El Murid swallowed. Memories of Wadi el Kuf swarmed, helter skelter, chaotic. He simply could not think straight.
Hali interpreted his silence as a patient wait for continued illumination. “There were a thousand of them, Lord, including many lances of heavy cavalry, and a large baggage train. They have come to fight a long campaign. I kept patrols close till they entered el Aswad, but could gather little more information. Their column was screened by Aboud’s best light cavalry. I trust our agents in the Eastern Fortress will provide better reports.”
El Murid just could not grasp the news. Finally, he croaked, “It
“I was at Wadi el Kuf, Lord. I haven’t forgotten his banners.”
“Nor I, Mowaffak. Nor I.” The shock began to recede. “So. Aboud is frightened enough to hire foreigners. Why, Mowaffak? Because the Scourge of God has the temerity to defend Hammad al Nakir against Throyen predations?”
“I think not, Lord. I think the King wants revenge.” Kali’s tone was strained. He was hinting round the edge of something.
“Aboud has a special reason for wishing us ill? Beyond a desire to perpetuate his dynasty of darkness?”
“That’s the point, Lord. There can be no dynasty. With Prince Farid dead he is left no successor but Ahmed. Our friends and the Royalists alike consider Ahmed a bad joke.”
“Farid is dead? When did that happen?”
“Long ago, Lord. Karim himself undertook the mission.”
“Our people did it? Karim? Meaning the Scourge of God sent him?” He hadn’t heard a word about this. Why did they keep the unpleasant news secret? “What else is Nassef doing? What else don’t I know?”
“He is destroying the Quesani, Lord. Using the Invincibles, mainly. But perhaps he felt Farid was too important a task to entrust to anyone but his personal assassin.”
El Murid turned away, both to conceal his anger at Nassef and his disgust with Hali’s obvious politicking. The Invincibles loathed Nassef. They were convinced he was the bandit the Royalists claimed.
“The Scourge of God is somewhere near Throyes. Too busy to bother with this.”
“This is a task for the Invincibles, Lord.”
“Have we so many otherwise unemployed, Mowaffak? Much as I loathe the Wahlig, his destruction isn’t first on the list of works that need accomplishing.”
“Lord —”
“Your brotherhood will participate, Mowaffak. El Nadim is in the valley. Send him to me.”
“As you command, Lord.” Hali’s tone was sour. He started to protest entrusting Nassef’s henchman with so critical a task, thought better of it, bowed himself out.
Wearily, El Murid rose. A servant scooted his way, one hand extended in an unspoken offer of help. The Disciple waved the man off. He now knew he would never recover completely. Wadi el Kuf had made of him an old man before his time.
Hot anger hit him. Yousif! Hawkwind! They had stolen his youth. The years could not soften his rage. He would destroy them. The two were in one place now, eggs in one nest. He had been patient, and the Lord had given him his reward. The eagle would descend, and rend its prey.
One smashing blow. One bold stroke, and the desert would be free. This time there would be no doubt about el Aswad. War with Throyes notwithstanding.
Pain stabbed through his leg. The ankle never had healed right. He flung his arms out for balance, and that stimulated the pain in the arm that had been broken. He groaned. Why wouldn’t the bones heal? Why wouldn’t they stop hurting? The servant caught him before he fell, tried to guide him to his throne. “No,” he said. “Take me to my wife. Have el Nadim meet me there.”
Meryem took him from his helper, led him to a large cushion and helped him lie down. “Your injuries again?”
He drew her to him, held her for a long minute. “Yes.”
“You were angry again, weren’t you? It only gets bad when you get angry.”
“You know me too well, woman.”
“What was it this time?”
“Nothing. Everything. Too much. Bickering between the Invincibles and regular soldiers. Nassef’s going off on his own again. Aboud sending mercenaries to reinforce el Aswad.”
“No.”
“Yes. A thousand of them. Under Hawkwind.”
“He’s the one?”
“From Wadi el Kuf. Yes. The most brilliant tactician of our age, some say.”
“Are we in danger, then?”
“Of course!” he snapped. “Can you picture Yousif having a weapon like that and not using it?” He was shaking, frightened. The root of his anger was his fear. He needed reassurance, needed help to banish the doubts. “Where are the children? I need to see the children.”
He felt settled before el Nadim arrived. The general was as nondescript a man as the desert produced. Like all Nassef’s henchmen, his background was suspect. The Invincibles said he had begun as a cutpurse, and had
