by Glen Cook
Yasmid opened tear-filled eyes. "What?"
"Mercy!" Mocker swore. "Self was frightened... Seemed Lady was fainting."
"Me?" she asked. Confusedly, "Nassef... I was thinking about my uncle."
"Is greatest of great shames of great war. Man was genius absolute. Passing of same will be drastic blow to Disciple, maybeso." He settled back onto his boulder seat feeling smug.
Then he noticed the captain eyeing him from the horse picket. The man's expression was inscrutable, but it sent cold-clawed monsters lumbering along his spine. The way the Invincible's eyes drilled into him!
"Is great tragedy Lady has suffered. Self, would suggest time alone, in tent, to deal with grief privately." He moved on to watch several Invincibles practice their swordsmanship. He studied them as if he were unaccustomed to the flash and clash of steel.
The Invincibles practiced daily, both mounted and dismounted, singly and in formation. They were a determined bunch. And Mocker always watched them.
Damo Sparen had been a hard teacher. His lessons had survived his passing well. Among them had been, know your enemy's strengths and weaknesses beforehand.
Mocker knew every man in the encampment now-except that damned captain. He knew he could best any of them except, possibly, the captain. And he had no intention of meeting the man. The captain he intended to share Gouch's fate. Death in the night.
Yasmid summoned him that afternoon. He went reluctantly, no longer certain he wanted to harvest what he had sown.
"Entertainer, are you my friend?" she asked.
"Assuredly, Lady." He tried to appear baffled. Pleasure kept trying to fight its way through. He had not been sure this would work.
"I have a boon to beg, then. A huge one."
"Anything, Lady. Self, exist to serve."
"We were speaking of prospects for peace. You mentioned bin Yousif... I've had a wild idea. A really insane, improbable idea that just might end this hideous war. But I need your help."
"Aid of self? In ending war? Am entertainer and would-be student philosophic, Lady, not diplomat. Am in no wise able... "
"I just want you to ride with me. To be my protector."
"Protector, Lady? When fifty of bravest men of desert... "
"Those brave men are my father's creatures. They'd never permit what I have in mind."
"Same being?"
"Slipping away from here tonight. Riding hard, northward, through the desert and the Kapenrungs, into Altea, to find the King Without A Throne and make peace."
It was exactly what he wanted to hear. It was hard to pretend shock when he was so elated. "Lady!"
"I know it's crazy. That's why I think it might work. You said yourself that Haroun wants peace as much as I do."
"Truth told. But... "
"Enough. I know the risks, but I'm going to try it. The only question is, will you go with me? Will you help me? Or must I try it alone?"
"Alone, Lady? In this mad world? Would be remiss to permit same, same being suicidal. Am frightened. Am terrified, must admit. Am natural-born coward. But will accompany. For sake of Lady, not of peace." He thought that was a nice touch.
"Then come to my tent after the first watch change. I'll know the guard. He'll do whatever I tell him as long as he doesn't know what's going on. You may have to hit him. Be gentle. He's a good man."
"Self? Attack Invincible? Woe! Lady, am anything but fighter."
"I know. I didn't say you had to fight him. Knock him in the back of the head when he isn't looking."
It was not as simple, of course, as either of them hoped.
Mocker's first move, before approaching Yasmid's tent, was to make an exit without challenge possible. He began with the captain because he wanted no cool head available when it came time to organize a pursuit.
That part was almost too easy. It was anticlimatic. Like plucking a ripe plum. The man was hard asleep. He died without a sound or struggle.
There were six men on perimeter guard duty. Mocker eliminated them next, in the silent way Sparen had taught him. He approached each as a friend, told them he could not sleep, then took them suddenly. That bloody treachery done, he turned to the guards at Sidi's and Yasmid's tents. Finally, he selected two horses from the now restless picket line, readied them, threw what provisions he could behind their saddles, and went to collect his prize.
In his nervousness his donkey and props slipped his mind.
His nerves kept humming like the taut catgut of a carnival fiddle. Every step took time. Each passing minute increased the risk of discovery.
