The Fire In His Hands de-4 Page 8

  “You won’t live long enough to take advantage, son of a jackal.” When Nassef reached a certain level of anger he achieved an icy self-control. He had done so now. Clearly, for the benefit of everyone present, he said, “Karim. Put an assassin into el Aswad. Let this heap of camel dung be the target. You. Hell serf Fuad. You think about that. Wonder when he — or she — will strike.” He smiled his thin, cruel smile. “Karim. They wish to depart. Let them run like the whipped dogs they are. Let us amuse ourselves with the sight of them running with their tails between their legs.”

  Once the enemy had departed, El Murid sighed, limped back up and collapsed into the Malachite Throne. “That was close, Nassef.”

  “Too close. Why didn’t you use the amulet? You could have destroyed one of our worst enemies.”

  El Murid raised his arm. He stared at the glowing jewel. He had not called on its power since his demonstration at El Aquila. The people of the el Habib were still talking about the day that he had restored their dry oasis.

  “It didn’t occur to me. It truly didn’t. I suppose the Lord touched me, telling me that you were coming. I never doubted our victory.”

  “As you say, it worked out. And as long as you don’t use it, they won’t be reminded. They won’t be trying to find ways to counter it.”

  “Why did you tell Karim to let them go?”

  “We’ve lost too many men. There’s no sense spending more lives after we’ve won. They’ll be back, stronger than this time. We’ll need every man then.”

  “What was that about an assassin?”

  “A ploy. Let them become afraid to turn their backs on each other. Let them become frightened of shadows. Let fear sap their strength and will.”

  “How clever you are. Nassef, my brother, don’t you ever speak without first calculating some long-term effect for your words?”

  “With my friends. Isn’t it one of your teachings that words are the mightiest weapons of the Kingdom of Peace?”

  “That’s true. Words of Truth. But, Nassef, sometimes I think you’re mocking me. Even when you save my life...”

  Nassef stared at the floor. “Forgive me, my Lord Disciple, It’s my manner, my way of speaking. It’s a curse. When I was little I couldn’t tease the other children. I couldn’t tell jokes. They always took me seriously. And when I was serious, they thought I was sneering.”

  “What are we to do now, Nassef? We have the Malachite Throne. We have Sebil el Selib. And that will bring all the enemies of the Lord upon us.”

  “We can defend ourselves and trust in the Lord. I’ll send messengers to our supporters asking for warriors and arms. I’ll strengthen our defenses. We’ll erect another fortress here. The Throne has to be protected too.”

  “You’re right. Nassef, I’m afraid we’ll be here a long time. Sebil el Selib is a trap in a way. It’s given us two astonishing victories, but to survive we’ll have to hang on to what we’ve taken. I’m afraid they’ll simply bottle us up here.”

  “They’ll try. But they’ll never manage it completely. Their own system will work against them. As long as they can summon the tribal levies for only forty-five days a year, we’ll pretty much be free to come and go the rest of the time. Assuming I receive your blessing, I plan to have partisan bands hitting and running wherever we have willing converts. That’ll keep the full-time warriors busy elsewhere. It’ll give us a chance to build our foundation here.”

  El Murid peered at him thoughtfully. After a time he observed, “You seem to have your plans thoroughly worked out.”

  “I’ve lain awake during a lot of lonely nights these three years, Lord.”

  “I suppose you have. When are you going to take a wife, Nassef?”

  Nassef was taken aback. “I haven’t considered it. After we’ve established the Kingdom of Peace, maybe.”

  El Murid peered at him again. “Nassef, I’m tired. Tonight and tomorrow we rest. The next day we resume our work. You, your wars. Me, my preparations for the Kingdom they will establish. I’ll want you to find me scribes and architects. I want to set down a code of laws, and I want a special palace built to house the Malachite Throne. Also, I want to erect a stele in the meadow. On it I’ll inscribe the names of the faithful who fall in the Lord’s cause, that their names be immortal both here and in Paradise.”

  “As you say. I like the stele. Perhaps if you set aside the top for the Invincibles?”

