“Trust in the Lord, Nassef. He will deliver them unto us. We have the numbers, and Him on our side. What more could we ask?”
Nassef stifled an angry response. He helped guide the Invincibles into a new disposition.
At the oasis, at feast, it seemed that El Murid’s confidence was justified. Yousif’s force was surrounded.
“Who’s this Hawkwind?”
“A Guildsman. Perhaps their best general.”
“Guildsman?” El Murid’s ignorance of the world outside Hammad al Nakir was immense.
“A brotherhood of warriors. Not unlike the Invincibles. Called the Mercenary’s Guild. They’re also a little like the Harish, and yet like nothing we know. They own no allegiance except to one another. After Itaskia, they’re probably the greatest military power in the west, yet they have no homeland but a castle called High Crag. When their generals frown, princes cringe. Just their decision to fight for someone sometimes stops a war before it starts.”
“How do you know? When have you ever had time to learn?”
“I pay people to learn things for me. I’ve got spies all over the west.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to go there someday. I’m preparing the way. But it’s all irrelevant if we don’t get out of this alive.”
Hawkwind’s force was close enough to start increasing its pace.
None of the Invincibles had seen knights before. They neither understood nor sufficiently feared what they faced. When their master gave the signal, they charged. They trusted in the Lord and their name. Hawkwind increased his pace again.
The long lances and heavy horses hit the Invincibles like a stone wall. The Royalists passed through and over them, and crushed them, and in ten minutes were turning and forming for a charge into the rear of the horde beleaguering Yousif.
Neither Nassef nor El Murid said a word. It was even worse than Nassef had expected. The Wahlig of el Aswad was in a bad way. But once help arrived the battle became a rebel slaughter.
Hawkwind placed a screen of infantry between himself and the remnants of the Invincibles. He placed another of light horse between himself and the oasis, with extended and slightly C-shaped wings. Then he started hammering with his armored horsemen. Charge. Melee. Withdraw. Reform. Charge.
El Murid was too stubborn to accept reality. Nassef’s troops, down in the witch’s cauldron, were too confused to realize what was happening.
Hawkwind set about systematically exterminating them.
At one point Nassef wept. “My Lord,” he pleaded, “let me go down there. Let me try to break them out.”
“We can’t lose,” El Murid murmured in reply, more to himself than to his war general. “We have the numbers. The Lord is with us.”
Nassef cursed softly.
The sun moved to the west. Hawkwind extended his wings, completing a thin encirclement against which Nassef’s warriors collided randomly, like flies against the walls of a bottle. He put more and more strength into the circle, daring El Murid to try something with his battered Invincibles. The Wahlig’s men filtered out of the cauldron and became part of the circle.
Some of Nassef’s men tried to surrender, but Prince Farid had ordered his to take no prisoners.
“They have taken away our last ounce of choice,” Nassef moaned. “We have to throw these pitiful few hundreds in to give those men down there a chance to escape.”
“Nassef?”
“What?” The voice of the Scourge of God was both sorrowful and angry.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. The time wasn’t right. I listened to myself instead of to the Voice of God. Take command. Do what you can to save what you can. O Lord Almighty, forgive me for my arrogance. Pardon me for my vanity.”
“No.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll tell you what to do, but you do the leading. This is no time to show weakness. Salvage some respect from the disaster. Do that and we can always say that they tricked us, that the Evil One blinded our eyes.”
“Nassef! You’re right, of course. What should we do?”
Fifteen minutes later the survivors of the Invincibles hurled themselves against Hawkwind’s circle. They did not strike toward the center, but cut a shallow chord meant to break the widest possible gap.
Nassef’s warriors began flooding through while the gap was still opening.
El Murid and his brother-in-law rode at the head of the charge.
El Murid flailed about him with his sword. The clash of weapons, the screams of horses and men, were overwhelming, maddening. The dust choked him. It stung his eyes. A horse plunged against his, nearly unseating him. A wild sword stroke, partially turned by Nassef, cut his left arm, leaving a shallow, bloody wound. For an instant he was amazed at the lack of immediate pain.
Nassef struck about himself like some war djinn just released from Hell. The Invincibles did their desperate best to keep their prophet from coming to harm, but...