He was almost too scared to think. He proceeded by rote, persevering in an oft-rehearsed scenario.
He scratched on Yasmid's tent. "Lady?"
A head popped out. He squeaked in surprise. "Ready?" she asked.
He nodded. "Have horses set to go. Come. Quietly."
"You're shaking."
"Am terrified, must confess. Come. Before alarm goes up."
"Where's the guard?"
"Bashed same over noggin and dragged behind Sidi's tent. Come. Hurry." He could not give her time to think, to ask questions.
Yasmid came forth. Mocker gawked. She had donned male clothing. She made a passable boy.
A moan came from behind her brother's tent. And a demon with a savage hand seized Mocker's vitals. One of his victims had survived! "Hurry, Lady!" He dragged her toward the horses.
"Captain!" Sidi shrieked, his whining voice tormenting the night. "Captain!"
A sleepy Invincible materialized in Mocker's path. The fat man struck him down, seized his sword, and plunged on. He did not loosen his grip on the girl.
"Why did you do that " Yasmid gasped.
Mocker flung her toward the horses. "Get on!" he snarled. "Talk later." He whirled, crossed blades with the nearest of three pursuers. He dropped the man, and the next, in the wink of an eye. The third backed off, astounded. Mocker scrambled onto a horse. Howling like a damned soul, he tried to scatter the rest. The animals did not go far. They were well trained. He screamed and kicked his mount into motion as a wave of Invincibles appeared. He swatted Yasmid's animal as he passed.
For a long time Yasmid was too busy hanging on and keeping up to ask questions. But she did not forget them. When the pursuit faded and the chance arose, she demanded, "Why did you do that? You weren't supposed to hurt anybody."
He glanced back, expecting the momentary materialization of a horde of vengeful Invincibles. "Self, wonder if bodyguards would play by same rule? Lady, am ashamed. Am coward, admitted. Panicked. Howsomever, retrospectively, must admit same was necessitated. Would not have made escape otherwise. Not so? And Invincibles would have cut self down like cur dog. Not so?"
Yasmid argued, but only half-heartedly. She had to admit that he would have been maltreated had they been caught.
The journey became an epic. The supplies he had secured did not last. Yasmid had brought money, but buying by the wayside was dangerous. It left trailmarkers.
He drove himself and the girl hard. Death was close behind. The Invincibles would neither forgive nor give up.
Weary days came and went. Desert gave way to mountains. The mountains rose, then descended to the farmlands of Tamerice. Exhausted, Yasmid traveled in silence, devoting all her energy to keeping up. Though in friendlier lands, Mocker kept the pace hard, keeping her tired. She was having second thoughts. He did not want her finding the strength and will to slip away.
He stole native garb and made her wear it, that they might become less remarkable. He dressed her as a girl again, hoping fear of being taken for a local maiden would make her avoid her countrymen. Their taste for rape was legend.
He happened to glance back while scaling the first tall ridgeline inside Altea. A heavy dust cloud rose to the south. The riders creating it were too far back to be discerned, but he had no doubt whom they were.
He began asking the locals if they knew where bin Yousif was hiding. Most of them refused to talk. He almost panicked.
He had to find Haroun fast. His narrow lead would fade if he spent much time searching.
A garrulous peasant finally told him that bin Yousif was in the Bergwold, trying to rebuild the Royalist force Nassef had scattered before his death.
Neither in Tamerice nor Altea did they encounter an enemy patrol. He could not understand that. Someone should have been there to keep the defeated in line. He had expected to be ducking and dodging all the way.
He added that puzzle to his other worries.
"Almost there, Lady," he announced one morning, pointing. "See hill with ruin on top of same? Is famed Colberg, ancient castle of Altea. Forest called Bergwold lies beside."
"I don't know if I'm glad or not, Entertainer. But one thing is sure. I'm going to be happy to get off this nag."
"Assuredly. Self, am not rider. Am shank's mare man, accustomed to walking. Am going to spend next two weeks lying on ample pillow of stomach." He glanced back. "Hai!"
