The Dartar racket had faded. Azel levered himself up from where he'd beensitting. He cursed softly. Damn, his leg hurt. It was stiffening up, too. Andstill seeping a little. He drew his knife.
He kicked the Witch a good one. She did not respond. "I hope you didn't killus, you crazy bitch." Damn her. He couldn't stay mad at her. Easier to staymad at himself for having been weak enough to get sucked in.
The kid wasn't unconscious but neither was he alert. He seemed caught on a cusp between today and yesterday, Nakar there but shy. Maybe unwilling to comeforward while there was a chance that might mean final victory for Ala-eh-dinBeyh. Fine. Let him float. He needed time to work out how to use Nakar withouthim getting loose completely.
He slipped out of hiding, knife poised. There weren't many of those Dartarbastards. He knew the secret ways. He could pick them off, make them wishthey'd never heard of Qushmarrah. Get shut of them and he could concentrate onthe Witch and the brat and doing what had to be done.
Pity Torgo couldn't be here to do the dirty deed and pay the final price. Nowworking it so he came out looking good was going to be tricky.
He slid into the shadows of Gorloch's image, eavesdropped on the Dartars. Somewere muttering because their sorceress said Nakar could be restored outsidehis body. She was doing something with the other brat. Some were plugging thehole they'd busted through the wall. A few were breaking up stuff for thewood. What the hell?
Ah! Now wasn't that amusing? The Living had come in behind them. And that pileof wood was so they could roast Nakar and Ala-eh-din Beyh.
Azel grinned wickedly. Hell and damnation! Yes! If the Witch's only choice wasto bring Nakar back in the kid, instead of shoving him back into his own body... All kinds of possibilities there. No way Nakar could manage a child's bodylike it was a grown one. And it should be a whole lot easier for the woman toget over a kid.
Hell with hunting Dartars. Wasn't any point with the Living in the citadel.
Let those bastards wear each other down. He'd work on the survivors.
He retreated to the hidden room.
The Dartars would look for the brat again. That sorceress. Didn't look likeshit but she was the same stripe as Ala-eh-din Beyh. She knew. She'd whip theminto looking. If she put her mind to it she'd find the room despite Nakar'sspells of concealment. She'd been good enough to get through the Postern ofFate.
He checked his leg. Not good. Still oozing. Had he left a trail? He checked.
No sign. His clothes were absorbing it. He needed to get off the leg and stayoff. But he couldn't. Not yet. He made a rude bandage and bound it tightly.
That would have to do.
The room was a deathtrap. Better move to the top of the tower. Their sorceresscouldn't do them much good if he got the Witch and the kid forted up there.
All he'd have to do would be sit on the trapdoor. They couldn't get theleverage to push him off.
He rifled his pack, found analgesic powder, washed it down with water from asmall canteen. Bitterness remained in his mouth. He relaxed five minutes, hoping it would start to work fast. He almost drifted off.
He jerked awake. None of that! They wouldn't get him by default.
He checked the boy's pulse, afraid he might have whacked the brat too hard.
The kid hadn't stirred. He was all right.
Better get on with it. He could nap afterward.
He took the boy up first. The ladder seemed a mile high. His leg was killinghim when he got back down, the pain powder doing nothing at all. He recalledhis impulse toward the sinkhole country. Why hadn't he had the plain damnedsense? He had no more brains than that idiot Torgo.
That one cut was leaking again. It wanted rest badly. There was no time. Headjusted his bandages.
He took the Witch up next, limp as a fish. Why the hell couldn't she help outa little? Dumb bitch wasn't worth all this.
One more trip to go, his supplies and the stuff she'd need to finish up. Herubbed his leg and again told himself he could lie down afterward.
He did not think he would complete that final climb. He suffered leg cramps.
His shoulder muscles tightened into rocky knots. The bleeding worsened. Hetore others of his wounds open. He suffered vertigo. He was sure he had donehimself permanent damage. But he couldn't quit. He was what he was, ridden anddriven.
The force within triumphed. As always. He completed his climb, dropped hisload, closed the trapdoor, for a moment faced into the rain. It hadn't wakenedthe woman or boy. He covered the Witch the best he could, though that was onlya gesture. Thunder cracked as he settled on the trap. He'd rest and let theanalgesic work before he tried to waken the woman.
He glanced up. Hard to tell through the rain but it seemed the clouds were lowand moving fast, swirling around the tower.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Ten minutes ought to be enough rest.
Zenobel stared at the cage in the great hall. He recalled the place as it hadbeen before Dak-es-Souetta. It had gone to seed. Become shabby. That was sad.
Say whatever about Nakar, he had made the citadel Qushmarrah's glorious crown.
King Dabdahd hustled up. He had the citadel staff besieged in the Witch'squarters. He said, "They won't surrender. They won't even talk."
"Is she up there?"
"I don't know. We tried breaking through the wall to get around the spells onthe door. I lost two men. They didn't see her. That doesn't mean anything."
Zenobel grunted. "What about those damned Dartars? Any sign of them?"
"None but their dead."
Zenobel considered the children he had had rounded up. Were they settled downenough to talk sense? He rose from his seat.
Carza trotted up. "We found the Dartars. They're barricaded in the temple.
They broke through a wall to get inside. Should I finish them?"
"You want Fa'tad to kill us?"
"Huh?"
He did not know. Neither did King. They had been busy when the news had come.
"He sealed the gateway behind us. Bricked it up. Only way we can get out isthrough the windows. If the drop doesn't kill us his archers will."
King went pale. Carza looked bewildered.
"You don't get it? Al-Akla has done it again, this time to Herod and us both.
Bel-Sidek wouldn't laugh at fools but he's sure won the right. He warned us."
Carza just frowned. It surpassed him. "We have a mission, Zenobel. A holymission. If you won't carry it out I will."
"Go ahead. Waste all the lives you want. I don't care anymore. Nothing we dowill change anything now."
Bel-Sidek did not look around when the Dartar arrived. The nomad was polite.
"Fa'tad would like to see you, sir." The steel wore a velvet mask.
Bel-Sidek took Meryel's hand. "If I'm to be executed let it be done here whereI've known my only happiness."
"Fa'tad has no wish to slay anyone, sir. He said only that he wishes to speakwith you."
Meryel squeezed bel-Sidek's hand gently. "Go, Sisu. Maybe you can do somethingyet."
Bel-Sidek nodded, though he doubted it. Wearily, he followed the Dartar outinto the rain. Maybe Fa'tad did just want to talk. He had sent only the oneman.
The day was nearly gone. Very little light remained. The clouds hung low abovethe citadel, turning and churning. He could not get interested. It had been aday as long as forever piled on a week a hundred times as long as that. Theend was in sight now. At last.
Qushmarrah was passing into a new age-not that which he and the General hadenvisioned. "Warrior. Have they finished Nakar yet?"
His companion drew in upon himself. "I can't say, sir. There's been no wordfrom our men inside the citadel." Later, he added, "Nor any from yours."
"Oh." That did not sound good. Bel-Sidek eyed those busy clouds for as long ashe could take the rain in his face. Nakar's last hour had come during aferocious rain, with clouds whirling around the citadel. He had been aprisoner elsewhere then, but ... Hadn't it been something like this? Wasthis precursive of the resurrection of the Abomination?