The Fire In His Hands
Book One of the
Glen Cook
Copyright © Glen Cook 1984
Cover by Carl Lundgren
First Printing: January, 1984
This ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man Jan, 2011
In the vast reaches of the desert, a young heretic escapes certain death and embarks on a mission of madness and glory. He is El Murid -- the Disciple -- who vows to bring order, prosperity and righteousness to the desert people of Hammad al Nakir.
But among the warriors, rebellion seethes as they plot to execute the justice of the desert on their evil leader. For after four long centuries, a sorcerer appears among them -- a savior destined to build a new Empire from the blood of their enemies!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Making of a Messiah
The caravan crept across a stony wadi and meandered upward into the hills. The camels boredly tramped out their graceless steps, defining the milemarks of their lives. Twelve tired beasts and six weary men made up the small, exhausted caravan.
They were nearing the end of their route. After a rest at El Aquila they would recross the Sahel for more salt.
Nine watchers awaited them.
The camels now carried the sweet dates, emeralds of Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni, and imperial relics coveted by the traders of Hellin Daimiel. The traders would purchase them with salt recovered from the distant western sea.
An elderly merchant named Sidi al Rhami mastered the caravan. He was captain of a family enterprise. His companions were brothers and cousins and sons. His youngest boy, Micah, just twelve, was making his first transit of the family route.
The watchers didn’t care who they were.
Their captain assigned victims. His men stirred uncomfortably in the shimmering heat. The sun’s full might blasted down upon them. It was the hottest day in the hottest summer in living memory.
The camels plodded into the deathtrap defile.
The bandits leapt from the rocks. They howled like jackals.
Micah fell instantly, his skull cracked. His ears moaned with the force of the blow. He hardly had time to realize what was happening.
Everywhere the caravan had traveled men had remarked that it was a summer of evil. Never had the sun been so blistering, nor the oases so dry.
It was a summer of evil indeed when men sank to robbing salt merchants. Ancient law and custom decreed them free even of the predations of tax collectors, those bandits legitimized by stealing for the king.
Micah recovered consciousness several hours later. He immediately wished that he had died too. The pain he could endure. He was a child of Hammad al Nakir. The children of the Desert of Death hardened in a fiery furnace.
