"Bragi."
"What?"
"Don't push your luck. Things can change. They still outnumber us a skillion to one. We should just worry about getting out alive. Just make them back off."
"Yeah. Okay." But Bragi was not listening. He was too excited to accept the possibility of disaster. He had thought on his feet too. He had turned Nassef s trap into a counter-trap. He was flying high. "Be back in a few minutes."
He scrambled from roof to roof, moving toward the wall, parallel to the street. He paused occasionally to loose an arrow. He had told his men to concentrate on leaders. Confused followers could be dispatched later.
Nowhere did he see anything to warrant Haaken's pessimism. The streets were filled with dead men. It was a target shoot.
His trip proved needless. Karathel's thinking paralleled his own. His was counterattacking when Bragi arrived. The Invincibles at the gate were hard pressed. Then more Invincibles attacked from outside. They overran the Alteans while Bragi watched, feeling completely helpless.
"Damn!" he snarled. "Damn! Damn! Damn! We had it in the palm of our hand."
Haaken's warning came back. Nassef had thousands of men in Altea. If they kept converging nothing could prevent their victory.
He could see Haroun's men on their hill, watching, unable to help. He sighed. "Just not enough people."
Below, the new wave of Invincibles surged into the deathtrap streets. It was time to rejoin Haaken. If this was the end, they should go down together.
He found his path barred. Some not too bright Invincible had fired a building in hopes of driving the Guildsmen off its roof. He had overlooked the fact that the fire would be as hard on the men in the narrow street. Bragi decided to descend and circle round the burning house. He dropped into a tight alleyway lying behind a long row of shops and houses. He had taken no more than a dozen steps when horsemen overtook him
He whirled, let an arrow fly. A man groaned. He loosed a second shaft into the flesh under a man's chin as a horse reared over his head. He fumbled for a third arrow, dropped it, clawed at his sword. The certainty of death nearly paralyzed him.
The third rider let out a strangled wail and fled, though he had been in perfect position to split Bragi's head with his saber.
Bragi stood there a moment, stunned. "What the hell?" He glanced at the men he had downed. The Invincible was still alive, groaning. The other was stone dead.
"What the hell?" Bragi said again. Then he shrugged. "Why look the old gift horse in the mouth?" He ran while the running was good.
"Something's happened," Haaken said when Bragi finally found him. "Look how they're howling and carrying on. And hardly fighting back."
Regnarson looked into the street. He loosed an arrow. "Looks like they've gone crazy. I don't get it. But keep hitting them."
"We won't be able to much longer. We're about out of arrows."
"Use them all. We'll worry about what to do next when we have to."
The arrow shortage never mattered. Within minutes those Invincibles who could were flying out the gate, where Haroun's men took advantage of their confusion and despair to hurt them further.
Haroun rode into the jubilant town an hour later. "Look at his face," Bragi whispered to Kildragon. "He's glowing. I never saw anybody look like that."
"I don't know how you did it, my friend," Haroun said softly, awed. "I don't even care. But today will live in memory ever green."
"What? Come on. We didn't... We survived, that's all."
"No. You did more. Much more. Today El Murid lost his war. The Invincibles have been broken. Now it's only a matter of time till the Disciple has been destroyed."
"What the hell are you raving about? So we finally won one. It didn't amount to that much. And the rest of them will be after us in a day or two."
Bin Yousif considered him momentarily. "You really don't know, do you? I forget, you don't speak my language well. Listen, my friend. Outside. That's a death song the Invincibles are singing. And inside, that's a victory song by my people. They're not singing for today, but for the war. You did two things. You destroyed the biggest band of Invincibles El Murid had left. And you slew the Scourge of God. You. Yourself."
"That man in the alley... ?" Bragi muttered to himself. "But... " He sat down on a stone wall surrounding a fountain. "Really?"
"Really. And it'll change the whole shape of the war."
Chapter Thirteen:
THE ENTERTAINER
T he fat youth crouched in the scraggly brush and studied the enemy encampment. Fifty Invincibles guarding two children. What made them so important?
He had come close to stumbling into them. He had made cover just in time. His curiosity was aroused. Two children!
He had been headed north, skirting the edge of the Sahel, making for Altea, where he hoped to rejoin bin Yousif. But now the north had fled his mind. This might be a chance to strike a real blow on behalf of Sparen and Gouch.
He shook. "Fat one, O flabby friend, am in no wise able to brave fifty swords of enemies implacable as Lady Death Herself. Only fool would do same.
"Pusillanimous pretender," he answered himself. "Is potential opportunity of unparalleled magnitude. Must at least investigate. Establish identity of protected children. Same might be of tremendous value. Elimination of same might be mighty blow against fell empire of madman El Murid."
Mocker was easily frightened. Sajac had kept him afraid for years. But the constant pressure had schooled him to control his fear.
He was scared silly when he led his donkey into the encampment, pretending less familiarity with the desert tongue than he possessed.
"Go away, vagabond," a sentry told him.
Mocker just looked puzzled and, more brokenly than usual, claimed a right to use the spring. He offered to entertain the band in return for his supper.
He had learned some of the desert tongue during his half-forgotten trek down the coast of the Sea of Kotsum, and had picked up more while traveling with Haroun. He understood most of what was being said around him.
Thus it was that, shortly after the Invincible commander let him lay out his bedroll, he learned who the children were.
Malicious glee almost overcame him.
They were the spawn of the Disciple himself! Ah, but weren't the Fates playing a curious game? The general at Dunno Scuttari, el-Kader, had ordered them moved to the safety of the Sahel. He was concerned about the approach of the northern army.
What sweet opportunity! The children of El Murid! He nearly forgot his fear.
His devilish mind began darting around like a whole swarm of gnats. How best to exploit this chance encounter?
First he would have to infatuate the children and attach himself to their party.
How? The Invincibles were keeping them carefully segregated.
He opened his packs as evening settled in. He joined some of the younger Invincibles at their campfire. Sealing his eyes, he commenced the dexterity drills he had so often cursed Sparen for forcing upon him. They amounted to little more than making a common object—a copper coin in this case—appear and disappear between his fingers.
"Sorcery!" someone muttered. Mocker heard the fear in the voice.
He opened his eyes, smiled gently. "Oh, no, my friend. No witchcraft. Is simplest trick of prestidigitation. See? Coin is on back of hand. Is finger game. Watch." He pulled a short stick from the fire and made it appear and disappear, slowly and clumsily enough for the warriors to get the drift. "You see?"
Stage magicians were not unknown in the desert, but they had shown no eagerness to perform since El Murid's ascension. The Disciple's followers were too sensitive about sorcery.