“Want to hold it down back there, you Ragnarsons?” Sanguinet bellowed. “Or at least speak Itaskian so the rest of us can get in on it?”
Bragi reddened. He glanced at the Lieutenant, averted his gaze from the man’s taut face. His eye fell on the young guide again. Again he had that
The youth said, “I am Haroun bin Yousif. My father is Wahlig of el Aswad. What you would call a duke. During your stay here, unless I am needed elsewhere, I will remain attached to your company as interpreter and go- between. Is there a word for that in Itaskian?” he said in an aside to Sanguinet.
The Lieutenant shrugged. Itaskian was not his native tongue either.
“Liaison,” Sergeant Trubacik volunteered.
“Yes. I recall now. Liaison. If you have problems requiring communication with my people, see me. Especially in matters of dispute. We are of contrasting cultures. Probably my people seem as strange to you as you do to them. But we must stand side by side against the Disciple...”
“Rah rah rah,” Reskkd muttered, a little too loudly. “Three cheers for our side. Why doesn’t he tell us what’s so special about this El Murid character?”
In a voice dripping with honey, easygoing Corporal Birdsong said, “That will be four hours of extra duty, Kildragon. Want to try for more?”
Reskird gulped, sealed his lips.
Haroun continued, “I, and my tutor, Megelin Radetic, whom I shall introduce later, are the only men here who speak Itaskian. If you find yourself desperate to communicate, and you can speak Daimiellian, try that. Many of our men have worked the caravans and speak a little Daimiellian. But talk slowly, and be patient.”
Haaken lifted a hand. “Back here. Where can we get something to drink?”
“There is a cistern.” Haroun turned to Sanguinet, who expanded upon the critical question in a soft voice. He looked puzzled. Then he said, “The drinking of spirited beverages is forbidden. Our religion does not allow it.”
Grumble mumble growl. “Holy shit,” somebody shouted. “What the hell kind of hole is this? No women. No booze. Hot and dirty... Hell. For this we should risk our lives?”
The youth looked baffled. He turned to Sanguinet for help. Bragi prodded Haaken, who was within reach of the loudest complainer. Haaken took hold of the man’s shoulder muscle and squeezed. His protests died.
Sergeant Trubacik called out, “Any problems, you see me or Haroun here. At ease. Settle in. Lieutenant suggests you roam around and get to know the place. Duty assignments will come out tomorrow. That’s it.”
“You’d better believe I’m going to roam around,” Reskird muttered. “This is so tight it would give me the shakes, only there isn’t room to shiver.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Bragi said. “Come on, Haaken. Let’s catch that Haroun. I want to talk to him.” But it took them ten minutes to get out of the barracks room. By then the youth had disappeared. So the brothers went up on the wall and looked out on the barren land and wondered why anyone would fight to defend it.
Haaken, unwittingly prophetic, observed, “What I’d fight for is to get out.”
“There he is, down there,” Bragi said, spotting Haroun. “Let’s go.”
But they missed him again. And thus they began their first commission as soldiers of the Guild.
Chapter Ten
Salt Lake Encounter
El Murid had been up late discussing the coastal war. His aching limbs left him in no mood to be wakened prematurely. “What is it?” he snapped at the insistent slave. “It had better be important, or... Well, out with it!”
The man gulped. The Disciple’s temper had grown ever fiercer since Wadi el Kuf. “Lord...” He burst right into it, talking almost too fast to follow. “Lord, Mowaffak Hali insists on seeing you. He’s just returned from patrol. He won’t be put off.”
El Murid grumbled and scowled. “Hali? Hali?” He could not associate a face with the name.
“Mowaffak Hali, Lord. The elder Hali. The Invincible.” The slave eyed him oddly, as if bemused because he could not recall a man as important as this visitor.
“All right. Show him in. And if it’s another petty squabble over precedence between the regulars and the Invincibles, I’ll crucify you both.” He beckoned a second slave. “Clothing.”
He was dressing when the Invincible strode in, advancing like a trail-dirty thunderhead, brow furrowed. El Murid remembered him now. One of his favorites among the Invincibles. One of his best men. One of the most determinedly faithful. And, in all likelihood, one of the high brethren of the Harish, too.
“Mowaffak, my brother. A pleasure to see you again.”
Hali halted a few, paces away. “My apologies, Lord. I wouldn’t disturb you for anything less than a disaster.”
El Murid’s lips stretched in a rictus of a smile, cracking because they were dry. “Disaster? What now?”
“The rumors are true. Aboud has engaged Hawkwind again.”
El Murid’s stomach knotted. He fought to keep his fear off his face. They had whipped him like a cur at Wadi el Kuf. They had branded terror upon his soul. He could not be reminded without cringing. “Hawkwind?” he croaked.
“I saw them with my own eyes, Lord. I was leading the Fourth through the gap between el Aswad and the Great Erg. My scouts reported the presence of a large body of foreigners. I took the battalion forward, and engaged briefly. They drove us off like swatting away flies.”
