Chapter Twenty-Five
The Gardens of Stam were as dark as the belly of Chaos, thought Jormin. He could barely see his own men following him toward the outer wall. That darkness was a favor from the gods, though. It would be just as hard for anyone to see him and the men.
The soldiers were no more alert than usual tonight, either. They'd challenged the little party only once. Even then the forged pass got it through without any delay or awkward questions.
The party left the graveled path and slipped across smooth, damp grass toward the base of the wall. Jormin sighted the large kaso tree that was the most important marker. He paced off twenty steps on a line with the tree, then turned toward the wall. He could see it now-a faint discoloration in the great earth mound where the tunnel had once bored through it. He nodded to the workmen. They scurried forward with their picks and shovels and pry bars and went to work. The Jade Masters' guards spread out in a half-circle, hands on swords. They all had muskets as well, but Jormin's orders were strict-no shooting until the Raufi joined them.
Katerina came up to stand beside Jormin. She wore a plain white robe belted in at the waist, and Jormin knew she wore nothing under it. The thought made him grin.
He noticed that she was wearing a short sword slung on her belt. «You are armed,» he whispered. «Why?»
«I could not be sure that you would meet me on time. I had to be ready to protect myself if some drunken soldier came along.»
«Ah. I understand.» She could not be planning treachery, or even thinking of it. He was certain of that. She was too hungry for what he and he alone could give, what he had already given her. She would do her best to see that nothing went wrong. He could rely on her now and for always, even when they sat together in the High Chamber of the House of the Consecrated and ordered out the victims for public execution!
The workmen were making entirely too much noise for Jormin's peace of mind. He winced at every thud of a falling brick or clink of a tool. The inner end of the tunnel was open now, wide enough for a man to pass through. Jormin saw the workers dropping down into the ditch one by one and squeezing through the hole in the brickwork. Several of the guards followed them. The men could work faster at the outer end of the tunnel. They would be well underground and in less danger of being overheard, thank the gods for that! Jormin licked dry lips and squeezed Katerina's hand, his nails digging into her palms until he heard a little whimper of satisfied pain.
How long he and the remaining guards waited, Jormin couldn't even guess. He only knew that no one came by, no one challenged them, no one seemed to notice that anything unusual was going on. He also knew that the waiting eventually came to an end. First the workmen came scurrying out of the hole, fast enough to scrape skin and tear clothing on jagged edges of brick. Then the guards followed, moving just as fast, their swords sheathed. Jormin stepped forward, ready to rebuke them for their nervousness and wondering what was bothering them.
Then the answer to his question climbed out of the hole, with the first of the Raufi behind him. Like the rest of his men the leader wore a black robe and black sandals. Even his weapons were blackened so that they reflected no light. His hood was shoved back on his head, revealing a high forehead and a hard, bony face, with restless, seeking eyes and an aggressively hooked nose. The chin was concealed behind an unmistakable spade beard.
It was Dahrad Bin Saffar, supreme war chief of the Raufi, come to personally lead his men in the stroke that would destroy Kano forever.
In the room at the top of the western tower of the Eighth Gate Blade paced restlessly back and forth. He could not pace very far. The room was packed with more than forty armed men and all their weapons, as well as a mass of ropes and rope ladders. The room was dark and stifling, because all the shutters were closed and locked to keep any light or sound from escaping. The air was heavy with the smells of leather, oiled metal, and human sweat.
Eventually Blade forced himself to sit down. It was his plan, and he ought to at least look as if he had complete confidence in it! Otherwise, he would end up making all the men following him nervous, from Mirdon on down. He mentally ran over the trap they were setting for Jormin again. He couldn't think of anything he'd left out, or anything the Raufi could do he didn't have some way to meet. Now if they could only go into action at the right time-
Footsteps sounded on the spiral stairs in one corner of the tower. A helmeted head popped up into the room. «Just got the word. They're inside and coming this way.»
«Good,» said Blade. «How many?»
«Oh, sixty, they guess, lord.»
Blade nodded and the head disappeared. Men began tightening sword belts, loading muskets and pistols, tying extra knots in their climbing ropes.
Sixty men. That would be Jormin's crew, plus the Raufi. There were forty men in the top room of each of the gate towers. That should be enough.
Dahrad Bin Saffar had a high reputation for courtliness and poetic skill with words. These were gifts the Raufi valued, and they honored him more highly because of them.
Tonight, though, he was neither courtly nor poetic. He sharply gestured the kneeling Jormin to rise.
«Are your men all here?»
«Yes, Noble B-«
«Any sign of extra guards?»
«None.»
«Good. We will do what we have planned. Take the lead, Jormin.»
They headed toward the Eighth Gate at a swift, silent trot. Jormin kept wanting to break into a run, but each time his feet quickened, he heard a voice behind him.
«Slower, man, slower. Hurry, hurry has no blessing from Jannah, and the noise hurry causes still less.» They covered the two hundred yards to the Eighth Gate in only a few minutes, although to Jormin it seemed more like a few hours.
The Raufi went swiftly into action. Dahrad must have rehearsed each man over and over again until he could do his part blindfolded. Some fanned out into the Gardens of Stam, to lie in wait with pistols and swords for anyone who might come to interrupt the party. Others began climbing the vines that grew up the inside of the wall, knives in their teeth, to deal with the men mounting guard on top. Still others waited under cover, ready to storm into the towers themselves as soon as the alarm was given. Then they would open the gates, and that would be the signal for the waiting Raufi to come thundering in.
Jormin hoped everything would go well. He badly wanted those two thousand Raufi around him, between him and the vengeance of the Kanoans. He looked at Katerina. She was nervously trying to look in all directions at once and fingering the hilt of her sword. She had even more reason than he did for wanting protection. She was not only betraying Kano, she was betraying the Champion of the Gods. The penalty for that would be horrible.
A faint, choked cry sounded high above. Then something sailed through the air and landed with a thud almost at Jormin's feet. It was the body of a soldier from the walls, throat slit from ear to ear. Jormin noticed, with an uneasiness in his stomach, that the man had also been castrated. He looked upward and saw the heads of three Raufi appearing over the railing on top of the wall.
Then from the very top of the western tower, orange flame stabbed out as a light cannon went off. Two of the Raufi on the wall flew high into the air, shredded into bloody rags by a blast of grapeshot. The third lurched, toppled over the railing, and struck the ground almost beside Jormin. His head wasn't human any more, it was a smashed mess of bone and brains.
Jormin went on looking upward because he couldn't do anything else. Sheer terror was freezing every one of his muscles and joints. So he saw clearly the shutters in the windows high in the two towers of the Eighth Gate fly open. He saw ropes and ladders snake out of those windows and men come scrambling down those ropes and ladders. Finally he saw the Champion of the Gods himself come sliding down one of those ropes. It seemed to him that the Champion's eyes glowed fiercely red in the darkness, and that a golden light played about his hair. That was the sight that unfroze Jormin's joints and muscles. With a scream of terror he turned to run.