“Your army is half of what it was, my lord,” Alisande panted, “between those you have sent to Bordestang, and those we have slain this day. Now another army charges down upon you, and they have little cause for chivalry. I charge you yield, not you alone or for yourself alone, but for all your men, that they may live!”
“Any soldier of Allah who dies in war wakes in Paradise,” Tafas said through stiff lips. Alisande could have screamed in frustration. How could she show mercy if the Moors would not surrender? Then inspiration struck. “But who will defend Morocco, my lord? The knights of Ibile shall lead their army across the Strait, and Islam shall lose a province! I charge you yield, for the sake of your faith.”
Tafas’ glance was full of bitterness and anger, but he opened his mouth. And a dust-devil boiled up between their horses, boiled up to the shoulders of their mounts, pulled in on itself, and was gone… but Matt stood there, dressed in strange loose clothing, looking about him in surprise with a strange little man, similarly dressed, clinging to him and moaning, and another fellow, even more outlandishly dressed, at his feet. For a split second, Alisande thought she saw a strangely dressed woman behind them, arms about their shoulders, but it must have been a trick of the light. In joy, she cried “Matthew!” even as she fought her horse, which tried to rear in panic. So did Tafas’ mount, but he reined it in, snatching his dagger from his belt and crying, “Islam!” But the dagger fell… he was too exhausted to hold it up.
Matt looked up, smiling in sympathy. “Tired? I’m afraid there won’t be any extra energy flowing into you … I just closed off its source.” Then he blew his wife a kiss, but instantly turned back to keep his eye on the enemy. Alisande fought to keep her sword still… that one kiss threatened to turn her to jelly inside. Matthew was beside her after all!
“Lord Wizard,” the little man said, “she brought Groldor with us!”
Matt looked down, then caught the fallen man by the collar with a cry of satisfaction. He scanned the line of Moors for a moment, then strode off purposefully toward a man in a purple turban, dragging Groldor behind him. Alisande cried out in alarm, but Matt only threw Groldor at the other’s feet. “So you’re the chief battle-sorcerer, huh? How’s the magic working lately?”
The Moor stared at him in speechless fury. “Not too well, huh?” Matt said sympathetically. “Recognize this one?”
The Moor looked down and his face went pale. “It is… ” Then he clamped his jaw shut.
“It’s Groldor, the sorcerer who was supposed to feed you the life energy of young men and young women he ensnared with his drug of enchanted salt,” Matt snapped. “There won’t be any more deliveries. I canceled his spell, and him with it.”
The Moor raised his arm, trembling with anger and shouting a verse in Arabic, then snapped his forefinger down to point at Matt. Nothing happened. “A cockroach?” Tafas cried, astonished. “Why would you wish to turn him into a cockroach?”
“The easier to crush, my lord,” Matt said, gaze still on the sorcerer. Alisande fought down a surge of fear for her husband… after all, the danger had passed before she’d known what it was… and glared at Tafas, raising her sword again. “Once more I charge you yield, my lord, not out of fear or despair, but in the sure knowledge that your strength is gone.”
“She’s right,” Matt said, “and it’s because you’re fighting against people who are devoted to goodness.”
“We of Islam are even more certainly devoted to Good!”
“You are,” Matt agreed, “and you thought you fought with the might of the Lord to strengthen your arm … but I have learned that you were deceived, my lord, most grievously deceived, and all your people with you.”
“Deceived?” Tafas demanded warily, even as his heart leaped with hope that he might live “How is this?”
“You thought you fought for Allah,” Matt explained, “but you had been tricked into fighting for Shaitan’s cause.” He raised a hand to forestall the youth’s objections. “Think of the results of your invasion… misery and suffering, and not many conversions. If you had conquered Ibile, the sorcerer who deceived you would have slain you by magic, then taken all your lands to rule them for Satan.”
The Moorish captains cried out in indignation “Shaitan!”
“No!”
“Never!”
“Who else could be the source of magic that addicts young people, even children, to a drug that allows him to drain their life energy slowly in order to strengthen your forces?” Matt demanded. “And if your victories are bought with such stolen life, whose victories are they?”
“You lie!” Tafas cried, shaking with anger… and fear that Matt might be right. “I fought only for Allah!”
“But the man who talked you into fighting served a different master,” Matt told him. He shook his head sadly. “Sorry, my lord. He used his magic to hunt up a shepherd boy who could convince men to follow him and had the genius to win battles, then bedazzled him with talk of the victory of Islam… when all along, he only cared about his own conquest, and manipulating you into conquering for him.”
“You lie!” Tafas cried in despair. “You must! Nirobus is a holy man! He would never promote the cause of Shaitan!”
“But perhaps the cause of himself.” Matt shrugged. “Have you ever heard him call upon Allah, my lord? Oh, to speak of Allah, certainly, even to quote the Koran, for the devil can quote scripture to his purpose … but to actually pray? He is no muzzein or imam, my lord, nor a quadi, nor a clergyman of any sort.”
“He is a holy hermit!”
Matt shrugged again “Prove it, my lord. Go ask him… but take me along.”
“Oh surely, lead my armies back to Morocco! Do you think me a fool!”
Matt’s eyes lost focus, he turned slowly, gazing off toward the mountains. “I don’t think we need to go that far.”
Alisande looked up at the patch of white on the distant mountainside. She had thought it only a sorcerer!
Could it really be the man who stood behind all this, come to see what he had expected to be a victory!
But he had seen his own army vanquished! Why had he not fled! “My Lord Wizard,” she said slowly, “I pray you, take care. Why would the genius who has wrought this all stand to await your coming, if he did not still expect victory!”
“Good point.” Matt seemed to tense a little, to grow a trifle more bulky, but looked up to smile at the Mahdi. “I’m willing to take the chance, Lord Tafas. Are you?”
How could the Mahdi have refused the challenge, there in front of all his troops?
They climbed the trail to the cave, a dozen Moorish captains and a dozen knights of Merovence, with King Rinaldo and Sir Guy. Matt rode a captured Arabian stallion with Groldor slung over the pommel before him, bound, gagged, and gurgling with fury. The white-robed man stood waiting for them… but as they came closer, they saw that his robes weren’t really white, but a light gray, and the turban on his head was pinned with a blood-red ruby. Matt glanced at it narrowly as they approached, he didn’t trust jewelry anymore. He recognized the man, of course, though he did look a bit different without his gray three-piece suit and bowler hat. They drew up in front of him Nirobus was smiling at them, amused… even when Matt shoved Groldor off the horse to fall in front of his boss, red-faced and gabbling. “I thought I’d be a nice guy and return your minion,” Matt told him. “No charge, no ransom.”
“Why did you bother?” Nirobus didn’t even look at Groldor. “He failed.”
“So did you, Nirobus.” Matt jerked his head downhill. “Your army has lost the war. Without your draining my world for energy, they can’t win.”
“They still outnumber you,” Nirobus reminded, “and the Moors are ferocious fighters. They only need to change their tactics.” Then he smiled, and the gentleness, even tenderness of that smile was even more chilling as he said, “Besides, there are other lands in your world… and other worlds. What I have done once, I can do again.” He turned to Tafas. “Be sure, you can still gain the victory.”