A half-dozen of Malik's guards had joined him by now, breathing hard from their frantic night ride. So: these were all who had avoided the evening's mushroom-laden stew. Aidan recognized Quami, Malik's stout Afari lieutenant, a veteran with the scarred face of a war eagle. He conferred with his master, and then headed off to the flank.
Grave danger.
Malik raised his voice. "One for one, Brian? One of yours for every one of mine?"
Brian spit on the carpet. "That's no deal at all. Malik! It's all of us, or nothing."
"You drive a hard bargain—" Malik called. Then his sword hand swept down.
Aidan heard the sound of broken glass, and screams, and a howl of warning.
"Stand fast!" Brian yelled, but his eyes shifted side to side and he cocked his head, listening. Gunshots echoed from the direction of the kitchen. More screams, and a crash. Every man in the room strained to hear. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to run to reinforce the guards.
"Let 'em do their job," Brian said. "We have more men than Malik. The advantage is ours."
For three more minutes Aidan gripped his rifle, watching the imprisoned Wakil and his family, wondering what would happen next. Would Brian actually kill Abu Ali to gain freedom? What of Kai? And if his heart was cold enough for that, what of the women?
Suddenly there was cheering from the kitchen. A distant voice followed: "Got 'em! We whipped 'em! Look at 'em run!"
Peeking sideways through the window, Aidan watched several of Malik's men running from the kitchen, sprinting back across the lawn to safety. Several shots were fired at them, to little effect.
But Aidan's spirits soared.
"How do you like that, great Malik!" Brian screamed as Malik's men scrambled away. To Kai's eye he seemed to be trembling, his excitement raised to absolute fever pitch.
Kai took sober stock of his family's chances. It was possible, perhaps even likely, that they would all die in this conflict. There would be no easy answers. Having gone this far, Brian could not allow himself to be taken alive.
They had whispered around the map, hoping to conceal their intentions. Useless, of course. There would be no coordinated flight. Slave rebellions always fractured in the end. Some would flee to the swamps, some try west. They would be tracked and retrieved, or slain.
These slaves thought they had some measure of control, when the truth was, they had none at all. They would never be allowed to escape, unless recapture was certain. If they had killed in their flight, there would be payment in blood levied against them or those left behind. In a world dependant upon the labor of men, there was no level of force or terror too great to insure Brian's efforts would end a miserable, lethal failure.
Kai could just see his father's back, and realized that, slowly and steadily, the Wakil had been twisting and testing the leather strap binding his wrists. By dint of strenuous effort he had worked himself halfway free.
No, by Al-Aziz, the Victorious, Abu Ali had one arm completely free! Ali was still worrying at his own bonds as his father leapt up.
"Shite! Look out!" cried Olaf as Abu Ali sprang at him.
Abu Ali twisted the sword from Olaf's hands, and the Wakil's massive shoulder smashed the slave into the wall. One of Berhar's redheaded slaves raced in with upraised club. Abu Ali impaled him, then wheeled to face his next opponent.
Cormac leveled his rifle at the Wakil's back. Cormac's rifle discharged deafeningly, and a black scorch mark with a ragged center opened low on Abu Ali's back. "Father!" Kai screamed in horror.
His voice was lost in a concatenation of grief and rage. Only Elenya's venomous "Bastard!" registered above the general outcry.
"Shut up! All of you!" Brian said, and tore cloth away from the smoking wound.
Kai watched the entire thing as if through soot-stained glass, unable to credit the scene with reality. Even from where he lay, he could see that crimson pulsed from his father's mouth with every breath.
"Fool!" Brian snarled. He smashed Cormac across the face with his fist, then crouched back at the Wakil's side. "Damn!" His head shook slowly,, with genuine regret. "I said there would be more blood, Wakil. I'd hoped it wouldn't be yours."
Abu Ali gasped for breath. "These things . . . are easier . . . to start than to stop. End it now."
Father. Kai longed to crawl across the rug, to hold his father, touch him, comfort him. His inability to move made him burn with shame.
Malik's voice sounded distantly from the outside grounds. "What was that shot? Is my family wounded? I swear by Bilal. . ."