  “Yes. Have somebody remember the names of everyone who died here. They’ll be the first inscribed.”

  Later, before he retired, El Murid led Meryem, and carried his daughter, to the highest rampart of the old fortress. “My loves,” he said, “one tiny splinter of the dream has come to life. The Kingdom of Peace exists, although its bounds lie no farther than I can see. Someday all the earth will acknowledge the Lord.”

  Cradling the baby in his left arm, he slipped his right around Meryem’s waist. She leaned against him, shivering in the cool mountain breeze.

  “Come,” she said after a time. “Let me remind you that you’re also a man.” She smiled up at him. The spoiled brat of the el Habib had grown into a woman who loved him as a man.

  That night they conceived a boy-child.

  Chapter Five

  A Fortress in Shadow

  Megelin Radetic walked the stony slopes below the tired walls of el Aswad, the Eastern Fortress. Haroun tagged along, scattering his attention as small boys will, yet clinging to the one adult who had time for him. A scarred old veteran dogged them both, his sword always in hand.

  Haroun had not spoken for days. He had become lost inside his own young mind. Now, at least, he chose to speak, as Radetic paused to stare out across the sere, inhospitable land. “Megelin, is Father going to die?”

  “I don’t think so. The physicians are hopeful.”

  “Megelin?”

  “What?” It was time to be gentle. He knelt.

  “Why did he kill them? The pilgrims at the shrine.”

  Radetic resumed walking. “I don’t know. If anyone but El Murid had given the order, I’d guess for spite.”

  They moved round the flank of the mountain. On its eastern face they encountered Haroun’s brother Ali. Ali was seated on a boulder. He stared at Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni, as if his thoughts might conjure the Hidden Ones from their secret strongholds.

  Radetic stared too. He wondered what the wizards of the mountains thought of recent events. Presumably they would pursue tradition and ignore their neighbors. They had been up there since time immemorial. They bothered no one who did not bring them trouble. Even the mighty Empire had let them be, and they had remained aloof from its death throes.

  Haroun murmured, “Megelin, I’m afraid.”

  Ali started to make a cutting remark.

  “He’s right, Ali. It’s a time for fear. We have to fear Nassef for his sword, and El Murid for his Word. They make a deadly combination. And we must fear this, too: that the Sword might become master of the Word, rather than the reverse. Go, then, and try to capture the whirlwind.”

  Ali frowned. Old Radetic was in one of his ambiguous moods.

  Ali was cast more in the mold of his uncle than of his brother or father. He was no thinker. Haroun understood Radetic plainly.

  Yousif had reached el Aswad only hours behind the returning family caravan. His force had been savaged, and he had come within a mouse’s whisker of death.

  The caravan had not come through unscathed. Yousif had left no guards. Disorganized bands of Nassef’s pickets had tried their luck plundering.

  Even Megelin Radetic had taken up arms in the running fight.

  He gripped his left bicep. He had taken a light saber slash. The wound still ached.

  He smiled. How he had amazed his assailant with his counterattack!

  Fuad still could not assimilate the fact that his brother’s tame intellectual knew which end of a sword to grab. Nor did he know what to make of the fact that the teacher had taken charge of old men, boys, women and camel d
rovers and had whipped hell out of tough young warriors.

  Radetic found his incredulity amusing. He had told Fuad, “We study more than flowers at the Rebsamen.” The remark referred to Fuad’s bewilderment the time when he had discovered that Megelin was cataloging and making color drawings of desert wildflowers.

  Ali descended from his perch. “Megelin?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m scared too.”

  “We all are, Ali.”

  Ali glared at Haroun. “If you tell, I’ll pound you.”

  Haroun snatched up a jagged rock. “Come on, Ali.”

  “Boys. Save it for El Murid.”

  “He asking for it,” Haroun replied.

  “You little snot —”

  “I said knock it off. Haroun, come on. Ali was here first.”

  Ali stuck out his tongue.

  Radetic strolled away wondering what Haroun did fear. People did not intimidate him. “Let’s go back to the castle, Haroun. It’s time we did a little studying.”

