of what appeared to be a large hole in the ground.
Following close behind him, Andre saw that it was indeed a hole, its sides smoothed by ages of use by people following a narrow but manageable path that wound downward in a tight spiral to vanish some distance below. He advanced carefully, following Alec, and soon found himself in a natural atrium, a wind- or water-worn hallway in the living rock, open to the skies. They were perhaps ten paces below the level of the ground above, and the blue sky over their heads was almost circular in section. Behind Andre, hidden in shadow, was the entrance to a cavern that turned out to be the first in a progression of caves culminating in a large, high, well-lit space with a dry, sandy floor. A fire pit in the center of the floor appeared to have been used for centuries, and the entire space was crisscrossed with beams of light that shone directly in as though from windows.
“Amazing, is it not?” Alec Sinclair dropped the bags he was carrying by the fire pit and led his horse over into a far corner of the large cavern, where he began to unsaddle him. “I felt exactly the same as you when I first saw it. It took my breath away and left me mute. It still shakes me when I think about it, but I’ve grown used to it nowadays and it takes someone like you, seeing it for the first time, to remind me how aweinspiring it really is.”
“How did you ever find it?”
“Never did. I had to be shown it, just like you. In my case, by Ibrahim, my main contact with the Old Man.” He swung the saddle off his mount’s back and carried it back to drop it by the fireplace. “Leave that,” he said, waving his hand to take Andre’s attention away from his own saddle. “Come and see this.”
Andre followed him as he scrambled up a high incline and thrust his upper body through a hole in the roof. It was larger than it appeared to be, and there was ample room for the two of them to stand up there together, side by side.
“You have to be careful to stay quiet climbing up,” Alec said, “but it is worth the effort, would you not agree?”
Andre could say nothing, able only to gape in wonder. He was standing with his head projecting through a hole in the ground, almost completely surrounded by the bases of the central cluster of boulders dominating the tiny knoll where he had waited with Harry Douglas for the arrival of Alec Sinclair, and he could see the entire scene perfectly, looking directly through the gaps at the bottom of the boulder cluster.
“You were here all the time. You could hear every word.”
“Every syllable. I was impressed by the charitable way you made excuses for my tardiness.”
Andre stooped and made his way back to where he had left his horse partially saddled. He completed the job of unsaddling, lugged his saddle and blanket to the fireplace, then crossed to a high wooden bin against the wall.
“What is in here?”
“Dried dung, some of it camel but mostly horse. We hoard it as fuel. It’s the only kind we have … camel dung and horse dung. There is a seam of anthracite— a hard, shiny, hot-burning coal—about ten miles from here, and when time permits, we haul fuel from there, too. But most of the time we burn dung.”
“And in here?” Andre was standing now in front of two large wooden chests with ornate hasps, and as he spoke Alec was already in the act of bending to open one of them.
“Clothing, for a range of purposes. Which is our next priority. Strip out of your armor. It is time to take on the protective coloration of the landscape.” He pulled open the top of one of the chests, exposing a welter of brightly colored garments. “You should make a fine-looking Muslim. Have you worn Saracen clothing before now?”
“Only twice before, at home and very briefly—you can imagine the notice it would have attracted. I have a basic understanding of what is required and how the various garments fit.”
“Excellent, then let us make a start on it. Quickly now, strip down and I will help you don new finery. Ibrahim should be here very soon.”
“Ibrahim is already here, Almania.”
The words, spoken in Arabic, were uttered close to Andre’s ear, and he spun around so quickly that he almost fell on the uneven floor. “How came—?” he gasped, dropping his hand to his dagger hilt. He did not finish the thought, for he saw the curling hairs on the back of the brown hand close to his jaw and felt the flat width of a blade pressing firmly upwards against the soft skin beneath his chin and he knew, beyond dispute, that the blade would have a very sharp edge. He tilted his head back, yielding to the pressure of the blade until the skin of his entire neck was tautly stretched, then remained motionless, his eyes focused on the face of the man who had come up so silently behind him and now stood eyeing him askance, smiling sardonically and daring him to move.
The fellow wore a tall, tapering helmet of shining steel, from which hung a facial mask of fine steel links, protecting his face without impairing his vision, and he stood with his own chin elevated almost as far as Andre’s, his body braced slightly rearward against the tension of the outstretched arm that was forcing Andre up onto his toes. Beneath the hanging links of his visor, the skin of the stranger’s face was a deep, dark brown, making the lines and shadows on his skin seem black, and his eyes were equally dark beneath bushy brows. His mustache and beard were so black that they appeared to have blue light in them, and although the mouth beneath them was closed now, Andre had seen the gleam of white teeth shining through as the fellow smiled. This man, Andre knew, was dangerous; tall, lean, and broad shouldered. He could see little of him below shoulder height, but he surmised that the man would be dressed from head to foot in flowing black.
“Ibrahim! I vow you are improving, in spite of yourself. I barely heard you come in this time.” Alec’s Arabic was flawless and betrayed no indication of surprise.
“You did not hear me at all, Almania.” The dark eyes did not leave Andre’s for an instant, even as the knifewielder spoke to Alec. “I was already here when you named me. Who is this
“My cousin, Andre St. Clair.” He looked at Andre and switched back to their tongue. “Andre, say hello to Ibrahim al-Khusai, my liaison with the forces of Rashid al-Din Sinan.” Another swift switch and he was speaking to Ibrahim in Arabic again. “Andre is the one for whom I summoned the services of Saif ad-Din.”
Alec had made no reference at all to the dagger being held beneath Andre’s chin, and now Andre saw Ibrahim’s eyes narrow to slits. “The one who lost his father?”
“The one.”
Ibrahim blew a small snuffing noise through his nose and lowered his blade. He took a step backward and returned the dagger to its sheath. “That is an affliction no man should have to bear but, by the will of Allah, all men do. I lost my father less than two months ago, may Allah smile upon his memory, and the grief has barely left my bones.” He turned to Alec. “But you did not hear me coming, Almania, be truthful.”
Andre took the opportunity to scan the Assassin now from head to foot, seeing that he had been right in assuming the fellow would be completely robed in black, but over his long outer garment, Ibrahim wore a knee- length tunic of the finest open-link chain mail Andre had ever seen. Over that, he also wore a cuirass of shining steel to match his helmet, and a magnificent long-bladed scimitar hung from the belt at his waist.
He was still glaring defiantly at Alec, but Alec merely dipped his head slightly, dismissing the point as unimportant. “I was not listening, in truth, because I had no need to hear you coming, my friend. But truthfully, I
Ibrahim had stopped listening, having obviously heard and been bored by this before, and was staring now at Andre, his eyes moving up and down the length of his body. Now he nodded to himself and held up his hand. “I will help this one to dress like a man.” He turned his head back towards Alec. “Tell him to take off his clothes.”
“Tell him yourself. He speaks your tongue.”
Ibrahim straightened in surprise. “You speak Arabic?”
“Not well, but I do,” Andre replied in the same tongue. “I learned it before I ever left our homeland to come here, because our brethren there, who are the allies of your imam, Rashid al-Din, considered it wise to have me learn your language early, taught by a number of your finest scholars who live among them today, sharing common knowledge with our brethren.”