Brian went to the window. "Your brother was accidentally shot," he called. "Accidentally. He needs a doctor. Time is running out, Malik."
"For both of us," cried the Wakil's brother, voice trembling with rage. "By dawn I'll have enough men here to take the house, and crucify every one of you. Any slave who leaves the house now, with the sole exception of the dog who pulled the trigger, will receive no more than a whipping— I swear."
Kai watched the servants exchange nervous glances. Was this truth? Would it prove to be their only chance for life? For his father's survival? Any personal fear had vanished. Help my father, he prayed. Please.
Malik clarified his position. "Every slave who defies me, I swear by almighty Allah I will impale him alive—he will be insane days before he dies. You have half an hour to decide."
Kai knew this was no idle threat. Malik was perfectly capable of such a thing. And at this moment, Kai was capable of assisting him.
Brian turned to his allies. "Any of ye who want to go—go."
The servants muttered among themselves, but held firm. "We wait. He'll break."
"No, Brian," Elenya said. Her young voice was strong. "He won't."
"Ye don't think he loves his brother?"
"Of course he does." Seated against the wall, hands bound in her lap, Elenya straightened with pride. "But he loves honor more. If my father dies, nothing will stop him."
Kai saw Elenya square her shoulders, her face fierce as any wild thing, and for the very first time knew that his little sister had become a woman. Pride warmed his blood. Well said.
Brian considered the girl's words. Kai could see that he was taking them seriously. More seriously, perhaps, than if the words had come from any of the men. "Have ye a suggestion, girl?"
Elenya was quiet. Bitta had regained her senses, her eyes sharp despite her scalp's ragged wound. Lamiya whispered to her, and Bitta nodded, her eyes never leaving Brian.
"May I speak?" Lamiya said. Despite the fact that her hands were tied behind her back, she had managed to regain a bit of her imperial bearing.
Ali's voice rose in alarm. "Lamiya. No! Stay out of this."
"I am already in this," she said. "The men seem to have made a mess of this entire business. Perhaps it is time that the women try."
Brian nodded. "What 'ave ye?"
"Ali is right," Abu Ali said, struggling for breath. His face had grown ashy and sunken. "I am an old man. Don't place yourself at greater risk."
Lamiya's face was filled with love and concern. "You have many more hunts to ride. And I make up my own mind."
Lamiya's hands were untied, and she stood. Her legs were numb from lack of circulation, and she would have wobbled, had not her will been like iron.
"My maid," she said, pointing to Bitta. No man here had ever seen Bitta's lethal skills. It was quite possible the slaves would underestimate her, give her temporary freedom.
To her delight, Olaf cut Bitta free. Her bodyguard's fingers danced subtly, making silent signals. Shall I kill him?
Lamiya pulled at her right ear. No. A swift hand sign. Wait.
They were escorted out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs. With every step, Lamiya strove to compose herself. This situation was extraordinarily dangerous. Too many lines had been crossed. Men had already died, and the Wakil himself was gravely wounded.
This was, possibly, the most important action she had taken in her young life. Her aunt
made decisions more important every day. Lamiya had never held men's lives in her hands before, and she found it both terrifying and exhilarating.
Were they watching her? She raised her chest, walked as she had been taught, that practiced stride that gave the illusion of floating along the ground. Even in her nightgown, she was royalty, and it was vital that they not forget.
She might have been wearing a jeweled gown as she descended the stairs, Brian and three of his men just behind her. The slaves at the bottom, rifles in hand, watched her, slack-jawed.
"Open the door," she said. A short stout quarryman started to do it, and then shook his head and glanced at Brian.
"What do you want me to do?" asked the quarryman, dazed.
"As she said," Brian snarled.
Lamiya refused even to acknowledge the quarryman's presence as she strode out into the night, Bitta at her side.
Malik and his men met them a hundred cubits from the house. His fierce eyes softened a bit as he greeted her. "Lamiya," he said. "Have any of these misbegotten ghosts—"
"I am untouched."
Malik gave a grim nod, and then let his eyes focus on Brian again.
