Unless he were making a delivery.
Haroun grew more tense. That possibility had not occurred to him earlier.
El Senoussi's hand snapped up, signalling a halt. Haroun dropped his fingers to his sword. Shadek made his way up the file. "Lord, this is going to be tricky. I don't know what they plan. It could be a trap."
"It could be. Take a couple men down and find out. I'll wait here."
"As you command, Lord." El Senoussi picked two men and departed. They disappeared among the trees whence the smoke rose.
Haroun and Beloul waited with their swords lying across their laps. The rest of the men dismounted.
El Senoussi returned two hours later. He came all the way up instead of signalling from below. Beloul whispered, "I'm inclined to think he's sticking, Lord."
"We'll see."
El Senoussi arrived. "It looks like they'll play it straight, Lord. There's only ten of them, and Sidi himself."
"Let's go, then. Make sure he dies first if they try anything."
"That goes without saying, Lord. Listen up, men! We're going down. And I'll cut the heart out of the man who forgets and gives our Lord away. This is just a warrior named Abu bin Kahed." He stared down the trail again.
They clattered into Sidi's camp, suspiciously eyeing Sidi's men, who watched them suspiciously. This would be an uneasy alliance, Haroun reflected.
El Murid's son awaited them, his face a stony mask. He made no move to greet them. The war truly claimed the young, Haroun reflected. The boy had the look of a cruel, miserly old man.
They set out for Al Rhemish next morning, riding fast. El Murid had ended his seclusion. He was watching everyone. The night-stalking Harish were busier than ever before. Sidi did not want to be away long enough to invite unwelcome questions.
The parties travelled without mixing. There was little intercourse between them, and less trust.
Haroun and Beloul performed the chores of ordinary warriors. They did their turns cooking, currying animals, standing sentry duty. Sidi's people paid them no heed. Shadek's men showed them no special respect. He had selected smart, vigilant, veteran guerrillas.
It was noon of a warm winter's day when Haroun once again saw the Holy City, the city of his dreams, the city of the kings of Hammad al Nikir. He had to struggle to keep his feelings hidden.
The great bowl had changed. There was a broad, shallow lake where once pilgrims had camped during Disharhun. The Shrines and city now stood on an island reached by a rickety wooden causeway. The old ruins had been cleared. New structures had been raised. More were under construction, including giants that looked worthy of the capital of a new Empire. The stone piers of a permanent bridge were in place beside the wooden causeway.
The inner slopes of the bowl were covered with green grass. Camels and goats, horses and cattle grazed them. At the points of the compass four small sections had been enclosed with fences built from the rubble of the leveled ruins. Each enclosure contained arrow-straight rows of seedling trees. The all-important moisture descended the slopes from a ringing irrigation canal. Haroun could only guess whence the water had come.
He exchanged glances with Beloul.
"It's changed remarkably," Shadek told Sidi.
"The old fool's hobby," the boy said. "Greening the desert. A damned waste of money and manpower."
"It would seem a worthy goal, Lord."
Sidi gave Shadek a cruel look. "Perhaps. But it would consume the labor and wealth of a dozen generations, General."
Haroun knew the numbers. Megelin had shared them with him back when, while preparing suggestions for his father.
He sensed that Sidi was parroting something he had been told. There was a strong flavor of rote recital in his phrasing.
What fell puppet-masters were filling him with contempt for his father's dreams? And with insidious schemes for murder?
No doubt Sidi believed he was his own creature, was making his own decisions and pursuing his own ambitions. The poor naive child.
Sidi was a dead puppet and did not know it. How long would he last once his manipulators eliminated El Murid? Till the first time his will crossed theirs.
While he wallowed in the privileges of power, they would sink their claws into its instruments. If Sidi asserted himself he would find himself standing alone.
Would the Invincibles support the slayer of their prophet? A parricide? Never.
There was no one on whom Haroun would rather see the jaws of fate close. Sidi impressed him that negatively.
He looked down as they crossed the rickety bridge. The water made a nice moat. There were fish in it. Big ones. It was a shame El Murid could not have remained a loyal subject.
They wound through Al Rhemish past sites hard to recognize but difficult to forget. There... That was where he had unhorsed the Disciple when he was six. His uncle Fuad had died yonder. And his father and brother Ali and King Aboud had made their stand against this wall...
"Lord!" Beloul cautioned softly. "Take care. Your memories are showing."
Haroun stifled the emotion, became as much a gawker as his companions.
He did not like all he saw. There were too many white robes. Getting out would be difficult.
Sidi led them to a stable belonging to one of his backers. He told el Senoussi to sit tight till he was needed, and to keep his men off the streets.
They moved into the loft over the stable. "Not exactly where you'd look for a nest of assassins, is it?" Haroun murmured.
El Senoussi held a finger to his lips. "The walls have ears in this town. There were too many intrigues during the Disciple's seclusion."
"When do we act?" Beloul asked.
Shadek shrugged. "He needs time to arrange it. He'll want it to happen when he has an ironclad alibi. And he'll probably try to arrange it so something happens to us, whatever the outcome. We'd make dangerous witnesses. It might take him a month."
"One thing, Shadek," Haroun said. "Be obsequious. Fawn on him. Be the desert's number one lickspittle if you have to. But make believe he's taken us in, that he needn't fear us."
"That is my plan, Lord." El Senoussi looked like an artist watching a very personal piece of work, wrought with loving care, being reshaped by another artist. "I'm going to make him so sure of me that when the day comes he'll come tell me himself. We'll slay the pup then leap at the throat of the sire. I trust that meets with your approval, Lord?"
"Pardon me, Shadek. I worry. About everything. What about escape? That bridge will be trouble if they're chasing us."
"That was an unforeseen complication, Lord."
Haroun gave him a name and address and had him bring the man to the loft.
Nine weeks ground away. Haroun and Beloul spent every minute of every one inside that stable. "I'm going out of my mind," Haroun moaned. "The Disciple is going to die of old age before we move."
Beloul started to say something. A stir below interrupted. Shadek growled something. Men scrambled into hiding. "Sidi's coming," Beloul whispered.
"Another false alarm," Haroun predicted. "Just checking up on us."
The boy visited once a week, growing bolder each time. Only two bodyguards accompanied him now. Shadek met him on the ground level.
Men watched from every shadow. Sidi and el Senoussi spoke in low tones, Shadek apparently growing excited, Sidi baffled.
Thus it had gone every time, with Shadek throwing his arms around as he spoke.
In the middle of a sentence he grunted and began to dig at his ear with the nail of his little finger. Then he dropped like a stone.
Arrows flew. Sidi and his bodyguards flung about in a grim, drunken danse macabre under the impact of the shafts. Shadek snaked away. His men leapt from the shadows, made sure of their victims.