As he gazed out the high lancet window his mind returned, burning, to the man who had escaped his wrath, Reginald, Arnat, the Wolf of Kerak. Reginald was the oath breaker, who flouted the truce offered by Salah ad Din and set himself as the mortal enemy of every Muslim soul. It was he who had dared to set foot upon the sacred soil of the Land of Muhammad; it was he who raided the coasts of the Red Sea for months on end, burning the coastal towns of the faithful and raging inland with his host of ravenous knights.
Each time the warriors of Islam were able to challenge him in battle, he had escaped. Now he was harrying the faithful again from his outpost at Kerak: Reginald, Arnat, the Wolf.
Then, at long last, word came from Alamut on the mouth of a single courier in the night. It was written: Reginald must die. The charge was veiled in great secrecy and given to the Sami himself. “Work this thing well,” said the horseman. “It is the will of Sinan himself that this be done. The hour and the day will be revealed to you soon.” The man had given the Sami a ring of amethyst, marked with the carven seal of Sinan.
The hour and the day… The Sami had paced and paced as the time drew ever closer. He had trained the faithful Fedayeen in the manner of the deed, selecting out his chosen best. All was made ready. Fast horses were groomed in the stables, arrangements set and the route of approach was well planned. Then, a day before the death party was to leave the castle, the stranger had come upon them through the Well of Souls. The Kadi said he was expected, a messenger from Egypt bearing scrolls of fate—yet no message was found upon him when they pulled his chilled body from the waters and stripped away the peculiar garments he was clothed in, as was the custom.
The Sami was curious, and he allowed himself a moment’s distraction when the man arrived, for he had been told by Sinan that all who came through the Well were to be watched and closely guarded. So it was that he went to the chamber of greeting that first night, watching secretly from his place behind the lattice as the maids anointed the man’s body with scented oils and dressed him in robes befitting an Amir.
He remembered the strange light that seemed to surround the man, an unearthly foreboding sheen that shifted like a glowing mist. His eyes whitened at the sight, and he immediately knew that this man was not the messenger the Kadi had been told to expect. Who was he then? Surely not one of the faithful, for he called out in a strange tongue while he slept, possessed by the consuming fever of the elixir of returning that was poured upon his lips by the maids in the chamber.
It was not the words of the faithful that he spoke. Surely this man must be an enemy! The Sami sent at once to Alamut, describing his fear and seeking permission to kill the man while he slept. But it would be many days before the messenger birds could return. If he lingered, he would miss his charge against the Wolf. If he acted without sanction there would surely be consequences—unless the Kadi agreed. Then he might justify his deeds to Sinan. He was decided. He would have words with the Kadi concerning this man. He remembered how he had argued with him, warning him of the danger in their midst. Then he spoke of the Wolf, the devil at large on the land again, and a dangerous threat to them all.
“The man holds forth once more at Kerak—astride the holy pilgrim’s road that leads to Mecca. No doubt he will soon cast his malice and ire upon the innocent who walk that road. His hatred of the faithful is boundless.”
“We are at peace with the Christians,” the Kadi reminded him. “Salah ad Din has made the peace himself! Raymond of Galilee has given his word: A three year truce.” The Kadi held up three fingers to emphasize his point.
“Yes, I have heard as much,” said the Sami. “Three years of waiting while Salah ad Din bends the ears of the Atabegs of his homeland and treats with the Sultan of the East. All the while the sacred duty of jihad is forgotten. Thankfully, the sand in that clock runs out now, and the truce will soon be at end. Who knows what mischief Raymond has been plotting at Tiberias? You think it was fairness and justice of heart that moved him to plead for this truce? We placed a dagger by his pillow while he slept, and the message was obviously received. He was frightened, and shown to be the coward he truly is.”
“You have already heard the ruling of my heart on that matter,” the Kadi remembered the anger in his words when he spoke. “You were told not to interfere with the Christian Lords, and yet you persist! You think it a small thing to ply your craft—yet it is not a small thing. You think to advance our cause, yet now you have seen what results when you act on impulse, and without guidance. If what you say is true, then perhaps this truce would not have been offered were it not for your meddling. So your own headstrong ways fold back upon themselves. Remember, it was you who dared to send men to the tent of Salah ad Din himself, and that nearly brought ruin upon us all when he marched his host to the very doorstep of this castle. No one has dared to invade the sanctuary of these mountains for a generation, yet you tempt the hand of a Great Mover, and bend his wrath upon us.”
“It was fitting justice for what he did to the brotherhood in Egypt. You, of all this host, should have seen the wisdom in my actions. Did he not lay waste to the lodge of the Ismaili brethren in Cairo? Did he not crucify their leaders and nail their broken bodies upon the gates of the city? Such insult and atrocity cannot be overlooked—not even by one you deem to be great, which has yet to be proven.”
“You see only with the eye of the moment!” The Kadi shook a finger at the Sami now, his anger rising. “Have you learned nothing?”
“We are here, are we not? Massiaf still stands. Salah ad Din has gone away to unite the tribes. We frightened him away as well. We have proven that not even a Sultan may trifle with us lightly. It was my strong hand that decided the issue that day. If we had followed your counsel we would all be beggars in the streets now.” The Sami smiled, clearly pleased with his boast. After the assassination plot failed, Salah ad Din had come to the high mountains to lay siege to the stronghold of the Assassins in Syria, Massiaf. But the strength of that castle lay not in its walls, but in the devious hearts and ways of the men within.
“I counseled the Fedayeen that day,” said the Sami, “and told them what to do. A dagger was thrust into the earth beside the sleeping pillow of Salah ad Din himself! The Sultan was so angry that he redoubled the guard around his tent. He even gave orders that flour should be spread beyond the edge of his camp so that the passing of any man would be clearly seen. Yet we came, and we left our footprints in the flour just to spite him. It was said that the guards outside his tent were white with fear when they found the mark of the Fedayeen upon the ground the next day—in spite of every effort they could not guarantee the security of their master. And we left a message that he has taken to heart: that his life is ours to grant or take, and we will hold him to account for any injustice pressed upon us here.”
The Sami took a moment’s comfort from that recollection. It reminded him what could be accomplished by a few determined men of skill, his chosen Fedayeen. They had been well trained and prepared to carry out yet another mission, only this time it was not to give warning and frighten, it was to bring death to a mortal enemy of Islam—Reginald, Arnat, the Wolf of Kerak.
Then a madness seemed to fall upon the Sami, and he was possessed by a compelling curiosity. This stranger had come in through the Well of Souls and all his plans for the Wolf had slipped from his grasp.