For a time he just sat beside his friend, damning himself, mourning, and wondering what he would do now. Finally, he rose and began collecting rocks. The cairn he built was not much, but it showed that he cared. He would not have made the effort for anyone else.
He muttered as he worked. "Self, am in no wise able to continue task here. Enemy catching on. Same being intelligent, will send bigger party next time round. Same will be inhamperable. Must assay alternate course, designed to inconvenience religious dolts."
He fluttered round the camp till sunrise. Then he loaded his donkey and headed north, toward lands where he might more effectively prosecute his personal war. He narrowly avoided colliding with El Murid's southbound invasion force.
The Duke of Greyfells, who had moved south slowly while awaiting confirmation of his negotiations with Karim, finally learned of Karim's death. He was furious. Then he learned that Nassef had replaced his subordinate in the Lesser Kingdoms.
Altea was a remote theater. He would not be noticed there.
In disguise, guarded by his most intimate supporters, he rode south to renegotiate treacheries that had promised him the Itaskian Crown and partition of the west.
His second in command, a bitter enemy, allowed him a head start, then rushed the northern army toward Dunno Scuttari.
It met el-Kader and the Host of Illumination on a plain near the town of Pircheaen, twenty-two miles north of the Scarlotti. The armies skirmished throughout a brisk autumn day. Neither commander was prepared to commit himself. The exchanges of the second day were more savage but no more conclusive. Both sides claimed victory.
El-Kader withdrew during the night. But the Itaskians did not follow up with an advance toward Dunno Scuttari. Instead, they turned east, hoping to force a crossing of the River Scarlotti somewhere away from the most heavily defended crossings.
El-Kader recrossed the river, then marched parallel to the Itaskians.
"We're in a bad spot," Beloul told his king. He held a crude map of the area west of the Bergwold. "He's hemmed us in. He has men here, here, here... " One by one, he indicated the locations of eight war bands, each at least the equal of Haroun's own. The Royalists were surrounded on all but the Bergwold side.
"Can we break out?"
"Maybe. But it looks grim."
Haroun sighed, surveyed the countryside. There was not an enemy in sight, yet the cage door had been slammed shut. He glanced down at his hands. They were shaking. He was afraid his nerve was going. He desperately needed a rest. "Which group is he with?"
"Here. South of the Bergwold."
"All right. That's where we'll try to break out."
"Lord? Attack the Scourge of God himself?"
"Yes. We'll just have to fight the harder. And hope. Beloul?"
"Lord?"
"Tell the men our only hope is to slay the Scourge of God. That's going to be the whole point of the attack."
"As you command, Lord."
Sorrowfully, uncertainly, Haroun watched his little army prepare for what might be its last battle. Why did he bother? It seemed every peril he evaded led to a worse. "Let's go!" He swung into his saddle.
"We might do it!" he shrieked an hour later.
The surprised enemy force, backboned by a handful of Invincibles, could not get organized. Haroun flailed about himself, wailing Royalist warcries. His men, smelling success, were hurling themselves on their enemies with more passion than he had anticipated. Some were just yards from the Scourge of God.
Hatred seared the air as he and Nassef glared at one another. The hate drew them like powerful lodestones. But the meeting was not fated. The swirl of battle pushed them ever farther apart.
In time, Haroun moaned to Beloul, "They reacted too damned fast." The tide was turning. And a scout had brought word that another war band was approaching.
"Yet the Scourge of God remains in peril, Lord. Look. The Invincibles keep getting tangled up trying to protect him."
"Don't humor me, Beloul. I have eyes."
The fighting drifted toward the Colberg. All the valor and sacrifice of the Royalist champions was in vain. The Invincibles rallied their less enthusiastic companions and began closing a circle around them. When asked for suggestions, el Senoussi could contribute only, "Maybe we could make a stand in the ruins. Lord."
"Maybe. Where are the damned Guildsmen? Didn't you send a messenger?"
"Beloul did, Lord. I don't know where they are. Maybe they're getting even."
"Not that Ragnarson... Look. There they are."
An infantry company came double-timing from beyond the Colberg.
"You're right, Lord. And just in time."
"They pay their debts."
Ragnarson opened an escapeway for the Royalists.
"Why didn't you keep after them?" bin Yousif demanded as Ragnarson shepherded him toward the Colberg. "We could have had the Scourge of God."
"Bitch and gripe. How the hell was I supposed to know? Your message said stand by to bail you out if you got in over your head. I barely got here in time to do that. Haaken, get those Altean clowns into close order. Look, your kingship, I just saved your ass. Again. You want me to throw you back? Or to worry about keeping it saved? That isn't the only gang of those guys around. There's one only four miles north of here."
Beloul protested, "Lord, these masterless curs need a lesson in manners."
"Look behind us, Beloul."
He hated looking back himself. That part of his force which remained was no larger than the company led by the young Guildsman. Most of the rest had scattered. It would take days for the survivors to reform.
"Hey, Bragi," a Guildsman shouted. "We'd better get into the woods. They're ready to come after us."
Haroun glanced back. The second war band had arrived. "Your man is right. We'd better run."
They entered the tangle of the Bergwold in time. Nassef's riders showed no inclination to follow them. Ragnarson laughed. "They've tried before. We taught them a lesson. If they're going to come in, they have to get off horses. They don't like that. Move your men ahead. I'll screen you."
"Bragi. They're going to try it after all."
Haroun listened to the curses of men Nassef had ordered into the wood. "You're right. They don't like it."
"They're going to like it a lot less in a little while. Haaken. Reskird. We'll set the ambush at the deep ravine."
The fight was little more than a skirmish. Nassef's men quickly retreated to the forest's edge.
They came again the following morning, this time seriously. The Scourge of God had gathered all his men for the sweep.
"There's way too many of them," Regnarson told Haroun. "They can cover the whole Bergwold. We can't play hide and seek."
Haroun nodded as he studied the Guildsman's Bergwold maps. "These are good." Megelin would have been pleased with their quality. "You read?" he asked.
"Only enough to follow those. It's part of the training, but the war broke before we got to reading and writing. Captain Sanguinet and Lieutenant Trubacik drew those. They taught all the noncoms how to read them."
"My friend, we've gotten ourselves into a classic situation here. Whatever we do is wrong. We can't run and we don't dare fight."
"Between a rock and a hard place, as we say at home."
"Nassef wants you as bad as he wants me. He was fond of Karim. What do you think we should do?"
Ragnarson shrugged. "You was trained to lead. Now would be a great time to start. I got this job because nobody else would take it. It's all I can do to figure out what to do with the volunteers we've been getting."
"Have you gotten many?"