  El Aswad was a regional name which popular usage also applied to its capital fortress. The Imperial builders of the original featureless square stronghold had called it the “Eastern Fortress.” Under the Empire it had been the headquarters of a major military command.

  The castle was bigger now, though less important. Every generation did a little something to make it more impregnable. Rounded towers had been added to the original walls. Curtain walls and supporting towers had been appended to its north side, enclosing the whole of the mountaintop. Still farther north, connected to the main castle by the curtains, commanding the mountain’s most gentle slope, stood a massive square sub-fortress.

  The other three faces of the mountain were barren, rocky, and often precipitous. The surface rock was soft and loose. Weather had been gnawing away for ages. Tortuously curved layers of sedimentary rock showed the progress of ancient ages. The children of Yousif’s courtiers and soldiers loved scrounging the slopes for fossils, for which Radetic paid a candy bounty.

  Radetic found the castle a miserable place to live. It was either too cold and drafty, or too hot and stuffy. The roofs and walls leaked during the rare rains. The sanitary facilities were primitive, and furniture virtually non-existent. There was not one bath in the entire place. Hellin Daimiel was known for its communal baths. The only closable door he had ever seen was the one barring entry into the women’s quarters.

  He often longed for the comfort and privacy of his tiny apartment at the university.

  Despite its drawbacks as a home, the castle served its intended function. Its granaries, cisterns and arsenals could support its garrison almost indefinitely. It commanded a view of vast territories. It had never been conquered by siege or storm.

  Radetic paused at the gate and surveyed the miles of stony land surrounding the fortress. “Haroun, you know what I’d like to look out there and see? Just once? A tree.”

  Weeks passed. Fuad sent out a summons to the tribal levies. On the morning they were to muster, Haroun wakened his teacher. “What do you want?” Radetic growled, squinting one-eyed at the dawn light crawling through his apartment window. “Better be good. No normal human being ought to be up at this hour.”

  “Uncle Fuad is going to meet the levies. I thought you’d want to be there.”

  Radetic groaned, swung his legs out of bed. “Want to? No. You’ve seen one mob of fellahin, you’ve seen them all. But I suppose I’d better go, if only to keep your uncle from doing anything he’ll regret. How many showed up?” He had had doubts that a call from Fuad would elicit the same response as a call from the Wahlig.

  Haroun looked disappointed. “Not good. But they’re still coming in. Maybe some were delayed.”

  “Uh? Pretty bad, eh? Here. Hand me those sandals.”

  The levies were assembling on the slope leading to el Aswad’s main gate. Not all had arrived, as Haroun had said, but the few dust clouds approaching indicated that Fuad would be disappointed by the response to his call. “Not a third of what he has a right to expect,” Megelin observed.

  “Some of those eaters of camel droppings have gone over to the bandits.” Fuad had come out. He scowled at the assembling host. “Cowardice is spreading like the pox.”

  Radetic replied, “I wouldn’t think them that fickle.”

  “They are, fishwife. And those that haven’t deserted are hiding in their tents like old women, afraid to take a stand. Their excuse to my brother will be that he didn’t issue the call himself. I ought to ride out and punish them. Bloody crones.”

  “Maybe you ought to wait a few days,” Radetic suggested. “Send another round of messengers and have them talk tough.”

  “What good will that do? They want to hide behind their women’s skirts, let them. I’ll mock them when I return with El Murid’s head on my lance. Beloul! Assemble the sheiyeks.”

  The captain Beloul inclined his head and descended the slope. He passed among the contingents. Chieftains started uphill by twos and threes. Fuad did not greet any of them warmly, though he knew them all and had been riding with them for years. His black scowl compelled them to hold their tongues and keep their distance.

  When the last arrived, joining the circle surrounding Fuad, Radetic, Haroun and Fuad’s officiers, Fuad turned slowly. “So this is it. Only you have the guts to face these boy bandits. Taha. Rifaa. Qaboos. All of you. I promise you my brother will remember this. And he’ll not forget the faces we don’t see here today.”

