With Mercy Towards None

by Glen Cook

  El Murid frowned as he listened. Nassef seemed lost in the chaos of his thoughts, some of which he was verbalizing. He had never seen his brother-in-law this devastated, this indecisive, this much at a loss for what to do. The possible death of Karim was not something he had calculated into his plans. His habit of anticipating contingencies had failed him. Fate had found his blind spot. He had not taken into account the mortality of himself and his intimates.

  "Men die in wartime, Nassef. And they won't all be soldiers we don't know, mourned only in some remote mud hut. Meryem's passing should have taught you that."

  "The lesson didn't sink in. One dirty trick... That whole campaign is going to go to Hell now. Karim was the only one who understood what I wanted. The only one who knew the whole plan. I wonder if they got anything out of him? What kind of an arrangement did he make... ? I have to go out there. I'm the only one who can keep it moving. The only one who can get that whoreson bin Yousif. I'll leave el-Kader here. He knows this project. He can finish up."

  Before El Murid commented or could ask questions his brother-in-law rushed away. An hour later Mowaffak reported that Nassef had ridden east with a large band of Invincibles.

  El-Kader assumed Nassef's role smoothly. He forced Dunno Scuttari's surrender the following day.

  Nassef's dam collapsed the day following that. The flood severely damaged the dike facings on the city's outer island. Natives muttered about omens.

  We have had too much talk about Fate and omens lately, El Murid thought. And I am as guilty as the worst of them. It's time for a sermon of admonition. We're back-sliding.

  He was preparing the speech when Esmat relayed the report from the observer they had sent to Ipopotam.

  "The lot? All six killed?" El Murid demanded. "That's hard to believe, Esmat. They were the best."

  "Nevertheless, Lord. Our man didn't see who or how, unfortunately. He simply found them dead on the road. The natives wouldn't tell him what had happened. He returned before he suffered the same fate."

  "All right. It's too late to save the next regular courier. What's our supply look like? We should be in fair shape. Things have been going well. I haven't called you much lately."

  "True, Lord. I'd guess sixteen days. Longer if we ration."

  "Oh. Not as good as I thought. Too tight, in fact." His nerves began to fray. "Find el-Kader."

  The argument with el-Kader became bitter. Stunned by the Disciple's suggestion, the general said, "Just abandon the confrontation line, Lord? With an enemy army on its way? Why? What kind of sense is that?"

  El Murid felt foolish as he replied, "The Lord wills it."

  "What?" Sarcastically, el-Kader observed, "Then the Lord has become a ninny overnight. And I can't credit that. Lord, we have treaties with Ipopotam. How are we supposed to seduce our enemies if we can't keep faith with our friends?"

  "It has to be done," El Murid insisted. But he could muster none of the fiery conviction that usually fueled his statements. El-Kader's resistance stiffened. It was plain that his prophet's demands had nothing to do with the Lord's will. "General, it's necessary that my domains encompass those of Ipopotam."

  "Oh?" el-Kader mused. "Yourdomains?" Louder, "I think I understand, Lord. And I suggest you find a diplomatic solution. The Itaskians are moving. Their army is like none we've faced before. I'll need every man to fight them. The future of the Kingdom of Peace will be decided on the Scarlotti, not in Ipopotam."

  "There isn't time... Are you refusing me?"

  "I'm sorry, Lord. I am. I must. My conscience won't let me favor one man's vice over the welfare of the Host of Illumination."

  El Murid exploded. "How admirable you are, el-Kader. I'd applaud did I not know you a thief and profiteer. I take it that it's within the scope of your conscience to let your relatives plunder their countrymen?"

  El-Kader's face became taut. But he ignored the remark. "Lord, if the Itaskians defeat us... "

  "I order you to move against Ipopotam!" He was becoming more frightened with every second of delay.

  "And I refuse, Lord. With all due respect. However, if you get the Scourge of God to direct me otherwise... "

  "There isn't time for that!" El Murid glared at the richly decorated walls of what, till a few days earlier, had been the private audience chamber of the King of Dunno Scuttari. He whirled and stalked to a tall, massive wooden door. He shoved, shouted, "Mowaffak!"

