He chuckled. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because she wouldn’t let me. If I could get in there and do that, that simply, then any Tervola old enough to walk could sneak in and do bad things.”
“All right. I understand. But you’ll find a way. Hell, invite her to come see them.”
That suggestion so flabbergasted Varthlokkur that he was left speechless. But thoughtful.
Chapter Eight:
Year 1017 AFE:
The Desert Kingdom
There was no wakening touch but Haroun knew one of his companions wanted his attention. A glance at the angle of the moonlight told him it was just after midnight. He heard harness creaks and horses’ hooves. There was no need to whisper, “They’re here.” Traveling by night.
Interesting.
Might be worth investigating.
Probably not worth the risk of exposure, though.
Haroun moved just enough to let it be known that he had heard. He was curious.
He did nothing for several minutes. The sounds made by the travelers grew louder. They would reach the Sheyik’s stronghold without coming near here.
Haroun had a premonition: It would not be wise to go look.
He rose, glided through the moonlight forty yards, slid into a shadow where his companions could not watch. He squatted, carefully extended his shaghun senses.
The sounds of movement ceased.
Bin Yousif withdrew, cursing softly. Slight as his use of the power had been, it had been detected. A powerful someone accompanied the nightriders.
Up. Stride briskly back to his seat behind the tiny fire. Settle. Relax. Hope his companions did not ask uncomfortable questions.
Both were awake and nervous.
Shouting and order-giving began over yonder. Haroun concentrated on controlling his breathing.
A half-dozen men trotted past. One paused to consider the derelicts. He wasted only a few seconds before moving on.
Haroun caressed the hilt of his favorite knife, gently, and wondered about the sorcerer who had detected his careful probe.
Another group of men rushed Haroun’s former shadow from another direction.
Incomprehensible calls indicated that more men were coming.
Silhouettes glided into sight, following the half-dozen who had passed by earlier, three in a loose wedge followed by a man who was nearly a giant.
Haroun did not think. He responded without calculation, lightning striking. He leapt onto the devil’s back, left hand seizing his chin and pulling, right hand yanking his knife across the man’s throat, slicing deep enough to cut the windpipe before the sorcerer could utter the first syllable of a protective spell. The slash cut all the way to the spine. Carotid and jugular spewed.
Bin Yousif threw himself clear, drove his knife into the belly of Magden Norath’s nearest companion, who shrieked as he went down. He slashed another man’s raised left arm. The third turned to run. He died from a thrust into his back.
Haroun ran the other direction after taking a moment to drive his knife into the sorcerer’s left temple. He considered taking the head away, to destroy it a fragment at a time, but Norath’s men had begun to react.
He became another shadow moving through shadows.
He was calm the whole time, from the moment he felt his knife slice Norath’s esophagus. This was his life. This was what he had been born to do, till the day he made his lethal mistake. Cut, slash, stab, and walk away before anyone could respond.
Once out of sight he had serious advantages.
Norath’s men could not know who they were hunting. He knew that anyone searching must be an enemy.
Magden Norath, though! How could that be? In his way, in his time, Norath had been as terrible as the Empire Destroyer. How could he have fallen so easily?
Norath had gotten sloppy. He had failed to protect himself because he had seen no need. Death had been on him before he knew he was in danger. It was the story of every mouse ever taken by an owl, fox, or snake.
Death was always one inattentive moment away.
Things began to prowl the night, hunting, things created by Magden Norath. Though hardly the savan dalage the sorcerer had loosed during the Great Eastern Wars, they were formidable. They were confused. Haroun ambushed one that came within striking distance. It died. He was amazed.
The threat faded.
Norath was dead. The hunt for his murderer went on hiatus while the sorcerer’s men surrounded another member of their party. Him they hurried to safety inside the Sheyik’s compound.
Amazing, Haroun thought. The course of history might have been changed.
He had to get out of al-Habor. There would be a big, serious hunt once those men got themselves together. They would loose Norath’s monsters-unless they just killed the beasts rather than try to manage them without the sorcerer’s help.
Haroun sneaked back to his fire. That had been killed and scattered. There was no sign that three men had slept there. The dead had been taken away.
Haroun ripped a strip from the edge of his cloak. He took a packet from a pocket inside his inner shirt, tucked the scrap inside. The herb in the packet had come most of the way from Lioantung. He rubbed it into the cloth, then worked the scrap into a crack in the wall where he had sat to sleep. It should look like something that had gotten caught there.
All set. Time to go.
There was no one in the stable when Haroun arrived. Odd, but his shaghun senses discovered nothing else unusual. Maybe the night boy was shirking.
Haroun was preparing his animals when a long, hate-filled howl rolled across al-Habor. It was joined by another.
His cloth scrap had been found.
How many monsters had Magden Norath brought?
Bin Yousif thought of them as hellhounds but they better resembled large, stocky cats with hound-like heads.
As Haroun eased into the light of the setting moon he concluded that their number did not matter.
Men screamed. Monsters growled and shrieked in a fight fit for entertaining the gods. Haroun searched the sky, halfway expecting to see a winged horse against the starscape.
Still no stable boy. Surely the uproar should have brought him back. The master was bound to come, to make sure the animals were safe.
Haroun left a generous tip.
The sun would rise before long. Norath’s hounds should have to hide from the light. They could be rooted out and destroyed during the day.
If they did not destroy one another. If someone did not delude himself into thinking he could use them the way Norath had.
Haroun hoped his fireside brethren had gotten a good head start. They did not deserve to suffer for his crimes.
…
Megelin’s bodyguards were the best surviving Royalist warriors. They moved as quietly as they could, which was not especially so. The horses and camels were nervous. The deathcats had closed in too tight.
Megelin had told the damned sorcerer to leave the deathcats behind. Norath did not listen well. He had brought four monsters anyway.
Someday Norath would cease to be useful. After he made Megelin’s enemies die. Then he could join his victims in hell.
Pray this meeting went well. Norath’s mystery ally might hasten the opportunity.
Norath’s massive bulk rolled in the moonlight just yards ahead. The sorcerer had a distinctive walk because of injuries suffered during the Great Eastern Wars. He was badly bowlegged and had trouble changing course quickly.
Megelin’s loathing grew. He was downwind. The man stank.
Norath could stop suddenly, though. Megelin banged into him. “What the hell…?”
Norath ignored him. In a growling whisper, he said. “Someone is trying to spy on us using the Power. We may have been betrayed. We have to catch him. We need to ask why he is here, waiting.” The sorcerer husked orders to the men, then to his beasts. Two parties of six men each moved out. Those who stayed began stringing horses and camels together so they could be managed more easily.