  Someone suggested, “Maybe we ought to give the others more time.”

  “More time, Feras? Will the Disciple give us more time? No! We strike. No game. No subtleties. We hit them like a hammer. And we bring their heads back to decorate the walls. Every motherlorn one.”

  Radetic muttered, “Fierce this morning, aren’t we?”

  Fuad rewarded him with an ugly look. “You’ll find out fierce, teacher. Keep nagging. Beloul. Order the column according to plan. Just drop the places of the cowards who didn’t show.”

  “Fuad,” Radetic whispered, “I really think you ought to reconsider this.”

  “We ride when the column is in order,” Fuad countered. “There will be no more discussion. We will be victorious or we will fail. I wouldn’t want to be in the sandals of those cowards if we fail and I survive. Get away from me, teacher. You don’t have anything to tell me.”

  Hours later Megelin watched the column pass out of sight. “I did what I could, Haroun. But he’s too damned stubborn to hear reason.”

  “You don’t think he’ll win?”

  Radetic shrugged. “Anything is possible. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”

  A messenger located Megelin in his classroom two days after Fuad’s departure. “The Lord Yousif has awakened. He asks your attendance.”

  Radetic was irritated by the interruption, but could not ignore the summons. “Ali. I’m leaving you in charge while I see your father. Keep on with the lesson.”

  Outside, the messenger chuckled. “You set them a grim taskmaster.”

  “I know. It’s the only way I can get him to learn anything. He doesn’t want his students thinking they’re smarter than he is.”

  “Would that I had had such an opportunity when I was young.”

  “Ah.” Radetic smiled gently. Yousif’s subterfuge was working. Before children could be educated their elders had to be convinced that there was some point to education. “How is he?”

  “Quite well, considering. But he’s tough. This is a tough family. The desert has never been kind here.”

  “I can see that.” Megelin had heard the same remark so often, even where the desert had been kind, that he suspected it was a homily.

  Yousif was sitting up, arguing with a physician who wanted him to lie down. “Ah. Megelin. Here at last. Save me from the mercies of this old woman.”

  “The old woman probably knows more about what your body needs than you do, Wahlig.”

  “You all stick together, don’t you? Well, no matter. Come h
ere. Take one of these cushions. I can’t use them all.”

  Radetic sat. He could not conceal his discomfort. He was too old to adapt to the desert custom of sitting cross-legged on cushions.

  Yousif ignored his discomfort. “I’ve been away from this world a long time. It makes a man take stock. You know what I mean?”

  “I think so, Wahlig.”

  “My first job in this second life is to get you to stop acting like a servant. We have things to talk about, Megelin. I think the first should be friendship.”

  “Wahlig?”

  “You brought my caravan through.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I’ve spoken with Muamar. We won’t argue it. I’m grateful. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might be leaving enemies behind me.”

  “My life was in danger, too.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Whichever view you choose, my wives and children came through safely. I consider your effort an act of friendship. I do as I’m done by, Megelin.”

  Radetic could not stifle a wry smile. “Thank you.” The gratitude of princes was notoriously short-lived.

  “Megelin, you show expertise in surprising directions. I value a man who has skills beyond those demanded by his profession.”

  “Score a point for education.”

  “Indeed. Tell me. What do you think of Fuad’s expedition?”

  “I haven’t been over the ground, except on the chicken tracks you call maps. He had a thousand men. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”

  “He outnumbers them three or four to one.”

  “The numbers might be enough to make his hammer blows more convincing than Nassef’s finesse. Your brother isn’t a thinker.”

  “How well I know. Tell me, why are you so impressed with Nassef?”

  “He has the subtle touch of genius. In a western context his threat to send an assassin to el Aswad would have been brilliant. Here it’s a waste of inspiration.”

  “I don’t see it. That was just talk by somebody who got spit on.”

  “That’s the flaw in his subtlety.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no one here subtle enough to see the implications of the threat. Is the assassin here already? If not, how will he get in? And so on.”