A low white wave was rolling across the flat green countryside. Their pursuers were just a half mile behind.
He swatted Yasmid's mount with the flat of his saber, whipped his own, and began the race.
The Invincibles, on fresher animals, closed fast, but the fat man managed to reach the wood several hundred yards ahead. He flung himself off his horse, dragged Yasmid from hers, grabbed her hand and dragged her into the dense underbrush.
Chapter Fourteen:
SUMMER'S END
Mowaffak Hali overcame the army of Ipopotam quite cleverly. He seized the poppy fields before they could be destroyed. But now bands of partisans roamed the countryside.
"They're a stiff-necked people, Lord," he admitted. "They won't accept amnesty."
"I don't want excuses, Mowaffak. I want them brought to heel."
"They're using the tactics we did before coming to power, Lord."
"Not exactly. There's a difference, Mowaffak. Aboud's people didn't know who their friends were. We do. Till they stop resisting slay every man you encounter. Burn their villages. Destroy their fields. Drive them into the forests. Pull down their heathen temples. Eradicate their devil-worshipping priests. And feed and treat kindly those who yield their arms."
"They're not wild dogs, Lord."
"I'm getting old, Mowaffak. There isn't an ounce of mercy in me anymore."
"I have news from the north, Lord. The northern host moved against us there."
A chill crawled over El Murid. His expression betrayed him.
"The news isn't bad, Lord. El-Kader turned them. And the Scourge of God has destroyed the Altean army. It's only a matter of time till he occupies Kavelin and links up with el Nadim."
"El-Kader succeeded without Nassef? This year's campaign is a success?"
"So it would seem. The Scourge of God is preoccupied with bin Yousif and the Guildsmen who slew Karim. He means to have his revenge. And yours, Lord."
El Murid became pensive. Mowaffak was politicking again. "I have my grievances with bin Yousif. But he's only a minor nuisance. Nassef is letting himself be distracted by a side issue. His warriors are needed against the army of the north. This is no time to indulge personal desire."
"My thought exactly, Lord."
Hali's expression betrayed him. Ipopotam was the grossest of side issues, of indulgences. Pacification was tying up thousands of warriors needed elsewhere.
"Go away, Mowaffak. Flog these people. Bring them to heel."
"As you command, Lord."
El Murid glared at Hali's retreating back. Once again Mowaffak had left him to wrestle with his conscience.
Mowaffak was right. But he dared not enter the moral and spiritual lists, to do battle with his addiction, while this war demanded his attention. The war between the soul and the flesh, when it came, would consume him. It would be total and without quarter.
Cued by his thinking, his old wounds began aching.
The Disciple's retinue were worried. Their master seemed to have lost his spirit, his zest, his drive. All too often he retreated into his own inner realms rather than face the crises staring at the Kingdom. Some, like Hali, begged Esmat for help.
What could he do? the physician asked. He simply did not have the personal or moral courage to shed his procurer's role.
And because of that weakness, even Esmat himself held Esmat in contempt.
Altaf el-Kader was not known as an emotional man. His acquaintances knew him as one who let himself be rattled by nothing.
Nevertheless, he blew up when the crows of disaster fluttered in from Altea. Even his boldest subordinates could not approach him. But when the storm blew away, el-Kader was more cool than ever. He had, in a way, been reborn.
He spoke to the assembled captains of the Host of Illumination. "Gentlemen, you've heard the news. The Scourge of God has been sent to his reward by the same Guild scoundrels who robbed us of Karim's songs. The death of this one man, whom we revered and respected... "
An angry mutter began among his listeners.
"Be quiet!" he snapped. "I won't fall into that trap, too. We have people in Altea. Let them deal with the matter. What you and I must do is prove that the Host isn't the Scourge of God. We have to show that we can win without him. Quickly and impressively, for both our friends and enemies. Our foes were wavering. The Disciple's messages have won us converts by the thousand. We can't let the one take heart and the other grow fearful."
He paused to let his words take root. Then, "Prepare to march. We'll make our demonstration by destroying the northern army."
