dead. After you, Nassef has next claim.”
White robes kept pouring into Al Rhemish. Confusion and panic ran before them. Twice Megelin and the guards beat off attacks. Radetic kept gathering Royalists.
A company of Invincibles appeared, hunting Yousif’s family. They were determined. Radetic fought like a demon, revealing tricks of the sword seldom seen outside Rebsamen practice halls. His stubbornness inspired the men he had assembled. Haroun fought beside him, trying to win a minute’s respite so he could employ his shaghun’s skills. The Invincibles gave him no chance. His companions began to falter.
Haroun tried to dig into his kit anyway. A swordtip buzzed past his ear. He fumbled the kit, lost it.
The Invincibles couldn’t be stopped. He was going to die...
An unholy bellow slammed the belly of the night. Swinging his sword with both hands, Bragi Ragnarson hit the Invincibles from behind. In seconds half a dozen went down. Some scrambled away from his insanity. The northerner attacked those who remained, pounding through their sabers with his heavy sword.
They broke too. Haroun laughed hysterically. “Three times,” he gasped to Megelin. “Three times!” He staggered toward Bragi. The northerner waved his sword and called the Invincibles cowards, daring them to come back. Haroun threw his arms around the big man. “I don’t believe it,” he gasped. “Not again.”
Bragi stood there panting, watching the white robes. “I found you, eh? I’ve been hunting since sundown.”
“Just in time. Just in time.”
Bragi shuddered. “I didn’t think that could happen to me. My father could go crazy when he wanted, but... what’s going on? How did they get here? I better get back to camp.” He was confused. His voice was plaintive.
Radetic said, “You can’t get there from here, lad.” There was heavy fighting on the slope below the mercenary encampment. “Stay here. Gamel. Find a Royal standard. Let’s give our people a rallying point.”
Radetic did his utmost, parlaying the Royal name, but the collapse continued. Al Rhemish was doomed. Even with the mercenaries making vigorous sallies from their encampment, the inertia of the rout could not be turned.
Haroun almost whined as he asked, “Megelin, how could Al Rhemish be overrun so easily? There are too many loyal men here.”
“Most of whom ran for it right away,” Radetic replied.
A group of youngsters came in led by a wounded officer.
“Nobles’ sons, sire,” he said. “Take care...” And he collapsed.
Haroun stared down, bewildered. “Sire?” he whispered. “He called me sire.”
“The word is spreading,” Megelin said. “Look. The mercenaries are pulling out. Time we did too. You men. Round up whatever animals and provisions you can.”
“Megelin —”
“No room to argue anymore, Haroun.” Radetic told Bragi, “Watch him. Don’t let him do anything silly.” He spoke Trolledyngjan.
“I have to get back to my outfit,” Ragnarson protested.
“Too late, son. Way too late.” Radetic resumed arguing with Haroun.
Haroun gradually accepted Megelin’s truth. Al Rhemish was lost — and with it his entire family. He had no one but Megelin and this strange northern youth. Angry, with hatred knotting his guts, he allowed Radetic to lead him into the night.
Ahmed waited among the dead, holding a limp, frightened Lalla. His personal guards surrounded him, duty- bound despite loathing him for his patricide and treason. A dozen Invincibles watched them, indifferent to the carnage.
Ahmed’s heart ripped at him like some cruel monster trying to tear its way out of his chest. “I did it for you, Lalla. I did it for you.”
The girl did not respond.
The Invincibles snapped to attention. A darkly clad, hard-eyed man strode in. The hem of his djaballah dragged through a pool of blood. He grunted disgustedly.
There was blood everywhere, on the walls, the floors, the furnishings, the bodies. The bodies were piled deep. More wore white than the bright colors favored by Royalists. Aboud would explode when he saw... Ahmed giggled. For a moment he had forgotten who had died first.
The newcomer asked a question Ahmed didn’t catch. He had no attention to spare. Lalla was crying.
A hand closed on his shoulder. Pain lanced through his body. “Stop!” he whined.
“Get up.” The newcomer squeezed harder. Ahmed’s guards watched, indecisive.
“You can’t do this. It’s death to lay hands on the King.” He reached for Lalla.
“Don’t be a damned fool. You aren’t King of anything. And you’ll never be.”
“Who are you?” Though frightened, Ahmed retained the Quesani arrogance.
“The Scourge of God. The man with whom you’ve been corresponding.”
“Then you know I’m King. You agreed to help me take the throne.”
Nassef smiled thinly. “So I did. But I didn’t say I’d let you keep it.” To the Invincibles he said, “Lock this fool up till we can deal with him.”