  El-Kader stiffened. It was no secret that Hali was El Murid's liaison with the Harish cult.

  Hali stepped inside. His eyes were cold. His face was dead.

  "Will you reconsider, General?" El Murid demanded.

  "I'll give you the western recruits and ten thousand of our own people. Nothing more. I won't go myself. I have to defend the Scarlotti line."

  El Murid's jaw tightened. This el-Kader was stubborn. Not even fear of the Harish would compel him to abandon his duty. He would yield nothing more.

  He was a valuable man. No need wasting him in anger. "Mowaffak, I appoint you commander of the army just created. We're going to occupy Ipopotam."

  Hali's right eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. "As you command, Lord. When shall we begin?" El Murid glanced away. El-Kader did not. Hali shrugged as if to say, "What can I do?"

  "Immediately, Mowaffak. And I'll accompany you." A growing, unreasoning panic taunted him. He felt the walls of the universe closing in. "That's all. Both of you. Get out of here. Give the orders. There isn't much time."

  Two days after the Disciple's departure southward, two bedraggled, confused Itaskian survivors of Karim's Altean debacle reached Dunno Scuttari. There consternation and confusion deepened when they could locate no one who knew anything about the negotiations which had brought them south. El-Kader had them thrown into a dungeon.

  The general continued preparing for the advent of the northern army, unaware that its commander and his own were co-conspirators.

  Sidi and Yasmid, left behind by their father, drove their Invincible babysitters to distraction with their bickering. They always squabbled when their father was absent.

  Sidi was young, but perfectly aware that he was being deprived of his patrimony. He was possessed by a growing, diamond-hard hatred for his sister.

  Chapter Twelve:

  END OF A LEGEND

  The death of Karim did not halt the invasion of Altea. The Host of Illumination came on, but its advance became confused, frenetic, without direction. The war bands simply roamed, killed, raped, and destroyed. The warriors did not know what their goals were.

  "I'm exhausted, Beloul," Haroun said. "There're just too many of them." He lay back on a grassy hillside, staring at a sky that promised rain. "This charging here to stop this band and there to... "

  Beloul settled to the grass beside him, sitting cross-legged. "It's grinding us all down, Lord." He plucked a stem of grass and rolled it between his fingers, squeezing out the juice. "We can't sustain it."

  "We have to. If they break through here... If they finish Altea and Kavelin, and manage their treachery with the Itaskian Duke... What'll be left? It'll be over."

  "I doubt it, Lord. The Guildsmen will continue. We'll fight. And the thieves will fall out soon enough. Can you imagine El Murid being satisfied with half the spoils? When he wants an empire spanning Ilkazar's historical boundaries?"

  "Despair stalks me, Beloul. I don't think he can be stopped. He's done the impossible."

  "No war is over till the last battle is fought, Lord."

  "You begin to sound like Radetic."

  Beloul shrugged. "With age comes wisdom, Lord. And Radetic was both old and wise. For a foreigner. Let us recount our victories instead of forecounting our defeats. Karim is gone. The Duke's treachery has been forestalled."

  "Who's that there?"

  "What?"

  "Someone's coming."

  "Looks like Shadek."

  El Senoussi cantered up. "There's news from Dunno Scuttari, Lord."

  "At last. You look grim, Shadek. Is i
t that bad?"

  "It's worse, Lord. A man's face can't express it."

  Haroun threw anI told you look at Beloul. "Well?"

  "The Scourge of God has kept his promise. He took the city."

  Haroun surged into a sitting position. "What? Don't joke, Shadek. That's impossible."

  "Nevertheless, Lord."

  "But how? Where did he get the sailors and boats? How did he scale the inner walls?"

  "The Scourge of God sees things hidden from us ordinary mortals, Lord. He does the thing that would occur to no one else. He and the Disciple rode into the city, Lord."

  "They surrendered without a fight? You can't make me believe that, Shadek."

  "No. They fought. Valiantly. But the Scourge of God changed the course of the river and attacked them through the city's watergate. That huge bridge he was building from the north bank? That engineers said would never work? Just a diversion."

