like to end my mission,’ William concurred.

  ‘So we will end this now,’ Sheikh Fahd announced brightly. He shouted to the riders and smiled. ‘Today I will take vengeance for Hisham, for Jamillah and for my brother.’

  ‘And I will draw my sword with you, sir,’ William told him. ‘As allies.’

  ‘As friends’ Sheikh Fahd corrected him, and reached over to shake William’s hand.

  VI

  The sun was over the peak and heading down to the west of the Valley of Fire. The valley lay in shadow In the morning the rising sun would set it alight, the red and orange rocks would dazzle and shine, a thick heat haze would merge sky and horizon, and the temperature would soar, closed in by these towering walls.

  But in the late afternoon, the valley was not so intimidating. It would have been ordinary apart from the single mountain that rose at the end of the gorge, its steep slopes tapering to a point where a temple sat, built of ebony-coloured stone. A single track wove its way along the valley floor to the foot of that mountain, and there it stopped abruptly against its face, secret paths snaking up from there on.

  And it was quiet. So deathly quiet that only the sound of sand blowing in on a breeze could be heard.

  Presently, as more afternoon shadows formed in the valley, there was a rumble of thousands of hoofs. The Bedouin army arrived and deployed across the valley, hundreds wide, in ranks of four.

  And as they formed, d ark shadows appeared on the mountain at the foot of the valley. Shadows that seemed to come alive. William knew who these shapes were, and knew that they were not ghosts, but warriors of a nature that made him tremble at the thought of battle.

  They were the Rassis Cult.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Through the Fire

  I

  ‘We could have done with Mazin’s cannon,’ Peruzo said to William as he squinted towards the mountain, its squat mass casting a long imposing shadow across the valley He sighted movement in the foothills, and some of the younger monks with sharper eyes noted the occasional dark figure emerge from among the rocks.

  Slowly but surely these figures drew up in a narrow line at the base of the mountain.

  ‘What do you reckon their range is?’ William asked as he watched patiently.

  With those bows? I would say up to one hundred and eighty yards, judging by the attack on the camp yesterday . . .’ Peruzo grinned. ‘Our Baker rifles can better that.’

  Sheikh Fahd galloped down the line with the three sheikhs; all were eager to fight, despite the loss of the Suwarka. ‘We will charge and take them head-on!’ Sheikh Fahd announced triumphantly, waving his great shining sword above his head to the roar of approval from the Bedouins.

  William held up his hand. ‘Forgive me, sir, but battles are not won through rash actions. If we attack now we are charging a fortress. We would lose many men.’

  ‘They will die for Allah!’ Sheikh Fahd barked at him. ‘We are not afraid!’

  ‘It is not bravery that I question,’ William urged. ‘The Rassis are strong in defensive positions. We learned that much in the ambush at the oasis. That temple at the summit must surely be their base. If it is, they will have it well defended. We will be cut down before we get within a dozen yards of striking them, as Mazin’s men were at the oasis, but much, much worse.’

  ‘Mazin’s men were foolish. There is nothing weak in Ayaida steel, Captain Saxon,’ Sheikh Fahd assured him.

  ‘Indeed, sir, there is not. But the enemy have bows. They have already claimed scores of Bedouins from a simple ambush. If we charge in blindly, we could lose a quarter of this army in one volley. Then victory will be beyond us.’

  Sheikh Fahd tightened his jaw and stroked the neck of his horse. He relaxed a little, replacing his scimitar in its scabbard. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I can use the rifles as a screen. When the Rassis realize they do not have our range, They will move closer, and then at my signal you will charge to meet them,’ William outlined.

  Sheikh Fahd appeared pleased. ‘It will draw them out of safety,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It gives them less time to shoot back. I like this plan.’

  ‘We will lead the way, and then you will form up behind us,’ William said. ‘Pass by my men, and we will join you in the charge.’

  ‘It will be done!’ Sheikh Fahd roared and galloped away to meet with Anwar and Galal.

  Peruzo waited patiently, The brothers more cautious than the hot-blooded Bedouins. ‘What are your orders, Captain?’ the lieutenant asked.

  ‘How many crack shots do we have in the company?’ William asked him.

  ‘Well there’s Garibaldi, Argento, Cristiano, Donato . . .’ Peruzo replied, running off a list. ‘The others are fair, but only really accurate up to one hundred and fifty yards, perhaps less. So, fourteen men in total.’

