News of the siege at Malakand had spread quickly. There were as many different accounts of what had happened or was happening there as there were tongues. One version reported that the British garrison had been wiped out to the last man. Another claimed that the British garrison was being starved out. Still another story had it that the British soldiers were being decimated in ceaseless attacks by the faithful. The most popular seemed to be that the British soldiers had attempted to escape and were cut to pieces in the Malakand Pass. Sadullah supposedly had the head of the British commander on a pike. Sadullah himself had led the attacking forces, impervious to the bullets of the British. Sadullah was even now on his way to join Sayyid Akbar, the Light of Islam, bringing his thousands of followers with him. Together they would strike the final blow and call down the host of heaven to destroy the alien invader.
It was like a giant festival. Veiled women danced for the pleasure of the raucous mob. Horsemen played games of buzkashi, a savage Afghani version of polo in which the 'ball' was a freshly killed goat. The object of the game was for the carcass of the goat to be dragged across the goal line, and there weren’t any rules beyond that. It was a juba-a fair-in which the temper of the throng possessed an ebb and flow, like tides, the noise often rising to a deafening level.
In the centre of the village was a large brick house which Sayyid Akbar had taken as his headquarters. Outside its walls a pit had been dug. It was deep and square, with sheer walls of earth that made it impossible for anyone thrown into it to climb out. The pit had been filled with bugs of every description, so many that the floor writhed with them. As Phoenix looked into it, he saw that several unfortunate British soldiers, as well as native tribesmen who had served in British regiments, had been thrown into the bug pit. One of the men had gone insane after who knew how much time spent in there with inspects crawling over him. He screamed continually, ceaselessly trying to clamber up the sheer walls of the pit, clawing at them with his ruined hands, much to the amusement of the watching tribesmen. Another of the men had died and his body lay in a corner, slowly being devoured by bugs. The others were not far from dead themselves. They expended what little energy they had by constantly brushing off the insects. It was clear that none of them had slept for a long time. Sleep in such an environment was even more terrifying than wakefulness.
'Poor bastards,' Phoenix mumbled under his breath. 'Sayyid Akbar must be really something. It takes a truly sick mind to come up with this.'
'I’ve seen sicker,' said agent Fox, standing close to Phoenix. 'But this one is right up there with the best of them. '
'There must be well over ten thousand men here,' said agent Sable. 'And if it’s true that the Mad Mullah’s coming here with his followers, that will make it at least twice as many. None of the garrisons in the area will be able to cope with a force that size.'
'They didn’t cope,' said Phoenix. ' Landi Kotal was overrun. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will.'
'Look,' said Fox. He pointed to several men wearing khaki uniforms and turbans with red swatches of cloth in them.
'Khyber Rifles,' Phoenix said. 'Colonel Warburton’s legendary native regiment. According to history it broke Warburton’s heart when he found out his men deserted to the Ghazis. He trained them into the finest fighting force in the country, and this was his reward. Still, I wonder if you can really blame them.'
'What does that mean'' Sable said.
'Put yourself in their place,' said Phoenix. 'You take service with a regiment whose duty is to keep the Khyber Pass open and to protect caravans from banditry. Suddenly you’re faced with a war in which you have to fight your own people, not just bandits, but your countrymen, members of your tribe, maybe even blood relations. Worse, it’s a jehad and there you are, a good Muslim, forced to fight against your own people in a war your faith tells you is a holy struggle to rid the country of infidel invaders. Invaders whom you serve. It has to tear you up. So you desert and get twice as fanatical and twice as savage as anybody else, to prove to them and to yourself that your heart was in the right place all along.'
'I’d like to get a look at this Sayyid Akbar character,' said Fox.
'You’ll get your chance,' said Phoenix. 'I understand he grants an audience to each arriving chief and khan, along with his retainers. We’ll be with the latest bunch that came in. We go in at sundown.'
'Sundown, eh'' said Sable. 'Dramatic. What is this guy, a vampire''
Phoenix glanced back at the pit. 'After seeing that, I shouldn’t wonder.' He looked up at the sky. 'It’s almost time. Come on. Let’s go pay our respects.'
They joined the group gathered by the gates in the wall outside the house. Phoenix glanced up and saw that the gun tower over the house was manned. Sayyid Akbar was security-conscious. As the sun went down, the gates were opened to them and they went inside with a group of about twenty other tribal chiefs who had recently arrived. They crossed the small courtyard and went into the house, into the large central chamber which was decorated with tapestries and silk hangings.. A number of lamps had been lighted to give the room a soft, dim illumination.
They were directed to wait at one end of the room, opposite a platform with a throne upon it, made from wood covered in hammered gold and silver. As the last rays of the sun disappeared, a group of heavily muscled guards came in to stand between the platform and those who had come to attend the audience. The men were armed with captured British Martini-Henry rifles, as well as officers’ Webley-Wilkinson pistols. They all had charras tucked into their belts, along with smaller knives.
'On your knees before the Light of Islam!' one of them called out. Sayyid Akbar appeared seated on the throne, materialising out of thin air. Amidst the shocked reaction, agent Sable whispered to Phoenix, 'A warp disc! We’ve hit the jackpot!'
They dropped down to their knees, touching their foreheads to the floor. Phoenix raised his head slightly, staring at Sayyid Akbar intently.
'Arise, my faithful ones,' Akbar said in a deep, rich baritone.
'Drakov!' Phoenix said under his breath. He kept his head lowered, hoping Drakov would not get a good look at his face.
'I am Sayyid Akbar,' said Drakov.'I have come to join with you in the Great Jehad.'He got up and approached them, flanked by his bodyguards. 'The time has come for the faithful to arise and throw off the chains of the invaders. The infidel firinghi has come to our land, seeking to claim it as his own. He comes seeking to expand his empire and to enslave us. He comes with arms to subjugate us. He comes with missionaries to attack our faith, seeking to make us infidels like himself. He comes to change our way of life, to take our land, to make us join his soldiers and to deny us Paradise. In so doing, he has raised our wrath and he has raised the wrath of higher powers.'
His piercing gaze took them all in as he came closer, establishing magnetic eye contact with each man as he spoke.
'This day we are all one. Afridi, Mahsud, and Waziri; Yuzufrai, Mohmand, and Utman Khel; Swati and Orakzai-all joined together in the holy cause to fight for freedom.. Today we are all Ghazi. Today we are mujahidin-holy warriors of the Great Jehad! '
He was coming closer. Phoenix kept his head down.
'The day is close at hand,' said Drakov. 'When next the moon is full, it will be the Night of the Long Knives.' His hand closed around the jewel-encrusted hilt of his charra. 'On that night the gates of Paradise shall open. A great host shall come forth to fight with us in our holy struggle. The British forts shall burn and the flames shall be seen in their own homeland, so that they will know never again to-
He paused, standing before Phoenix. As if with great humility, Phoenix kept his gaze averted, looking down at his feet.
'You, ' Drakov said. 'What is your name''
' I am called Sharif Khan, Holy One,' said Phoenix.
'Look at me.'
Slowly Phoenix raised his head, meeting Drakov’s gaze. Drakov’s eyes widened for a moment, then he gave a faint ghost of a smile.
'Take this man,' he said. 'He is a British spy.'
The bodyguard were on them instantly. Fox and Sable found their arms pinned behind their backs before they could get their weapons clear, and Phoenix was seized, the sharp point of a charra at his throat. The other tribesmen began yelling, pulling out their own knives and threatening to cut the agents to pieces on the spot.