  Softly, Haroun asked, "What do you say now, Beloul? You know how that's going to hit them north of the river? They'll give up without a fight. He can't be stopped anymore."

  "The final battle isn't lost or won, Lord."

  "Yes, yes, I know. Megelin junior. But it's only a matter of time. Shadek... You have that grey look. I take it there's more."

  "Indeed, Lord. There's more. The Scourge of God has decided to replace Karim with himself. He's probably here by now."

  "I expected that. He takes defeat personally. What else?"

  "El Murid has given his pet Invincible, Mowaffak Hali, his own army. And ordered him to occupy Ipopotam."

  Haroun grinned. "Ha! So! You hear that, Beloul? The fat man and his friend did their job. He's desperate. This'll destroy the credibility of his diplomacy. Nobody will believe him anymore. If only the northern army would strike while he's gone and Nassef is out here... "

  "I doubt that would help much, Lord," el Senoussi opined. "El-Kader commands the Host. He's no moron. At worst he would persevere till the Scourge of God bailed him out."

  Haroun frowned. "You insist on extinguishing every spark of hope, don't you Shadek?"

  "I'm sorry, Lord. I but relate the truths I see."

  "Yes. I know. So. The Scourge of God has come to our part of the board. How can we make his stay here miserable?"

  Sadly, Haroun had to admit that there was little they could do. His army hadn't the strength or the staying power. The predations of the roving war parties were crushing the Altean will to resist. Crown Prince Raithel's army was the sole native force still solid and reliable. The Prince's men, too, were exhausted.

  "What about those Guildsmen?" el Senoussi asked.

  "Still licking their wounds in the Bergwold," Beloul replied. "I was up there the other day. That boy is trying to rebuild with Altean stragglers. He had a little over two hundred men. Maybe three."

  "They won't be much help, then."

  "Only as a rallying point. That battle on the hill didn't hurt their reputation."

  Haroun observed, "We may all end up hiding in the Bergwold. Shadek, locate the Scourge of God. Keep an eye on him."

  Nassef found Prince Raithel first, just fifteen miles west of the Colberg. He shattered the Altean army. The Prince barely escaped with his life. Two thirds of his soldiers did not.

  Nassef then turned to Haroun. He started boxing the Royalists in.

  Altea seemed to be taking its last pained gasps of freedom. Only the Bergwold and a handful of fortified towns remained unconquered.

  The fat man wakened suddenly, every nerve shrieking that something was wrong. Frozen by fear, he moved nothing but his eyelids.

  The campfire had burned low, but still cast a red glow. He probed the shadows. Nothing.

  What was it?

  There was a frightening stillness to the night. He turned till he could make out the huge, blanket-buried lump of Gouch.

  There was a fly walking on the big man's naked eyeball. Its wings caught the glow of the coals, giving the eye an eerie look of motion.

  Mocker hurled himself at the big man. "Gouch! You wake up." His hands closed on an arm grown cold. "Hai! Gouch! Come on. Self, am frightened by game."

  He knew it was no game. The fly had betrayed the truth.

  Gouch had taken terrible wounds in their last fight. They had slain six Invincibles! A half dozen of the most determined fighters in the world. It had been too big a task.

  It was a miracle that the big man had lasted this long.

  "Woe! Gouch! Please! Do not leave self alone."

  They had become close. Mocker, though he had expected the worst, could not accept it.

  "Am accursed," he muttered. "Am carrier of death, like bearer of plague. Should be expunged from face of earth."

  For a time he just sat beside his friend, damning himself, mourning, and wondering what he would do now. Finally, he rose and began collecting rocks. The cairn he built was not much, but it showed that he cared. He would not have made the effort for anyone else.

  He muttered as he worked. "Self, am in no wise able to continue task here. Enemy catching on. Same being intelligent, will send bigger party next time round. Same will be inhamperable. Must assay alternate course, designed to inconvenience religious dolts."

  He fluttered round the camp till sunrise. Then he loaded his donkey and headed north, toward lands where he might more effectively prosecute his personal war. He narrowly avoided colliding with El Murid's southbound invasion force.

