It's been a lucky group of children. Only six have died between birth and thepresent. But if the one we want is one that had died or will die before we gethold of him, we end up starting all over with a new group. A group, in fact, for every one that died. How much greater the risks, then, with groups ofyounger children? The thing grows monstrous, Azel."
"How much chance you got of pulling it off if the Herodians figure it out? Ifyou keep us on the street and one of us gets caught? Zippo, woman. Zero.
Zilch. They figure out what's happening they're going to be on you like asnake on shit."
"That terror is less fearsome than the mathematical horrors that come of each additional death, Azel. We will continue the current program."
"The hell we will. I'm not getting myself torn apart by the mob or put to thequestion by Herod. I'm off the case until I decide it's safe to work itagain."
"You've said you believe in the project."
"I do. It's Qushmarrah's last hope. But what does believing in something haveto do with walking off a cliff to hear the splat when you hit bottom? Back off. Take it easy. Let it cool down. And when you go on, give us bettertools."
The anger, born of frustration, grew in her. She fought it. Argument would do no good. Azel never did anything he did not want to do. "Very well. I'll go onwithout you. When you're ready to continue your work Torgo will give you your next assignment."
Azel stared at her till it was impossible to meet his gaze. Then he shook his head in disgust and walked out. Torgo stepped closer. "Did you watch us as we came to the chamber, my lady?"
"I caught part of it, Torgo. You have to ignore it. Don't let him get to you."
"He made threats."
"That's his nature. Forget it."
"Then you don't want anything done about him?"
"Not yet. He could be useful still. We have a long way to go."
"But ..."
"If it becomes necessary to remove him I'll let you know."
Torgo bowed, satisfied for the moment.
She would not send Torgo after Azel. Not unless it was Torgo she wanted dead.
Azel stepped into the vast dark hall that was Gorloch's last bastion in the world. Rites continued to be held there-attended only by the few believers who lived in the citadel. Last rites. A wake for a lost, majestic fury.
The appropriate candles were burning but, it seemed, they could not beat backthe darkness as they had in earlier times. The only real light glowed aroundthe great altar where the sacrifices had been given up to Gorloch. But eventhat light had faded. It had not been fed for six years. The glow no longerbeat back the night enough to reveal the great idol that looked down upon all.
Azel stirred himself, strode forward. His heels clicked upon the basalt floor.
Echoes bounded and rebounded and mixed till they sounded like the noise madeby the wings of a flight of bats.
Azel paused beyond the glow, considered the tableau frozen before him.
Nakar still lay arched backward over the altar, Ala-eh-din Beyh's enchanteddagger in his heart. One hand gripped the altar for leverage. The other was aclaw at the end of an extended arm, now clamped upon air as once it had beenclamped upon the Herodian sorcerer-hero's throat. Ala-eh-din Beyh lay on his side at Nakar's feet, still locked in the stance of a man using both hands todrive a blade into an enemy's heart while trying to lean back from a handtearing at his throat.
All the Witch's power had been able to do only that much to separate them. Theenchantment into which she had put them at death was that powerful.
Azel came to view the tableau each time he visited the citadel. Each time he came the darkness seemed to have closed in a little more.
If it devoured the glow entirely would it be too late for the project? Toolate for Qushmarrah?
Was the Witch so driven because she was racing against the darkness?
As he did each time he came, Azel genuflected slightly-but whether to Nakar, the altar, or to the god in the darkness beyond, even he could not have said.
Then he turned and left that place, and went out through the Postern of Fateinto the real world of a Qushmarrah sprawled helpless at the feet of herconquerors.
Bel-Sidek got the General seated at his table only moments before the first ofthe "nephews" arrived. The old man had called forth surprising reserves ofwill and had banished the appearance of ill health. He almost looked like theGeneral of old.
That first to arrive was "King" Dabdahd, who ran the Astan quarter. King wasthe least important of the guests expected. No trouble came out of the Astan.
King was the General's man.
Qushmarrah within the wall was divided into seven "quarters": the Shu, theShen, the Tro, and the Hahr (the original four quarters of the "Old City"), the Astan, the Minisia, and the waterfront. Bel-Sidek and the General ran thewaterfront and the Shu. The troublesome quarter, the Hahr, belonged to oneOrtbal Sagdet.
There were other quarters beyond the wall but they weren't even considered NewCity. They did not interest bel-Sidek or the General. The General's authorityextended only to the wall.
Bel-Sidek posted himself at the door, to greet the General's heirs as theyarrived.
"Good evening, King," the General said. "Make yourself comfortable. You'reseveral minutes early." His tone said he understood that meant King hadsomething to say before the others arrived-and he did not approve.
King always arrived early. King always had something to say about the others.
He was a petty, spiteful, back-stabbing, exasperating man working on gettinghimself designated heir apparent to a sick old man.
He had his good side, his uses, his talents, not the least of which was hisability to swim in the social waters inhabited by the big fish of the Herodianoccupation. His courage he had proven at Dak-es-Souetta.
Dabdahd said, "I saw Sagdet on my way here. He said he wouldn't be coming."
"Indeed? And why not?"
King did look chagrined as he said, "You know I've never been shy aboutexpressing my opinion of Sagdet, nor reluctant to report his shortcomings andpecadillos, but tonight I'll restrict myself to the observation that OrtbalSagdet no longer feels he is bound by your authority. Maybe Salom Edgit willstate it for him."
Dabdahd talked that way. Like he was making speeches he had rehearsed. Bel- Sidek thought he probably had.
Salom Edgit ran the Tro and was Sagdet's crony. His record at Dak-es-Souettawas a match for the best, but he had changed since then. Bel-Sidek thought ofhim as an onion rotting slowly from the heart outward, layer by layer.
Salom Edgit arrived only moments after King finished. He looked at the manfrom the Astan and seemed disappointed. Bel-Sidek suspected he'd had somethinghe'd wanted to say before the others arrived, too.
Bel-Sidek considered the two. Dabdahd was a tall man but slim, courageousenough but small at heart. Edgit was a slight man, short, still tough andgutsy, but somehow he had lost the vision that had breathed life into theLiving. His autonomy had died. He seemed to have become a chameleon, changingto look more and more like Ortbal Sagdet.
Carza and Zenobel arrived together. Bel-Sidek was sure that was significant.
Those two had no use for one another. The only thing they had in common wastheir dedication to the cause. Each bordered on being a fanatic. But theydisagreed fundamentally on strategy.
Zenobel wanted to build a strong secret army of patriots that could be wieldedin one furious hammer stroke. In the Shen he was doing things his way. TheShen was as quiet and trustworthy as the Astan.
Carza's vision was apocalyptic. He wanted to bring down the fire. He wanted totemper Qushmarrah in a holocaust that would rid the city of human dross andconsume the invaders. He did not expect to survive the fire himself.