Lamiya had the strangest sense at that moment. It was as if she did not exist. As if Dar Kush itself did not exist. In all the world, there might have been only Malik and Brian. Malik was still. Utterly still, until his calm seemed like the eye of a hurricane, only inverted: this inactivity contained a force of monstrous violence, held back only by an iron discipline.
She found herself momentarily unable to speak, then almost blurted out her words, as if fearing what terrible action might erupt in that silent void. "By authority of the Empress," she said, "I request that you make truce with this man, that Wakil Abu Ali may receive medical treatment, and the lives of the hostages be spared."
"What manner of truce?" Malik asked, a malevolent rage concealed behind the formal reply.
"The two of you talk."
Malik and Brian faced each other, hate shimmering the air between them like a mirage.
"I will give you your brother," Brian said, "to whom no harm was intended."
"What manner of truce?" repeated Malik.
"My people need time," Brian said. "We flee to the west, with our hostages, but will release them at dawn—if we see no sign of pursuit."
Malik paused, thinking. Please, Lamiya pled in silence. Do this, Uncle. It is the only way.
Finally, he spoke. "I give you until Asr, the day's first prayer."
"And for what, I wonder, will you pray tomorrow?" Brian asked.
"That my sword finds your liver." Lamiya held her breath.
The corners of Brian's mouth lifted. "Insh'Allah." Malik's grim smile might have been a mirror image of Brian's.
"A slow death if any member of my family is hurt," Malik said.
"And a quick death to them if you follow before dawn. Agreed?" Brian spit on his palm and extended his hand. The two warriors clasped, and Lamiya exhaled.
It was done.
Kai could do nothing but watch as his father was bound to a stretcher constructed from two bamboo spears and the spun-hemp wall painting of the Shrine of the Fathers. Then three slaves moved the Wakil from his patch of bloodied carpet onto the makeshift sling. Although it was clear that every movement pained the Wakil, still he attempted to command and advise. "You should not do this thing," he said to Lamiya.
"Forgive me, Father," she said. "I cannot obey you."
"Wakil," Aidan said. "For what it is worth, I swear that no harm will come to the miss."
Abu Ali's eyes bored into him. "Swear to my son, who was your friend."
Aidan turned to Kai. "I swear, Kai, my life for her honor." He had known Aidan O'Dere for half his life, and knew his mannerisms well enough to win at lying games. This game was being played for far higher stakes than a slave girl's favors, or a joint of beef. Emotions knotted, Kai managed to nod. "I believe him, Father."
Step by laborious step, the Wakil was carried from the house to the front yard. Armed men faced each other across an invisible line, with rifles held at the ready. One step at a time, the hostages approached the exchange point under rifle coverage. Kai's mind raced, trying to anticipate what his uncle was thinking. What Brian might be planning . . .
And then he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face. Ali's cheeks and lips were taut with strain, his eyes wild and fixed on his wounded father.
Kai could actually see Ali's temples quivering, the cords standing out in his neck, and knew that it was requiring every bit of strength in his brother's soul, and more, to restrain himself from suicidal action. Kai knew he was measuring distances, calculating movements.
The Wakil moaned in pain as one of his bearers stumbled. Ali's lips drew back from his teeth.
Cormac was very close at hand.
Allah preserve us all.
Malik stood with a pair of wide-wheeled wagons and several sets of horses. As the Wakil was exchanged for transportation, Brian continued to hold a pistol to the patriarch's head.
"You are a man of honor," Brian said to Malik.
"When my word is given to another man."
"Malik!" Lamiya said sharply. "Your word is given to me."
Malik bowed slightly, without taking his eyes from Brian for an instant. "Of course."
Brian whistled, and slaves began running from the house, crowding into the wagons. Horses were fleeing from the stable, almost as if they were being driven. What. . . ?
Kai had no time to ponder that as he and Lamiya were moved toward the wagons as well. Ali twisted furiously at his bound hands, keeping his eyes all the time on Cormac and his rifle.
Kai had barely begun to formulate his own plan when Ali's hands slipped free of their bonds. He ripped a sword out of a slave's hands and crashed it down on Cormac's collarbone, nearly cutting him in half.
