"Quick, quiet and easy," Haroun told Beloul. "We couldn't ask for anything more." He scrambled down and joined el Senoussi, who was slapping off dirt and straw. "Shove them under that pile of hay," Shadek ordered. "You, you, get the horses saddled." He turned to Haroun. "Lord, we're expected at the Shrines in an hour."
"Who are we supposed to be?"
"A delegation of salt merchants presenting a petition for redress. The Disciple has a soft spot for the trade. We're supposed to raise hell about the officers managing the Daimiellian salt works. Sidi said it was a pet peeve."
"Good enough. Anything to get past the Invincibles." Haroun thumbed his dagger.
They all made sure their hidden blades were accessible. Their more obvious weapons they would surrender before being permitted to approach the Disciple.
"Let me do the talking," Shadek said. "I know a little about the salt trade. I'll scratch my ear again."
Every man appeared pale and nervous. The one Shadek assigned to manage the horses was visibly relieved.
Haroun surveyed the others. They looked too hardened to be simple caravaneers. Nobody would believe their story.
Throats tightened and stomachs churned as they passed through the series of guardians shielding the Disciple. Haroun was baffled. The white robes seemed unsuspicious. Hidden weapons got by them, apparently because they surrendered blades almost as well concealed and, perhaps, because no one had ever dared stalk the Disciple in the sanctity of the Shrine.
Haroun hoped his own bodyguards never became as complacent. The Harish had struck too close too often already.
He hung back a little when they entered El Murid's throne room, keeping his head down. Beloul lagged with him. The others masked them with their bodies. El Murid knew Haroun and might recognize Beloul.
Haroun could not avoid a hungry glance at the Peacock Throne. That was his self-proclaimed destiny...
It was called the Peacock Throne because its tall back resembled the fan of a peacock displayed. The twelve-foot plumes had been fashioned of planks of rare woods. Over the centuries they had been set with gold, silver, gems, ivory, jet, pearls, turquoise and semiprecious stones in contrived, garish patterns. Dynasties of Ilkazar's Emperors and generations of Quesani kings had contributed to the gaudy mosaic. The Throne was the heart and symbol of power in Hammad al Nakir, as it had been for the Empire before.
And now this usurper, this jackal without a drop of royal blood, defiled the seat of kings. Haroun stifled his anger.
Another rose to replace it. This beast had slain his family. This monster had destroyed everything worthy and dear and had unleashed the hounds that dogged him even now.
He counted bodyguards cautiously.
Shadek halted a dozen paces from the Peacock Throne. After the courtly courtesies, he advanced a few steps. He began talking in a low, persuasive voice. El Murid leaned forward to listen. He nodded occasionally.
What was Shadek waiting for? Let's do it! Haroun screamed inside.
Shadek's hands flew as if in emphatic support of his argument, as they had with Sidi. Haroun tried to relax, to still his fears. He dared not let tension betray him.
A door burst inward. A man in tatters staggered through. A pair of ranking Invincibles supported him. Rag-man croaked, "No, Lord! Beware!"
Not a soul moved for a bewildered moment. Then El Murid yelped, "Mowaffak! What are you doing here? What's happened to you?"
"Assassins, Lord," Hali croaked, extending a shaky arm to point. "They're assassins."
Haroun dove for his dagger.
"Hali!" Beloul squealed. And charged.
Men flew this way and that. El Senoussi rushed the Disciple, got sidetracked. Haroun flung himself after Shadek, only to have his path blocked by Invincibles. The white robes had been taken off guard. They began going down. Soon they were outnumbered.
Haroun dispatched the man blocking his path. He skipped the body and started toward his old enemy. He met El Murid's gaze. There was no fear there.
"You're a bold one," the Disciple said. "I never expected you here."
Haroun smiled. It was a thin, cruel, wicked little smile. "It saddens me that you'll never see me on the Peacock Throne, usurper. Unless you manage from the Other Side."
"Your father and uncle were wont to speak in that vein. Who is watching whom from where?"
Haroun sprang.
El Murid raised his left hand. The glow of his amulet shown into Haroun's eyes. He spoke one word.
Thunder rolled. A brilliant flash filled the room. The Shrines quivered on their foundations.
Haroun's knees gave way. A darkness stole his vision. He tried to shout but his mouth was numb.
El Murid did not laugh, and that infuriated Haroun. The Disciple was the villain of the piece. Villains were supposed to crow in triumph when they won.
Hands seized his arms, lifted him. A remote voice said, "Get him out of here." Haroun tried to help. His feet would not untangle. His supporters slung him around helter-skelter as they fled along a stormy shore. Every breaker smashed in with a metallic roar and muted shouting. Twice they dumped him while they hurled back the waves.
His vision began to clear. His legs worked a little. His mind regained its ability to grasp sequential events.
Shadek's men were fighting their way out. They were good, hard men but they had failed in their mission. They were leaving no one behind to be captured and tortured into betraying those who did escape. They might have to slay a few of their own to manage but that had been understood beforehand.
The city seemed unnaturally calm after the chaos of the Shrines. "Let's don't anybody get in a hurry," el Senoussi cautioned as he helped Beloul hoist Haroun aboard a horse. "We don't want to attract attention."
Beloul laughed. "Somebody's bound to figure there's something wrong." He indicated a pair of Invincibles howling at the entrance to the Shrines.
Haroun tried to tell Shadek to get a move on. His tongue was not yet fit for duty.
Shadek led them toward the bridge spanning El Murid's lake, saying, "They didn't have any horses around. It'll take them a while to get the word out. We'll be long gone before they do."
He was wrong.
There was a new order in the Kingdom of Peace. Secretly, El Murid had withdrawn his ban on the practice of the dark arts. A few former shaghûns had rallied to his standard. Most were in the capital city with the Invincibles. They were not the shaghûns of old but they had their uses.
Like getting swift orders to the bridge defenders.
The assassins reached the city's edge and found the causeway held by two score alert and angry white robes. "So we turn back to Bassam's," Haroun told el Senoussi.
Excitement was afoot in the city now. Those first wild rumors which come before slower-footed truth leapt from house to house like flames through a dry, brushy canyon. People moved with more speed and less purpose, certain something was wrong but unsure what it was. The Invincibles were more in evidence, though not yet asking questions. "Shadek, we'd better ditch the animals. We're too memorable this way."
"Aye, Lord." El Senoussi returned to the stable. What better place to abandon horses?
Now to move to the place his agent Bassam had prepared... The wounded were a problem. They would be more memorable than any number of horses.
The pragmatic course was obvious. Dispatch the badly injured. Hide them with Sidi and his bodyguards.
There were only two men to consider, men whose lives Haroun did not want to squander. Too many had been wasted in this cruel war. "Shadek, we just became lepers. We'll bind ourselves in rags and go by twos and threes. People will be too busy getting out of our way to look us over."