“Ah? So?”
“That’s the shortest way to get here unseen by El Murid’s friends.”
Mist did not understand and said so.
“We came north over the Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni,” he reiterated.
“Oh.” Mist recalling that the name meant Mountains of the Thousand Sorcerers. “The thousand resented you trespassing.”
“Every last one, and all their children, too. Some of them are really nasty. And some have skills. I mean to reverse my route exactly going back. I’ll find out if they learned any manners.” He was vexed in the extreme.
“Let me not irritate you further by wasting your time. Scalza, explain. You caught it happening.”
That was a good move. Scalza liked not being treated like a kid. “It wasn’t all me. I was just the only one around when Lord Yuan showed up and said somebody was using that Horn thing. He told me where. I zeroed in. Then he showed me how to look backward to see why that man was there looking around.”
Scalza was clear and concise with his explanation. He did not need much questioning.
“This is not good,” the wizard opined. “Haroun will be… You know… I can’t guess how he’ll react. He’ll surprise us. And me going back by the same route won’t be just for fun now. Those people better not mess with me. I won’t be gentle and forgiving.”
Mist said, “Whatever, you need to rest before you go. You don’t want to be so tired that you make stupid mistakes.”
“I do believe that, this once, I’ll take some common sense advice.”
Which let Mist know that his passage up the spine of the Jebal had been more of a challenge than he admitted. He was in a mood to administer another set of spankings.
She stayed put while Varthlokkur did. She had a lifeguard take a patrol to scout the Invincible strongpoint, with Scalza going along. The boy would have something extra to brag about to his sister. His mother would get a read on his character under stress.
The lifeguard reported that he did well.
Scalza was reluctant to go back to Fangdred. He argued, but without spoiled child passion. He did go sullen on being reminded that when he had the bad luck to draw her for a mother he had lost his chance to enjoy a normal life. Some opportunist was sure to snatch him in hopes of gaining leverage on her the instant he tried
Varthlokkur agreed as he summoned the Unborn.
Scalza said, “I know that stuff in my head but I still hate it… Let’s go home. At least I can brag to Eka.”
…
The sorcerers of the Jebal had understood Varthlokkur’s warnings. He had only two encounters. Both times he overresponded dramatically. He expected to have no problems ever after.
Bin Yousif had done little during his absence but scout toward Sebil el Selib. He had a young hare roasting, disdaining the dietary laws. “So what was it? And did you have as much trouble as I predicted?”
“I had all that trouble and a whole lot more. There are some testy recluses up there. Mist wanted me to pass on some bad news about your son.”
“What did he…? He was killed during the uprising.”
“No. He avoided that. He sneaked out with some of his advisers.”
…
It had been weeks since news of the troubles in Al Rhemish first reached Sebil el Selib. Yasmid’s captains had been excited, then. The people would turn the Royalist rascals out… But the rioters punished the Faithful with equal passion.
Yasmid found the distraction useful. If her people were trying to profit from the uprising they had no time to worry about how she might be changing.
Habibullah, too, seized the day. He isolated her, because of her ill health and grief for her son, in her father’s tent, where the foreign physicians could attend her. When word came that Megelin had survived after all, and was hiding somewhere in the desert, Habibullah insisted that she remain under Phogedatvitsu’s care.
The swami saw no shame in her condition. He manufactured reports about her failing health, which he could reverse given several months. Habibullah carried messages to and from Elwas al-Souki, whom Yasmid appointed as surrogate for her and her father till she came back or El Murid was able to resume his role as first among the Faithful.
Yasmid had been in her father’s tent only a short while before she understood that her father would never take up the mantle of the Disciple again. The Matayangans had conquered his addiction but the man the poppy had left behind was almost useless, and had no connection with today’s reality. He thought Yasmid was her mother, Meryem. He recognized her condition-and was positive that he was the father. The fakirs could not free him from that delusion.
Which left Phogedatvitsu frightened. If that suggestion got out… He launched a vigorous program meant to keep everyone away from Yasmid and her father. How terrible would the wrath of the Believers be if they thought their demigod had sired a child on his own daughter?
That would be the end of her. That would be the end of him. That would be the end of the Faith.
Again and again Yasmid asked herself why had she been so stupid. Why she had gone so weak the instant that man no longer left her waiting by the door.
Was God testing her? How could this be part of the Divine Plan? How mad must that Plan be?
The essence of the Faith was submission to the Will of God. How to tell, anymore, though, what that Will might really be?
Personal terror became part of life in the Disciple’s tent and terror stimulated ever-deepening religious doubt.
Habibullah reported that Elwas al-Souki and his intimates insisted on a direct meeting, whatever her condition. They promised to be brief. They would not be denied.
Habibullah bundled Yasmid into a wheeled chair once used by her father. He brought the Disciple himself in, too, sedated and under intimate supervision by Phogedatvitsu personally. The swami was no longer Elwas’s instrument. He understood that his own fate hinged on keeping her condition secret. He had El Murid primed to ramble incoherently about the Evil One.
The confrontation proved anticlimactic, the dark emotion beforehand wasted. al-Souki was in a blistering rush. He arrived thoroughly distracted, having discovered all the thousand grim little truths about being the man in charge. He strained to avoid being brusque. His impatience was fierce. His interest in Yasmid’s health never passed beyond courteous form.
He called her “Lady” only, not any of the creative honorifics of the past. “We have an unusual situation taking shape. Details are sketchy but suggestive. It involves the Empire Destroyer.”
Elwas went on to relate a confused story obtained from allies developed during punitive expeditions into the high Jebal. The Empire Destroyer had been seen up there. He had skirmished with the mountain people while traveling along the high range. “Because there is nothing we could actually do to keep him from going anywhere he wants, him using a remote route says what he wanted most was not to be noticed.”
Yasmid focused. This would be important. That ancient power had shown no interest in Hammad al Nakir before he turned up in Al Rhemish-at a time when Haroun must have been there. Now the old doom was sliding around Sebil el Selib by sneaking through the highest mountains.
She nodded to herself. “Was that Unborn thing involved?”
“It was. Carrying the sorcerer through the sky.”
“I see.” It seemed plain enough. “Why go that way, and court conflict, when a grand swing over the erg could be managed with less chance of being noticed?”
“Urgency? Swinging out over the erg would take hours longer. Too, the Unborn has made several mountain route journeys without the sorcerer, always carrying something when it was going south.”
Yasmid nodded again. She did not fully reflect, though, before saying, “They’re up to something at el Aswad.”
Elwas seemed fully pleased with his Lady. “Exactly. I have a company of Invincibles headed there, subject to your permission. You can recall them if you want.”