  The Duke of Greyfells, who had moved south slowly while awaiting confirmation of his negotiations with Karim, finally learned of Karim's death. He was furious. Then he learned that Nassef had replaced his subordinate in the Lesser Kingdoms.

  Altea was a remote theater. He would not be noticed there.

  In disguise, guarded by his most intimate supporters, he rode south to renegotiate treacheries that had promised him the Itaskian Crown and partition of the west.

  His second in command, a bitter enemy, allowed him a head start, then rushed the northern army toward Dunno Scuttari.

  It met el-Kader and the Host of Illumination on a plain near the town of Pircheaen, twenty-two miles north of the Scarlotti. The armies skirmished throughout a brisk autumn day. Neither commander was prepared to commit himself. The exchanges of the second day were more savage but no more conclusive. Both sides claimed victory.

  El-Kader withdrew during the night. But the Itaskians did not follow up with an advance toward Dunno Scuttari. Instead, they turned east, hoping to force a crossing of the River Scarlotti somewhere away from the most heavily defended crossings.

  El-Kader recrossed the river, then marched parallel to the Itaskians.

  "We're in a bad spot," Beloul told his king. He held a crude map of the area west of the Bergwold. "He's hemmed us in. He has men here, here, here... " One by one, he indicated the locations of eight war bands, each at least the equal of Haroun's own. The Royalists were surrounded on all but the Bergwold side.

  "Can we break out?"

  "Maybe. But it looks grim."

  Haroun sighed, surveyed the countryside. There was not an enemy in sight, yet the cage door had been slammed shut. He glanced down at his hands. They were shaking. He was afraid his nerve was going. He desperately needed a rest. "Which group is he with?"

  "Here. South of the Bergwold."

  "All right. That's where we'll try to break out."

  "Lord? Attack the Scourge of God himself?"

  "Yes. We'll just have to fight the harder. And hope. Beloul?"

  "Lord?"

  "Tell the men our only hope is to slay the Scourge of God. That's going to be the whole point of the attack."

  "As you command, Lord."

  Sorrowfully, uncertainly, Haroun watched his little army prepare for what might be its last battle. Why did he bother? It seemed every peril he evaded led to a worse. "Let's go!" He swung into his saddle.

  "We might do it!" he shrieked an hour later.

  The surprised enemy force, backboned by a handful of Invincibles, could not
get organized. Haroun flailed about himself, wailing Royalist warcries. His men, smelling success, were hurling themselves on their enemies with more passion than he had anticipated. Some were just yards from the Scourge of God.

  Hatred seared the air as he and Nassef glared at one another. The hate drew them like powerful lodestones. But the meeting was not fated. The swirl of battle pushed them ever farther apart.

  In time, Haroun moaned to Beloul, "They reacted too damned fast." The tide was turning. And a scout had brought word that another war band was approaching.

  "Yet the Scourge of God remains in peril, Lord. Look. The Invincibles keep getting tangled up trying to protect him."

  "Don't humor me, Beloul. I have eyes."

  The fighting drifted toward the Colberg. All the valor and sacrifice of the Royalist champions was in vain. The Invincibles rallied their less enthusiastic companions and began closing a circle around them. When asked for suggestions, el Senoussi could contribute only, "Maybe we could make a stand in the ruins. Lord."

  "Maybe. Where are the damned Guildsmen? Didn't you send a messenger?"

  "Beloul did, Lord. I don't know where they are. Maybe they're getting even."

  "Not that Ragnarson... Look. There they are."

  An infantry company came double-timing from beyond the Colberg.

  "You're right, Lord. And just in time."

  "They pay their debts."

  Ragnarson opened an escapeway for the Royalists.

  "Why didn't you keep after them?" bin Yousif demanded as Ragnarson shepherded him toward the Colberg. "We could have had the Scourge of God."

  "Bitch and gripe. How the hell was I supposed to know? Your message said stand by to bail you out if you got in over your head. I barely got here in time to do that. Haaken, get those Altean clowns into close order. Look, your kingship, I just saved your ass. Again. You want me to throw you back? Or to worry about keeping it saved? That isn't the only gang of those guys around. There's one only four miles north of here."

  Beloul protested, "Lord, these masterless curs need a lesson in manners."