  ‘Sixteen men,’ William corrected. ‘You and I, also. The othe
rs we’ll hold in reserve’

  ‘What about Marco?’ Peruzo said.

  ‘He will join the sheikhs’ camels at the rear, along with the remaining brothers’

  ‘That is sure to please him,’ Peruzo teased.

  ‘Pleased or not, those are my orders,’ William retorted.

  II

  The sound of the horses lining up was clamorous. At the head of the three ranks of riders were the sixteen skirmishers on their horses, their Baker rifles slung over their shoulders, other weapons strapped to their saddles. William had divided the men into four groups of four, spread out across the centre of the line. The Bedouins had left gaps to pass by the monks during the charge. William rode at the centre of these groups with Brothers Argento, Vincent and Donato. Peruzo took the left flank with three other brothers, including Brother Filippo the physician.

  Their horses gained momentum as William steered the monks ahead, closing to four hundred yards from the mountain. He hoped Peruzo’s calculations were correct. If the enemy could fire beyond two hundred and fifty yards, he would have no choice but to order the charge.

  Ahead, William could see figures dressed in dark blue robes and armour. They were slight, like thin shadows, and emerged without ceremony, appearing at once at the foot of the mountain while more came in sight at the clefts in the rocky slopes.

  The rhythm of the horse had caught him now and William’s heart pounded in his chest. For several moments he thought about Adriana, thought about her face, her lips, the smell of her hair .. . And then he remembered Marco at the rear. He had said nothing to him before leading the attack; no words of comfort, nor of farewell. He hoped he would see the boy again.

  Upwards of two hundred yards. William was half-expecting the arrows to fly, but none fell. Encouraged by this, he held up his hand, pulling on the reins. His horse yielded with a roll of dust. The other monks halted almost as one, and while it took time for the Bedouins behind them to register that they were stopping, halt they did, their mounts protesting.

  William leapt from his horse, unslung his rifle and adjusted the belt of ammunition that hung at his hip. Brother Argento was at his heels, and then at his side, already loading his rifle as he ran. The two other monks were following close behind, their rifles at high port. At one hundred and ninety yards they stopped and raised their rifles, aiming at the dark blue figures. William took a single glance left and right to find the brothers were at the same mark, and aiming at the Rassis.

  He didn’t need a second look to know they were ready. ‘FIRE!’ he yelled.

  The sixteen rifles echoed in the valley like tiny rock falls, spitting out smoke and fire.

  William could not tell if they hit their targets, but then at once cheers came from the riders behind them. William turned to see Sheikh Fahd raise his sword aloft, beaming triumphantly at William. As the smoke cleared they saw the results: nine men, perhaps more, had fallen. They were few, but a start.

  ‘Independent fire!’ William shouted to the monks.

  Each brother began reloading and firing, round after round after round. Their rate was impressive, taking less than ten seconds to load and discharge. Most of the rounds found their target, and one by one the dark blue figures began to fall. In a minute, William had counted almost three dozen dead.

  Elated, he cheered them on, bewildered by their enemies’ apparent inability to retaliate. Loading again, spitting the bullet into the barrel and then ramming the linen patch, he raised his rifle to take aim. Then as his finger tensed on the trigger, he stiffened in dismay. Up ahead of him a previous casualty was rising to his feet again – like a ghost.

  And then, unbelievably, more ‘dead’ warriors got to their feet. Some continued to lie in the dust, but in a matter of seconds, half of the previous slain were alive again.

  Brother Argento faltered. He looked over his shoulder to William with an expression of despair.

  ‘Dammit, Argento!’ William shouted. ‘Keep on firing!’

  Argento raised his rifle and aimed. Pausing at the last moment, he raised his sight and targeted the dab of dark blue that was the head of one warrior. He uttered a short prayer and squeezed the trigger. Through the smoke he saw a fan of crimson envelop the warrior’s shoulders in a cloud, and the figure collapsed.

  ‘Aim for the head! The head!’ Argento screamed himself hoarse through the smoke.

  Another fusillade, and more of these ghostly warriors fell, some to rise again, others staying down. From the slopes, shadows slid out of the clefts and climbed down, moving silently to the lower quarter of the mountain. They reappeared quickly, positioned themselves at new ledges, and William saw a movement of weaponry . . .

  . . . Archers.

  He raised his arm aloft and waved at Sheikh Fahd, who was continuing to watch the men of the Church firing into the ranks of Rassis and almost missed the signal. With one hand holding aloft his sword, he gripped his reins with the other and yelled to the riders of the Sinai: ‘For Allah!’ He kicked in his heels as the first flight of arrows sailed from the mountainside.

