The Fire In His Hands

which gave desert merchants access to Throyes. The Throyens were racially and linguistically akin to the Children of Hammad al Nakir, but had not recognized an external suzerainty since the Fall. The city had been founded as a naval and mercantile port by Ilkazar.

There had been no fighting for years, but the city still claimed territories on the northern shores of the east coast. Since Sebil el Selib Throyes had been nibbling away at the lands Aboud had reconquered in his youth. The Royal lines of communication now had to pass through areas patrolled by unfriendly troops.

“I imagine they’ll occupy in earnest as soon as they hear what’s happened,” Radetic agreed. “How strong a garrison did Nassef leave? Did El Murid go with him?”

“Fuad’s checking it now.”

Fuad was doing more than checking. He was conducting el Aswad’s first assault on the pass in years. His initial progress report arrived early next day.

Haroun came to drag Radetic out of his quarters. “Come on, Megelin! Uncle Fuad took them by surprise. Get up! Father needs you.”

Radetic rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Fuad did what?” He began to dress, donning desert-style clothing. The last of his own western garb had gone to rags years earlier. “Never going to get used to this women’s wear,” he muttered. “Maybe I should have something sent out. Bah. That would make it too easy for assassins to find their target.”

“Come on!” Haroun bubbled. “He surprised them. He got through their picket lines and cut them off so nobody knew he was coming. He caught them working in their fields and killed a whole lot. Come on. Father needs to know what you think we should do.”

Haroun could not stop jabbering. He revealed most of Yousif’s surprise before he and Radetic located the Wahlig in the parapet of the tower on the north wall. Yousif was staring northward, toward Sebil el Selib.

With a mixture of luck, planning and cunning, Fuad had outmaneuvered El Murid’s patrols and had broken into Sebil el Selib. He had killed or captured hundreds before the survivors could seal up the two fortresses, and had killed and captured hundreds more afterward, because in their panic the gatekeepers had locked them out. Fuad and the survivors were trading stares over the walls of the castles. Fuad did not have the strength to storm either. While he awaited advice from home he was destroying everything he could. He expected Nassef to send help soon. He wanted to leave the enemy nothing when he withdrew.

“What do you think we should do, Megelin?” Yousif asked.

“Send for help. Especially to Prince Farid. Explain the situation. Tell him that if he hurries we have a chance to cut them off on the coast. That might be as good as killing them.”

“I’ve done that. I was thinking in more direct terms. What can we do up there? While we’re waiting for Farid and Nassef?”

Radetic considered. “I’d have to see the fortresses myself. I might notice a weakness you’ve overlooked.”

The western style of warfare was more given to castles and siegework than that of Hammad al Nakir. The men of the desert were inclined to run away when outnumbered rather than to retreat into a fortress. Most of the extant fortifications were Imperial hand-me-downs weak from long neglect.

“You can join me, then. I’m leaving in an hour. Taking every man who can hoist himself onto a horse.”

“Father?”

Yousif eyed his son. He knew what the boy wanted, but made him ask anyway. “What, Haroun?”

“Can I go? If Megelin does?”

The Wahlig glanced at Radetic, who said, “It’s all right with me if it’s all right with you.”

“Go get your things, son.”

Haroun left with the excitement of a small whirlwind. Radetic observed, “It’s time he got a glimpse of the realities.”

“That’s why I told him he could go. He accused me of letting Ali have all the fun this morning. I want him to see that Ali isn’t enjoying himself.”

“How much more muscle can you give Fuad?”

“Not much. Maybe three hundred men.”

“Hardly enough.”

“Then hope that my messengers get lucky.”

Two days later Megelin saw Sebil el Selib for the first time. He was surprised. He had been hearing about it for eight years. He had built a mental picture that only vaguely resembled reality.

“How easy it is to destroy,” he told Haroun. “You see what your uncle has done? In a few days he’s undone the labor of years.”

Fields had been ruined. Hillside terraces had been undermined and allowed to collapse. Fuad’s men were still forcing their prisoners to destroy, daring the inmates of the two fortresses to try stopping them. Fuad was saving the vast barracks-city east of the new fortress to become a burning greeting for Nassef’s return.

Radetic studied the situation for several hours. Then he located Fuad and asked, “Is El Murid here?”

“Went with Nassef. To preach to new converts. He left his family, though. They’re in the New Castle.”

Radetic glanced at the huge fortress. “We couldn’t take that. The old stronghold we might. We can pound it a little, anyway. If we can come up with the lumber to build siege engines.”

Fuad found the lumber in the barracks.

Radetic gathered the Wahlig’s officers. “We probably won’t have time for much before Nassef returns,” he told them. “But we won’t get anywhere if we don’t try.” Those men had been involved in the war so long that other