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The youth looked baffled. He turned to Sanguinet for help. Bragi prodded Haaken, who was within reach of the loudest complainer. Haaken took hold of the man's shoulder muscle and squeezed. His protests died.

Sergeant Trubacik called out, "Any problems, you see me or Haroun here. At ease. Settle in. Lieutenant suggests you roam around and get to know the place. Duty assignments will come out tomorrow. That's it."

"You'd better believe I'm going to roam around," Reskird muttered. "This is so tight it would give me the shakes, only there isn't room to shiver."

"Yeah. Me too," Bragi said. "Come on, Haaken. Let's catch that Haroun. I want to talk to him." But it took them ten minutes to get out of the barracks room. By then the youth had disappeared. So the brothers went up on the wall and looked out on the barren land and wondered why anyone would fight to defend it.

Haaken, unwittingly prophetic, observed, "What I'd fight for is to get out."

"There he is, down there," Bragi said, spotting Haroun. "Let's go."

But they missed him again. And thus they began their first commission as soldiers of the Guild.

Chapter Ten

Salt Lake Encounter

E l Murid had been up late discussing the coastal war. His aching limbs left him in no mood to be wakened prematurely. "What is it?" he snapped at the insistent slave. "It had better be important, or... Well, out with it!"

The man gulped. The Disciple's temper had grown ever fiercer since Wadi el Kuf. "Lord... " He burst right into it, talking almost too fast to follow. "Lord, Mowaffak Hali insists on seeing you. He's just returned from patrol. He won't be put off."

El Murid grumbled and scowled. "Hali? Hali?" He could not associate a face with the name.

"Mowaffak Hali, Lord. The elder Hali. The Invincible." The slave eyed him oddly, as if bemused because he could not recall a man as important as this visitor.

"All right. Show him in. And if it's another petty squabble over precedence between the regulars and the Invincibles, I'll crucify you both." He beckoned a second slave. "Clothing."

He was dressing when the Invincible strode in, advancing like a trail-dirty thunderhead, brow furrowed. El Murid remembered him now. One of his favorites among the Invincibles. One of his best men. One of the most determinedly faithful. And, in all likelihood, one of the high brethren of the Harish, too.

"Mowaffak, my brother. A pleasure to see you again."

Hali halted a few, paces away. "My apologies, Lord. I wouldn't disturb you for anything less than a disaster."

El Murid's lips stretched in a rictus of a smile, cracking because they were dry. "Disaster? What now?"

"The rumors are true. Aboud has engaged Hawkwind again."

El Murid's stomach knotted. He fought to keep his fear off his face. They had whipped him like a cur at Wadi el Kuf. They had branded terror upon his soul. He could not be reminded without cringing. "Hawkwind?" he croaked.

"I saw them with my own eyes, Lord. I was leading the Fourth through the gap between el Aswad and the Great Erg. My scouts reported the presence of a large body of foreigners. I took the battalion forward, and engaged briefly. They drove us off like swatting away flies."

El Murid swallowed. Memories of Wadi el Kuf swarmed, helter skelter, chaotic. He simply could not think straight.

Hali interpreted his silence as a patient wait for continued illumination. "There were a thousand of them, Lord, including many lances of heavy cavalry, and a large baggage train. They have come to fight a long campaign. I kept patrols close till they entered el Aswad, but could gather little more information. Their column was screened by Aboud's best light cavalry. I trust our agents in the Eastern Fortress will provide better reports."

El Murid just could not grasp the news. Finally, he croaked, "It was Hawkwind? You're sure?"

"I was at Wadi el Kuf, Lord. I haven't forgotten his banners."

"Nor I, Mowaffak. Nor I." The shock began to recede. "So. Aboud is frightened enough to hire foreigners. Why, Mowaffak? Because the Scourge of God has the temerity to defend Hammad al Nakir against Throyen predations?"

"I think not, Lord. I think the King wants revenge." Kali's tone was strained. He was hinting round the edge of something.

"Aboud has a special reason for wishing us ill? Beyond a desire to perpetuate his dynasty of darkness?"

"That's the point, Lord. There can be no dynasty. With Prince Farid dead he is left no successor but Ahmed. Our friends and the Royalists alike consider Ahmed a bad joke."

"Farid is dead? When did that happen?"

"Long ago, Lord. Karim himself undertook the mission."

"Our people did it? Karim? Meaning the Scourge of God sent him?" He hadn't heard a word about this. Why did they keep the unpleasant news secret? "What else is Nassef doing? What else don't I know?"

"He is destroying the Quesani, Lord. Using the Invincibles, mainly. But perhaps he felt Farid was too important a task to entrust to anyone but his personal assassin."

El Murid turned away, both to conceal his anger at Nassef and his disgust with Hali's obvious politicking. The Invincibles loathed Nassef. They were convinced he was the bandit the Royalists claimed.

"The Scourge of God is somewhere near Throyes. Too busy to bother with this."

"This is a task for the Invincibles, Lord."

"Have we so many otherwise unemployed, Mowaffak? Much as I loathe the Wahlig, his destruction isn't first on the list of works that need accomplishing."

"Lord—"

"Your brotherhood will participate, Mowaffak. El Nadim is in the valley. Send him to me."

"As you command, Lord." Hali's tone was sour. He started to protest entrusting Nassef's henchman with so critical a task, thought better of it, bowed himself out.

Wearily, El Murid rose. A servant scooted his way, one hand extended in an unspoken offer of help. The Disciple waved the man off. He now knew he would never recover completely. Wadi el Kuf had made of him an old man before his time.

Hot anger hit him. Yousif! Hawkwind! They had stolen his youth. The years could not soften his rage. He would destroy them. The two were in one place now, eggs in one nest. He had been patient, and the Lord had given him his reward. The eagle would descend, and rend its prey.

One smashing blow. One bold stroke, and the desert would be free. This time there would be no doubt about el Aswad. War with Throyes notwithstanding.

Pain stabbed through his leg. The ankle never had healed right. He flung his arms out for balance, and that stimulated the pain in the arm that had been broken. He groaned. Why wouldn't the bones heal? Why wouldn't they stop hurting? The servant caught him before he fell, tried to guide him to his throne. "No," he said. "Take me to my wife. Have el Nadim meet me there."

Meryem took him from his helper, led him to a large cushion and helped him lie down. "Your injuries again?"

He drew her to him, held her for a long minute. "Yes."

"You were angry again, weren't you? It only gets bad when you get angry."

"You know me too well, woman."

"What was it this time?"

"Nothing. Everything. Too much. Bickering between the Invincibles and regular soldiers. Nassef's going off on his own again. Aboud sending mercenaries to reinforce el Aswad."

"No."

"Yes. A thousand of them. Under Hawkwind."

"He's the one?"

"From Wadi el Kuf. Yes. The most brilliant tactician of our age, some say."

"Are we in danger, then?"

"Of course!" he snapped. "Can you picture Yousif having a weapon like that and not using it?" He was shaking, frightened. The root of his anger was his fear. He needed reassurance, needed help to banish the doubts. "Where are the children? I need to see the children."