  William saw shafts rise in unison and then dip and come hurtling down. He signalled the retreat and all fell back apart from Donato, who had always been the fastest loader in the Order. He had squeezed off one shot as William signalled to the sheikh, but was now almost loaded again when William ordered them back. Donato raised his rifle as the Arabs galloped past; timing it just before one of them blocked his view, he fired.

  He might have seen the target fall to the sands, and he might have heard the cry of triumph from the Bedouins as they charged towards their enemy, but the volley was on him too soon.

  The brothers were halfway to the horses when the arrows landed. They struck the ground around where the skirmishers had stood. Any Bedouin rider who had reached this point was a target, and many Arabs fell to the ground, their mounts or themselves impaled by the thick black shafts. Some mounts were struck in the neck, rearing up with death cries to collapse on other horses and their riders. One fell in front of two riders and these were pulled over, rider and beast in a tangle of breaking bones.

  Brother Donato was struck twice, one arrow through his thigh, while a breath later an arrow pierced his neck. Blood spurted from his mouth as he stood motionless for a moment, his right hand at his leg, the other struggling with the arrow through his throat. William turned to see him stagger as the dust of the charging horses threatened to consume him, and then he was gone.

  William turned and ran for his horse. Brother Argento was there before him, the charger pawing the ground for his master.

  ‘Another volley!’ Argento shouted as William swung up into the saddle. Both watched as the sky above the riders turned grey and the hail tumbled down on the Bedouins.

  ‘A hundred arrows,’ William reckoned. ‘Just a hundred. But they’ll take many men with each volley.’ Between them and the rear of the charging mass of riders were dead or dying Bedouins and their horses, scores of them. The first volley had been timed well.

  William dropped his rifle to the ground and pulled his sword free: Engrin’s sword – the blade the old man had entrusted to him so many weeks ago. ‘The day we have been waiting for is upon us, gentlemen,’ William said. ‘This is the day we take the Hoard of Mhorrer!’

  The monks drew their weapons. Peruzo pulled his short blade free and pointed it towards the charging Bedouins.

  ‘For the Church! For God! For all of Mankind!’ William yelled and kicked in his heels.

  Marco saw the battle unfold as he sat with the remaining five monks of the Order. Jericho waited nearby his fingers flexing on the reins.

  ‘Donato has fallen,’ said Brother Michael.

  Brother Jericho nodded sadly.

  ‘We should attack!’ Marco cried impatiently ‘Why are we waiting?’

  ‘To watch after you, boy’ said a gruff monk behind them. Marco did not know his name, just another face that they travelled with.

  ‘It is your uncle’s orders, Marco. We are to stay he
re and wait,’ Brother Jericho said, but he too felt impetuous, itching to charge.

  ‘For what?’ Marco said.

  ‘For the next battle,’ Jericho replied, though he was unsure as well.

  ‘Do you think they’ll leave some for us?’ Brother Michael asked.

  Jericho didn’t know and continued to watch as another volley of arrows fell upon the charging Bedouins, the greycoat line closing in fast behind them.

  III

  It was like riding an earthquake. Each charge was the same, chaos in one direction, the dead piling up behind them. William saw Bedouins fall in front of him, fearing their tumbling bodies would trip his horse, but the animal was instinctual, dodging this way and that, bending around the fallen.

  Before him two Bedouins were slain, one with several arrows in his chest, another colliding with the rider’s horse. William’s horse leapt, its hoof catching the trailing leg of another mount. There was a sickening snap, and William believed his horse must fall, but it galloped on, its leg only bruised by the clash.

  William could no longer see the flights of arrows. Brothers Argento and Paolo were lost in the turbulence of galloping horses and Bedouins, and there was no sight of Peruzo and the rest of the company.

  Another Arab fell at William’s side and rolled away, before the charging pack opened up and William hauled back on his horse’s reins, almost going over the animal’s neck. Now the course of the battle was appallingly clear. William turned his steed about and watched as wave after wave of Bedouins were hacked down by the blue ghosts that fell upon them, striking with lightning-quick blades. William saw five Bedouins charge, their swords held high; one of the Rassis was trampled instantly, but the others sidestepped and leapt from the ground, cutting great arcs across the riders. One by one, the Bedouins toppled from their mounts, suffering gushing wounds and severed limbs. Resolutely, the ghost warriors advanced and attacked another wave of the Ayaida, slashing and carving, effortlessly.