Cued by his thinking, his old wounds began aching.
The Disciple's retinue were worried. Their master seemed to have lost his spirit, his zest, his drive. All too often he retreated into his own inner realms rather than face the crises staring at the Kingdom. Some, like Hali, begged Esmat for help.
What could he do? the physician asked. He simply did not have the personal or moral courage to shed his procurer's role.
And because of that weakness, even Esmat himself held Esmat in contempt.
Altaf el-Kader was not known as an emotional man. His acquaintances knew him as one who let himself be rattled by nothing.
Nevertheless, he blew up when the crows of disaster fluttered in from Altea. Even his boldest subordinates could not approach him. But when the storm blew away, el-Kader was more cool than ever. He had, in a way, been reborn.
He spoke to the assembled captains of the Host of Illumination. "Gentlemen, you've heard the news. The Scourge of God has been sent to his reward by the same Guild scoundrels who robbed us of Karim's songs. The death of this one man, whom we revered and respected... "
An angry mutter began among his listeners.
"Be quiet!" he snapped. "I won't fall into that trap, too. We have people in Altea. Let them deal with the matter. What you and I must do is prove that the Host isn't the Scourge of God. We have to show that we can win without him. Quickly and impressively, for both our friends and enemies. Our foes were wavering. The Disciple's messages have won us converts by the thousand. We can't let the one take heart and the other grow fearful."
He paused to let his words take root. Then, "Prepare to march. We'll make our demonstration by destroying the northern army."
The wings of fear descended, brushing the necks of men who had known no trepidation when Nassef had been in command. El-Kader bore it. He knew the biggest proving would have to be of himself to his captains.
"You have heard me," he said. "Go. Prepare. I'll tell you more as it becomes necessary."
He was adopting Nassef s approach, revealing his thinking to no one. That seemed to reassure them. They were accustomed to operating in the dark.
He had chosen his mission. He attacked it with a flare and determination never before shown. But never before had the final responsibility rested on Altaf el-Kader. Now he had to answer to no one but himself—so he demanded more of el-Kader than ever Nassef had.
Despite his statement concerning Altea, he marched eastward. The immediate assumption was that he meant to punish Nassef's slayers. That had been the style of the Scourge of God, to say one thing and do the opposite. He let his entourage believe that he had had a change of heart. What his followers believed would also be believed by his enemies.
He gathered to the Host all the garrisons along the way, including the men holding the river crossings.
The northern army immediately leapt the river behind him. Its crossing required several days.
El-Kader heard and smiled.
He had planned each move carefully during his day of isolation. He needed only a minimum of luck...
He got more. The Fates, having served the enemy long enough, re-enlisted with the Host of Illumination. The Duke of Greyfalls, having learned of Nassef's demise, had abandoned his hunt for the Scourge of God. He rejoined his command during its crossing. The resulting uncertainty at the highest echelon permitted el-Kader to shake the northern scouts.
He immediately turned westward. In hard marches he passed below the northerners and swung back toward the river. He was lying in wait when Greyfalls started to march toward Dunno Scuttari.
El-Kader hit him in a land of low hills, attacking from the flanks. He gave his foe no time to organize. The might of the northern knights proved useless. The deadly Itaskian bowmen became scattered before they could bring the punishing power of their weapons to bear.
Only the stubborn formations of pikemen from Iwa Skolovda and Dvar withstood the fury of the first charge. They remained brief-lived islands of stability in a maelstrom of death.
The knights of the north, as was the noble wont in defeat, abandoned their footbound followers to el-Kader's untender mercy and flew for the river crossings. But their enemy had anticipated them. His riders were there before them. Not a quarter reached the northern shore.
The men they abandoned fared better.
The infantry fought on, having no choice. Broken into ever smaller units, hunted mercilessly, the soldiers became scattered over a half dozen Lesser Kingdoms. Their losses, too, were brutal. Only one in three witnessed the coming of winter.
El-Kader called off the hunt ten days later. He wanted to go into winter quarters and to allow some warriors to return to their families.
Then came the news of Yasmid's disappearance.
Hali had debated with himself all morning. How could he tell his prophet? He sometimes let the reports slide, to save El Murid distress, but this time he had no choice. The news was too important. He finally requested an audience.
"Lord." He bowed.
The Disciple knew Mowaffak's bad news look now. "What is it?" he snapped.
"An ill wind from the north, Lord."
"I saw that the second you came in. Why don't you just say it?"
"As you command, Lord. There're grim tidings for the Kingdom of Peace, Lord. The worst."
"Out with it, man. Don't play games with me."
Hali, devoted as he was, reached his limit. "Very well, Lord. Two items. The Scourge of God has been slain. And your daughter had been kidnapped."
El Murid did not respond immediately. Nor did he move. His flesh became so pale that for a moment Mali feared he had suffered a stroke. But finally, in a soft, gentle voice, the Disciple said, "I know I've been short-tempered lately, Mowaffak. Sometimes I haven't been fair. But that's no cause to jest so cruelly."
"I wish I were joking, Lord. My pain would be less terrible. But the joke has been played by the Evil One."
"It's true, then?"
"Every word, Lord. And it hurts like my death wound to tell it."
"Nassef. Slain. It doesn't seem possible. And Yasmid carried off. How can that be? It would take an army to reach her, wouldn't it?"
"Guildsmen in the first instance, Lord. The same who slew Karim. They sent more than a thousand Invincibles with him. This has been a hard summer for our brotherhood. There aren't many of us left."
"And Yasmid?"
"The facts aren't clear. A rider brought the news. He was too near death to tell us much. He had ridden too hard with wounds too grave. El-Kader moved your children into Hammad al Nakir lest his confrontation with the north went wrong. Invincibles guarded them. How they failed I don't know. Someone got to your daughter. My brethren who survived the attack are in pursuit."
"That's not very clear, Mowaffak."
"I know, Lord. Yet it's the sum of my knowledge to the moment."
"Are these heathens pacified?"
Hali smiled thinly. "The survivors are behaving themselves, Lord."
"Then I'll get out of your hair. I'm returning north. I leave you and Ipopotam to one another. Decide how many men you need here. Keep as few as you can. El-Kader will need all the help he can get. Mowaffak?"
"Lord?"
"Leave me now. I need to be alone."
"As you command, Lord."
Hali paused at the door, considering the man he loved more than life itself. El Murid sat hunched as if in extreme pain, staring into the gentle glow of the amulet of his wrist. There were tears in his eyes, but his expression remained unreadable. Mowaffak guessed that he was wondering if the game were worth the candle.
He shook his head sadly. His prophet had sacrificed almost everything for the movement. What was left to give? Just himself and that brat, Sidi, who ought to be put out of his misery anyway.