Warriors were arriving when he asked Nassef, "Should we put it off a year? So we'd have more time to get ready?"
"No. Don't get the jitters. Time is our enemy. The west is weak and confused. Not sure we'll attack. But they're bumbling along, getting ready. In a year they'd know and be organized."
El Murid made his Mashad speech to the assembled host. He was awed by its vastness. Fifty thousand men faced him. They had gathered at his command. And as many more were moving toward the Sahel already.
Hardly a grown man would stay home this summer.
He exhorted them to carry the Word, then returned to the Shrines. He was prepared to remain near the Most Holy Altar, praying, till the trend of the campaign became clear.
The first reports seemed too good to be true. Yasmid told him it was going better than Nassef had hoped.
Then Mowaffak Hali came to him. "Lord, I need your advice."
"How so?"
"A man named Allaf Shaheed, a captain of the Invincibles, has made a dangerous mistake. The question is how we should react."
"Explain."
"A force of Invincibles encountered Guild General Hawkwind in the domains of Hellin Daimiel. Foolishly, they offered battle. Hawkwind shattered them."
"And that has what to do with this Shaheed?"
"He assumed command of the survivors. While fleeing he chanced on a Guild landhold. He slew everyone there."
"So?"
"We're not at war with the Guild proper, Lord. We're at war with people who employ Guildsmen. That's a critical distinction. They demand that it be observed."
"They demand? Of me, Mowaffak? The Lord makes demands of El Murid. Not men."
"Perhaps, Lord. But should we needlessly incur the hatred of ten thousand men as dedicated as our own Harish? Twice have they invoked what they call the Sanctions of Nonverid and gone to war as an order. Each time they eradicated their enemies root and branch. Were they to muster their full strength and march against Al Rhemish not even the Scourge of God could stop them."
"I think you exaggerate, Mowaffak. And I won't be dictated to by infidels."
"I merely suggest that we not add to our burdens, Lord. That we make a gesture to placate the old men of High Crag. The Guild scattered, taken piecemeal, is far less dangerous than the Guild faced as a body."
El Murid reflected. He saw the sense of Hali's argument. Wadi el Kuf had been impressive. But there was also the fact that petitioning the Guild at any level constituted an admission of weakness.
There was no weakness in the Lord.
"Relieve Shaheed. Return him to Al Rhemish. Otherwise, do nothing but instruct your captains not to let it happen again."
"As you command, Lord." Mowaffak Hali grew pale. He had survived Wadi el Kuf. He hoped never to witness such a slaughter again.
He debated with himself for a day before finding room in his conscience for disobedience.
He sent three messengers by three routes, each bearing letters begging understanding and offering restitution. But the Lord was not with him. Every envoy perished en route.
Chapter Five:
WAR CLOUDS
B ragi reached High Crag after a four month journey through refugee camps scattered across the Lesser Kingdoms. The castle was an ancient, draughty stone pile perched atop a windy, sea-battered headland jutting from the coast north of Dunno Scuttari. He looked up the long slope to the gates, recalling the misery he had endured during recruit training, and almost turned back. Only his concern for his brother drew him onward.
He explained his circumstances to the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper told him to report to the sergeant of the guard. The sergeant sent him to a lieutenant, who passed him on to a captain, who told him to spend the night in barracks because he could expect to tell his story a dozen more times before anyone decided what to do with him. He was listed missing in action, presumed killed. His death bonus had been paid to his brother. The bonus would have to be repaid.
"I don't care about all that," Bragi said. "I just want to get back to my brother and my company. Where are they?"
"Sanguinet's Company? Down near Hellin Daimiel. Simballawein is negotiating for reinforcements for the Guild garrison there. There's talk that El Murid plans a holy war. Wants to resurrect the Empire."
"Why can't I just catch up?"
"As soon as you've gone the route here."
He remained stuck at High Crag for three months.
Haaken stared. "I don't believe it. Where the hell did you come from?" He was a burly youth even bigger than his foster brother. He approached Bragi warily, circled him. "It's you. It's really you. Damn it. Oh, damnit. After all the heartaches I went through."
Someone hollered back among the tents. "You lying son of a bitch!" A soldier charged onto the drill field. "I'll crap! It is him. What the hell are you doing here, Bragi?" He was a tall, lean, tan, ginger-haired youth named Reskird Kildragon, Haaken's friend and the only other Trolledyngjan in the company.
Haaken threw an arm around Bragi. "It's really you. I'll be damned. We were sure you were dead."
"Why the hell didn't you keep riding somewhere?" Kildragon demanded. "Haaken, how are we going to pay back that death bounty?"
Bragi laughed. "Hasn't changed a bit, has he?" he asked Haaken.
"Too damned stupid. Can't beat sense into him. Tell the guys, Reskird."
"Yeah." Kildragon winked at Ragnarson.
"So talk," Haaken said. "How did you get out of Al Rhemish? Where have you been? Maybe you should have gone somewhere else. We're probably headed down to Simballawein. The Disciple is up to something. We'll probably be in the thick of it. Well? Can't you say anything?"
Grinning, Bragi replied, "Maybe. If you'd shut up long enough. You realize you've said more in the last five minutes than you usually say in a year?"
The rest of Ragnarson's squadmates appeared, ambling out nonchalantly, as if only mildly curious. "Oh-oh," Haaken said. "Here comes Lieutenant Trubacik."
"Lieutenant?"
"Been lots of promotions. Sanguinet is a captain now."
Bragi sucked spittle between his teeth, nervous.
"You're late, Ragnarson," Trubacik snapped. "You were due on guard duty ten months ago." He chuckled at his own wit. "Captain wants to see you."
A messenger came in on a lathered horse. Sanguinet ordered the camp gates closed and the troops into company formation. "Gentlemen, it's begun," he announced. "We're headed for Simballawein. General Hawkwind will join us there."
Five hell-days on the road, marching forty or fifty miles each day. Then a messenger overtook them with word that a regiment of Invincibles had butted heads with Hawkwind and gotten the short end. Only a handful had escaped.
The walls of Simballawein hove into view. "It's as big as Itaskia," Ragnarson muttered to Haaken.
"Bigger, I think." Cheering crowds waited outside the gates. "Think we'd won the war already. Hell, a city ain't nothing but a box trap."
"Gloom, despair, and blessed misery," Kildragon chided. "Come in out of the fog and look around, Haaken. Take a gander at them girls. Check the look in their eyes. I mean, they're ready to attack." He waved at the nearest.
"Sanguinet's going to... "
A girl rushed Reskird. She shoved flowers into his hands, fell into step beside him. She chattered. Kildragon chattered back. Lack of a common tongue didn't hamper communication.'