"Ali!" his father cried hoarsely.
"Die!" said Ali as he raised the sword again. Shots were fired on both sides, and one of Malik's men dropped from a shattered leg.
A thunderous explosion shook the earth, and Kai turned in time to see the roof fly off the stable on a column of gray and white smoke. So, the quarrymen had indeed utilized that new shipment of blasting gel. Damn them.
Burning bits of wood rained from the sky, panicked horses galloped through the rolling smoke, and bullets sent men diving for cover. Kai felt hands fall roughly upon him, felt the breath whuff from his lungs as he was dragged to the ground. Dizzy, unable to think, he was dragged by three slaves as chaos exploded in a melee of swords and rifles, screams and flame and frenzied shouts. He heard Lamiya shout: "Bitta! Protect Elenya!"
He tried to shout for help, but a canvas bag was pushed over his head and he couldn't breathe.
Now his only concern was a breath of air. He felt himself carried on shoulders, heard whispers and cries and distant explosions of gunfire. None of them meant anything. He couldn't breathe, couldn't draw a breath into his lungs, and he sucked against the bag and drew nothing and then again, and nothing, and a red-black cloud boiled at the edge of his perception, pain and panic bursting behind his eyes and—
Darkness.
Malik had secured his wounded brother, his niece, Babatunde, and Bitta. It took two men to restrain the Ibo bodyguard when her sharp eyes spotted a horse-drawn wagon racing to the west.
Qwami followed her pointing finger, and understood at once.
"Let us give chase," he said. 'The woman is right!"
"No!" Malik thundered. The chains that bound his own actions now ensnared those in his service. This matter would be played out as Allah had written it. In the end, all those responsible would be carrion. "To my side! The house and barn are burning." This was truth: black smoke boiled from the kitchen wing, and the stench of burning hay curled from the horse barn.
"But the slaves are escaping!" Qwami protested. Bitta's eyes were wild as she strained against Malik's men.
"Tend to the house and stable." Malik's teeth were pressed
tightly together. "I gave my word."
"Malik!" Ali cried. "They have Lamiya! They have Kai!"
Malik grabbed Ali by the vest. "I gave my word."
"I didn't give mine."
A flash of lightning crackled behind Malik's eyes, and a single whisper of rage slipped between the links of his control. Before he could stop himself his fist had flashed out, striking Ali to the ground. The younger man lay stunned.
"There will be time for steel later," Malik said between clenched teeth. "I know where they go. Not north: that is toward my own castle, and my men would intercept them. Not east, toward Berhar's estate. Too many guards. The ocean lies south—they would be trapped. No, they will head west. Quench the house fires first, those of vengeance later."
He bent to Abu Ali, manner gentled by his concern. "Brother. Let me see." Malik peeled back the cloth.
The Wakil's wounds bubbled crimson. Abu Ali struggled for breath, each inhalation a heroic effort. "I fear you got the worst of your deal. One old dog isn't worth fifty slaves."
"Rest, Brother. Life's road has not yet ended."
Ali crouched at his father's side. "Father, we will make pilgrimage together."
Abu Ali shook his head, his crimsoned mouth curling in a sad smile. "I fear not, my son. Your father is closer to Paradise than Mecca."
Chapter Fifty-six
Although the kitchen fires had been extinguished, Ali still tasted smoke from Dar Kush's blackened west end. His father lay with his back resting against a tree. With each breath a bit more life seemed to seep away. Bitta, Babatunde, and Elenya ministered to him as best they could. At last, as the sun began to rise, he bade them perform their morning prayers. Nasab Asad, unsheathed, gleamed beside him.
Ali did as he was commanded, then rose and went to Abu Ali, whose lips still moved in prayer. Ali waited for him to finish, forcing himself not to think of Lamiya, his future wife, gone and in the hands of the pigbellies. He could not think of her, or he would go mad.
At last the Wakil opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on his elder son. "Here, Ali," he said, voice a raspy blur. "This is yours now." He handed Ali the precious jambaya.
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