Iris Johansen
The Treasure
The second book in the Lion's Bride series, 2008
Prologue
MAY 3, 1196
FORTRESS OF MAYSEF
NOSAIRI MOUNTAINS
SYRIA
HIS POWER WAS WANING, fading like that blood-red sun setting behind the mountains.
Jabbar Al Nasim’s fists clenched with fury as he gazed out at the sun sinking on the horizon. It should not be. It made no sense that he should be so afflicted. Weakness was for those other fools, not for him.
Yet he had always known it would come. It had even come for Sinan, the Old Man of the Mountain. But he had always been stronger than the Old Man in both mind and spirit. Sinan had bent before the yoke, but Nasim had prepared for it.
“You sent for me, master?”
He turned to see Ali Balkir striding along the battlements toward him. The man’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could see the fear in his face. Nasim felt a jolt of fierce pleasure as he realized the captain had not detected any loss of power. Well, why should he? Nasim had always been master here, in spite of what outsiders thought. Sinan might have been the King of Assassins, feared by kings and warriors alike, but Nasim had been the one who had guided his footsteps. Everyone here at the fortress knew and groveled at his feet.
And they’d continue to grovel. He would not let this monstrous thing happen to him.
Balkir took a hurried step back as he saw Nasim’s expression. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness for intrud-”
“No, stay. I have a task for you.”
Balkir drew a relieved breath. “Another attack on the Frankish ships? Gladly. I brought you much gold from my last journey. I will bring you even more this-”
“Be silent. I wish you to return to Scotland, where you left Kadar Ben Arnaud and the foreigners. You are to tell him nothing of what has transpired here. Do not mention me. Tell him only that Sinan is claiming his price. Bring him to me.”
Balkir’s eyes widened. “Sinan? But Sinan is-”
“Do you question me?”
“No, never.” Balkir moistened his lips. “But what if he refuses?”
Balkir was terrified, Nasim realized, and not of failing him. Nasim had forgotten that Balkir was at the fortress at the time Kadar underwent his training; Balkir knew how adept Kadar was in all the dark arts. More adept than any man Nasim had ever known, and Kadar was only a boy of ten and four when he came to the mountain. How proud Sinan had been of him. What plans he had made for the two of them. He had never realized Nasim had plans of his own for Kadar.
All wasted when Kadar had left the dark path and rejected Sinan to live with the foreigners. What a fool the Old Man had been to let him go.
But it was not too late. What Sinan had lost, Nasim could reclaim.
If Kadar did not die as the others had died.
Well, if he died, he died. Kadar was only a man; it was the power that was important.
“He won’t refuse,” Nasim said. “He gave Sinan his word in exchange for the lives of the foreigners.”
“What if he does?”
“You
Balkir turned pale. “No, master. Of course he won’t refuse. Not if you say he won’t. I only-”
“Be gone.” Nasim waved his hand. “Set sail at once.”
Balkir nodded jerkily and backed away from him. “I will bring him. Whether or not he wishes to come I will force-”
The words cut off abruptly as Nasim turned his back on him. The man was only trying to gain respect in his eyes. He would have no more chance against Kadar if he tried to use force than he would against Nasim, and he probably knew it.
But he wouldn’t have to use force. Kadar would come. Not only because of his promise but because he would know what would result if he didn’t. Sinan had spared the lives of Lord Ware, his woman, Thea, and the child Selene and given them all a new life in Scotland. Nasim had permitted the foolishness because he had wanted to keep Kadar safe until it was time to use him.
But no one would be more aware than Kadar that the safety Sinan had given could always be taken away.
Kadar had shown a baffling softness toward his friend Lord Ware and a stranger bond with the child Selene. Such emotions were common on the bright path, but Nasim had taught Kadar better. It seemed fitting that he be caught in his master’s noose because he’d ignored his teachings.
The fortress gate was opening and Balkir rode through it. He kicked his horse into a dead run down the mountain. He would be in Hafir in a few days and set sail as soon as he could stock his ship, the
Nasim turned back to the setting sun. It had descended almost below the horizon now; darkness was closing in. But it would return tomorrow, blasting all before it with its power.
And so would Nasim.
His gaze shifted north toward the sea. Kadar was across that sea in that cold land of Scotland, playing at being one of them, the fools, the bright ones. But it would be just a matter of months before he would be here. Nasim had waited five years. He could wait a little longer. Yet an odd eagerness was beginning to replace his rage and desperation. He wanted him here
He felt the power rising within him, and he closed his eyes and sent the call forth.
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