The wings of fear descended, brushing the necks of men who had known no trepidation when Nassef had been in command. El-Kader bore it. He knew the biggest proving would have to be of himself to his captains.
"You have heard me," he said. "Go. Prepare. I'll tell you more as it becomes necessary."
He was adopting Nassef s approach, revealing his thinking to no one. That seemed to reassure them. They were accustomed to operating in the dark.
He had chosen his mission. He attacked it with a flare and determination never before shown. But never before had the final responsibility rested on Altaf el-Kader. Now he had to answer to no one but himself-so he demanded more of el-Kader than ever Nassef had.
Despite his statement concerning Altea, he marched eastward. The immediate assumption was that he meant to punish Nassef's slayers. That had been the style of the Scourge of God, to say one thing and do the opposite. He let his entourage believe that he had had a change of heart. What his followers believed would also be believed by his enemies.
He gathered to the Host all the garrisons along the way, including the men holding the river crossings.
The northern army immediately leapt the river behind him. Its crossing required several days.
El-Kader heard and smiled.
He had planned each move carefully during his day of isolation. He needed only a minimum of luck...
He got more. The Fates, having served the enemy long enough, re-enlisted with the Host of Illumination. The Duke of Greyfalls, having learned of Nassef's demise, had abandoned his hunt for the Scourge of God. He rejoined his command during its crossing. The resulting uncertainty at the highest echelon permitted el-Kader to shake the northern scouts.
He immediately turned westward. In hard marches he passed below the northerners and swung back toward the river. He was lying in wait when Greyfalls started to march toward Dunno Scuttari.
El-Kader hit him in a land of low hills, attacking from the flanks. He gave his foe no time to organize. The might of the northern knights proved useless. The deadly Itaskian bowmen became scattered before they could bring the punishing power of their weapons to bear.
Only the stubborn formations of pikemen from Iwa Skolovda and Dvar withstood the fury of the first charge. They remained brief-lived islands of stability in a maelstrom of death.
The knights of the north, as was the noble wont in defeat, abandoned their footbound followers to el-Kader's untender mercy and flew for the river cros
sings. But their enemy had anticipated them. His riders were there before them. Not a quarter reached the northern shore.
The men they abandoned fared better.
The infantry fought on, having no choice. Broken into ever smaller units, hunted mercilessly, the soldiers became scattered over a half dozen Lesser Kingdoms. Their losses, too, were brutal. Only one in three witnessed the coming of winter.
El-Kader called off the hunt ten days later. He wanted to go into winter quarters and to allow some warriors to return to their families.
Then came the news of Yasmid's disappearance.
Hali had debated with himself all morning. How could he tell his prophet? He sometimes let the reports slide, to save El Murid distress, but this time he had no choice. The news was too important. He finally requested an audience.
"Lord." He bowed.
The Disciple knew Mowaffak's bad news look now. "What is it?" he snapped.
"An ill wind from the north, Lord."
"I saw that the second you came in. Why don't you just say it?"
"As you command, Lord. There're grim tidings for the Kingdom of Peace, Lord. The worst."
"Out with it, man. Don't play games with me."
Hali, devoted as he was, reached his limit. "Very well, Lord. Two items. The Scourge of God has been slain. And your daughter had been kidnapped."
El Murid did not respond immediately. Nor did he move. His flesh became so pale that for a moment Mali feared he had suffered a stroke. But finally, in a soft, gentle voice, the Disciple said, "I know I've been short-tempered lately, Mowaffak. Sometimes I haven't been fair. But that's no cause to jest so cruelly."
"I wish I were joking, Lord. My pain would be less terrible. But the joke has been played by the Evil One."
"It's true, then?"
"Every word, Lord. And it hurts like my death wound to tell it."
"Nassef. Slain. It doesn't seem possible. And Yasmid carried off. How can that be? It would take an army to reach her, wouldn't it?"
"Guildsmen in the first instance, Lord. The same who slew Karim. They sent more than a thousand Invincibles with him. This has been a hard summer for our brotherhood. There aren't many of us left."