"Very well. I'll be along in a minute." He checked one more post, stallingwhile he composed himself. He told Reyha, "So ends Naszif bar bel-Abek's dayof glory, with nothing accomplished."
Reyha did not reply. She did not speak unless he made that necessary. Her lastvoluntary statement had been a generalized expression of gratitude for thehelp given Raheb Sayed.
Bruda had, indeed, made a dramatic recovery. He was sitting up, working on aheavy breakfast, when Naszif arrived. "It as bad as they're telling me?" heasked through a mouth full of apricot.
"Probably worse. I don't know. We're cut off. I expect they control the city.
No one has tried to relieve us or even to reach us. I've had all I can do justto hold on."
"Did a good job, too, for only having kids and superannuated veterans. Mightas well tell me everything. Don't worry about repeating something these kidsmight have told me. They probably got it wrong."
Naszif told it as he knew it.
"That's Fa'tad al-Akla. Pick the moment to perfection, then strike likelightning. Having Sullo take over must have been a sweet that made him drool."
"What should we do?"
"What we can do and what those old farts in Herod will tell us we should have done, in retrospect, are two different things. If any of us get out of herethey'll want to know why we didn't fight to the last man. You and your wifelight somewhere, have something to eat while I give this a think."
Bruda pondered for fifteen minutes. Then, "Our problem is that we don't knowwhat's happening. Take a white flag and go find out what al-Akla has in mind."
Naszif's heart tripped. "Yes sir."
Colonel Bruda had spoken in Herodian. Reyha did not understand till Naszif told her.
The labyrinth could have passed for one of the hells that awaited those whorejected Herod's nameless god. Terror and madness were the twin regents of thesubterranean dark. The crazies from down deep continued their insane pushtoward the surface, attacking anyone they encountered. In turn, the Herodiantroops had taken to attacking anyone who approached them.
The flooding continued to worsen.
Nonetheless, General Cado had gained a measure of control in his own vicinity.
He guessed that as many as two thousand of his men had been killed, wounded, or drowned already.
He forbore swearing a mighty oath of vengeance only because the passion mightrule him when he broke free at last and the effort to requite Fa'tad mightprove suicidal. Who knew what disasters had transpired in the rest of thecity?
Had the Living come out of hiding?
Had Nakar returned to grind everyone beneath his iron boot?
He would know in a few hours, he hoped. His tribunes thought they had found away out through one of the drains carrying runoff water down from the thirdlevel. But it would take a lot of work yet to widen the passage enough usingonly weapons for tools, the soldiers wedging themselves into the drain withtheir bodies, working blind, under a continuous fall of water.
An officer came to report, "They've found Governor Sullo, sir."
"Yes?"
"He's dead. Murdered by his own bodyguards."
Cado grunted. Another political complication. "Stupidity is one capital crimefor which there's never a pardon."
Would he, too, be found guilty and have to pay the supreme penalty?
Aaron had grown so accustomed to the rain that his only accommodation to itwas to keep his head bowed so the drops would not hit him in the eyes. Yosehmuttered, "We'll all catch our death of cold."
Aaron agreed. "At least she seems more optimistic on this side." In two hoursof probing, the witch had not lost another prisoner and only twice had herexplorers encountered any obvious danger.
His stomach wound ever tighter. The sorceress had whispered a long time. NowMo'atabar had Faruk aside for instruction ...
Mo'atabar slapped Faruk on the behind. He scooted off around the citadel.
Aaron shaded his eyes and studied the place, sensing its awareness of theirpresence, feeling something more, something like a great dread, or a greatstorm, slowly wakening. He thought he recognized that feeling Qushmarrah hadlived with all the time till six years ago.
He looked at Yoseh. The boy felt it, too. They all did. His heart plummeted. But he refused to believe that anything had happened to Arif. His son was all right. He had to be.
Yoseh's brother Medjhah came trotting around the side of the citadel. "Company coming, Mo'atabar. Ferrenghi officer with a white flag."
A moment later Naszif and Reyha appeared. Naszif was decked out as a Herodian. He exchanged looks with Aaron, sneering mildly at the company Aaron was keeping. He asked, "Who's in charge?"
Aaron indicated Mo'atabar.
Naszif approached the Dartar, who looked at him curiously, surprised to encounter a Herodian officer who had his hair and looked Qushmarrahan.
Reyha stayed a step from Aaron, staring at the wet pavement. She glanced up, then down again quickly. Softly, Aaron told her, "We're going in there pretty soon. We've found the way. We're just waiting for reinforcements."
"Oh." No more than a whisper. She peered at the citadel.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." In a voice like a mouse, defeated and embarrassed.
"It's all right, Reyha. Nobody blames you for anything. It's not your fault."
She just shook her head, stared at the pavement. After a moment, she said, "I want to stay here, Aaron. I want to get Zouki when you go in there."
He wanted to say that was impossible, that there was no place for a woman among men storming a fortress, but said instead, "It'll be dangerous." He knew her desperation for her son better than he knew the few men he called his friends.
"I know. But I want to be there. And if he's not all right ... If something's happened ... Then the danger won't matter."
"I don't like the way you're talking, Reyha."
"Zouki is the only thing I have to live for, Aaron." She had scary stuff going on in her head, barely edging her words.
He did not know what to say so he said nothing.
Mo'atabar was telling Naszif something about the Herodians getting out of Qushmarrah. For the first time, suddenly, Aaron realized that when dawn broke tomorrow and the workweek began he might be unemployed.
Azel clumped downstairs, ignoring his pain. He roared, "Torgo! Torgo! Where the hell are you, you ball-less bastard? We just ran the hell out of time!" Hestampeded toward the Witch's chambers, roaring all the way.
Torgo popped out, pallid.
"We're out of time!" Azel yelled. "They're going to come. Wake her up."
"What happened? I thought ..."
"I don't know what happened. You think I can read their minds? All of a suddenthey're around working on the Postern of Fate. Won't take them long to workthrough the pattern. So let's hit it!"
Trouble was, though they had talked about it, they had no plan for meetingthis challenge. Decisions were the province of the Witch. Even to Azel it hadseemed there would be time enough to get organized after she woke up.
"Take care of her. Get her moving. I'll go try to arrange something to slowthem down."
Torgo just stood there, mouth open, face pale, eyes dull.
"Move it, Torgo! Or we're all dead!"
Torgo drifted back into the Witch's chambers.
Azel limped on down to the main floor. He found the staff assembled already, terrified, alerted by his bellowing earlier. Here were all of Gorloch'ssurviving believers, eight men and twelve women. Not much to brag on. Azeltold the men, "You guys get out some weapons. They're going to come throughthe Postern of Fate. Nakar left a hundred tricks and traps. Set them up. Turnthem loose. We got to buy time till she can get down here to help."
They responded with no enthusiasm.
"Hey! You think about this. You remember this. They ain't going to leavenobody alive if they get in here. Not you, not me, not nobody." He eyed thewomen. What the hell was he going to do with them? "Any of you want to helpthe men, grab a weapon and go." Surprising him, four chose that course. "Allright. The rest of you go upstairs and see what Torgo has for you." He had anasty idea. "Wait! You. You. Go keep an eye on those kids. Be ready to movethem if I tell you."