“My lord most blessed of Allah’s children,” Sebastiano coughed into his fist. “Today I have witnessed a display of swordsmanship that only have lived in the tales of the poets. A Kaffir, his blade a part of him like talons are to a leopard, sent four down to death’s halls, among them Shirkuh Hammerhand, without a bead of sweat dotting his brow. He gives off the aura of a champion totally fearless, he challenged the whole inn to battle.”
“And,”growled, Battur. “After seeing the four dead, two of them formidable bandits of the ill named Panther, lives ripped from them so easily, there was none there to take up the dare.”
“Including you,” Umr said looking directly at the guardsman.
Hassan stiffened. This puffed up tailor’s insult was bad enough but to have it spoken in front of this Christian swine was unpardonable.
“He had an assignment that precluded such bravado, good Umr. Where is he now?” asked the now interested caid.
“He took a room, there at his triumph, my lord.”
“Good! Good! Sebastiano; bring this living legend here early tomorrow morning. We’ll pit cat against cat directly.”
* * *
Sumunguru noted that none of the riders he was accompanying wore anything that could tie them to the city of the caid. They had pushed their first mounts hard, then switched to their spare horses to gain ground on the wedding party, who they had over taken just before they had gotten deeper into the groom’s rocky hills home country.
Forty horsemen escorted a large train of carts and pack donkeys up a road long used. As it had been explained to the So warrior by the ruler of the now hills hidden city, the ruler wished to strike a heavy blow against his longtime foe, the Silver Panther.
“For too long he has mocked the laws of our taifa, but he has escaped retribution due to the mind of the prince must stay on the armies of the Christians, pushing ever southward. And this renegade and I are of equal power. If one was to whelm the other in a true clash of strength an opening would be made for the dogs of the north to sink their ever slavering teeth into the lands of all, may Allah forbid such an event, in his inestimable wisdom.”
“Yes, may he in all his wisdom,” Sumunguru hid his sneer behind his silver jeweled inlaid goblet of wine. To avoid constant conflict Sumunguru acted when necessary the role of a proper Moslem, but he was an adherent of the gods and spirits of his ancestors, and looked on the belief in the one lonely deity as sand blinded foolishness.
There in the garden with Sumunguru was one he recognized from the inn who had sat with the hill bandits, named Hassan. A mamba must have crawled across his mother’s belly when she was stuffed with him, he thought staring directly at the man, who jutted his jaw upward in a show of boldness. Sumunguru smiled sinisterly at the man reading in his posture a hollowness he could tip over with the clipping of a fingernail. There was also the tall, paler skinned, sharper featured, thin straw-colored mustache and hairy arms man, Cebashinno, who was to be in charge. A different type altogether, more steel in his soul. One who’d bear watching and listening to the tenor of his voice. Sumunguru had a specific task: He was to slay the groom, Abu Shama, a reputed eagle with a sword.
“Take this one down and I’ll give you twice his head’s weight in gold, plus I’ll give fifty more gold coins.”
“That is all you want, my lord? For this one’s head delivered to you?” asked Sumunguru, trying to be appropriately blank faced in his response.
“My captain here shall see to the safety of my daughter, swordsman. I want you to see to the death of the Panther’s whelp. I shall make it three times its weight in gold, plus
another hundred.”
Now that moment was near. They were above the main road in a smaller boulder hidden pathway. There was a widening of the trail below them as it came to a large clearing between the hills. A crossroad, their road tied into it before ascending back into the hills to the west.
“We’ll start and end it here,” said the mercenary leader. With him were twelve men of similar origin and harness of war hid by the clothing of the Moslems. The remainder, fifty-eight were Arabs or Berbers, wearing light or no mail at all. Sumunguru had been allowed to enter the armory and had chosen for himself a suit of mesh mail of such workmanship it could be rolled into a ball in his hand.
“Our goals are there Negro, in the midst of the train. See; the fellow on the grey conversing with the covered cart? That is Abu Shama. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Save our paymaster’s girl. I don’t want anything to jeopardize me collecting my fee. I might hold it against you, even if you’re dead. Let’s GO!”
He put spur to his horse and tore off ahead of the others. Sebastiano cursed at the sound of command in the Black’s voice but followed with rest of his men. He watched as Sumunguru tore two flank riders from their saddles and rip into the main escort. Then he and his men crashed into them. He battered one escort down with a series of hard blows of his broadsword, then clove through the buckler of another, before sending him backwards over his horse with an up-streaking strike that tore through his leather armor splitting his chest open.
But then a flight of arrows fell amongst the attackers from their right, then the
