John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

“Someone with a sword?” Maeve had a dubious look on her face? “How likely is that in the Berkeley Hills at four in the morning?”

“The Fedayeen commandos!” said Nordhausen, half jokingly.

Paul raised an eyebrow, and gave him a serious look. “That may not be as far-fetched as it sounds,” he said. “Remember, this could be the only functioning Arch outside the control of the Assassins at the moment. They certainly know that, and I’m willing to bet they also know Kelly is missing from his exile at the edge of the Nile, ten thousand years ago. That means they know we’re up and running some kind of operation, and they also know who we are and what we’re capable of. This is their opus magnum—this operation against the outcome of Tours—and I would not put it past them to send someone here with bad intent.”

“To assassinate us?” The professor seemed indignant.

“We thought that impossible before,” said Paul, “but the fact that they might yet discover Time travel on their own if this operation succeeds makes us fair game. What was it De Gaulle said? Graveyards are full of indispensable men. You said it yourself, Robert. They should have cut my head off when they had me at Castle Masyaf, and perhaps the Sami was intending exactly that. They have shown great respect and an unwillingness to do any harm to fellow Walkers, as they call us Time travelers, but that may have changed given the importance of this operation. The Battle of Tours causes such a radical transformation that even we, the Founders, become expendable as far as Time is concerned. The Golems clearly indicate the overwhelming possibility of a Meridian forming where our lives would most likely be extinguished, as if we’d never been born.”

“But only if the transformation occurs,” said Maeve.

“Correct,” Paul agreed. “Yet LeGrand taught us that both sides have operatives at key moments in the Time Meridian—agents in place. I wouldn’t put it past them to have agents here, in our time, to keep a watch on what we do.”

They sat with that for a while. It was the second odd occurrence Paul had experienced that night, the first being the strange specter of Kelly walking through the glass door at the Harney Science Center. What was going on here? Time seemed to be fragmented, losing cohesion in the display of these odd effects.

Paul took a last sip of his coffee, and looked at the time. He could not think about it any longer. “It’s 4:30!” he complained. “We’re wasting time, not to mention vital fuel stocks. Did you find anything in the research that could lead us to a fulcrum on this event?”

“We found images of the stone they unearthed at Rosetta,” said Robert. “Thank God the information was still in the soup, as Kelly puts it. I was able to do a rudimentary translation. It contained an obvious warning about the battle, an admonishment for them to gather in all their cavalry and take no heed of the disturbance in the camp.”

“No,” said Maeve. “I think there was something more there. What was that line again about the wind?”

“The wind? Let me think. I believe it read: “Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… lest they trample thy endeavor… Or something to that effect.”

“Those who drink the wind,” said Maeve, deep in thought. “That really struck me. What was the name in that cartouche again?”

Nordhausen had to go back over to the monitor, peering in at the image of the stela again. “I make it Ke-hai-lan ,” but its meaning eludes me.”

“Could it be Ku -hay-lan,” said Maeve, substituting a vowel in the first syllable to change the pronunciation.

“As you wish,” said the professor. “I still can’t recall any personage of importance by that name. Should we Google it?”

“But you said this cartouche was always accompanied by another symbol, a determinative, the symbol of the horse, correct?” Maeve was pulling on a rope and reeling the professor in.

“Yes, now that you mention it,” said Robert. “I took that to mean the cartouche held the name of one of the generals, an officer of cavalry. Would that help?”

“Well,” said Maeve definitively, folding her arms. “Kuhaylan is the name of one of the five major breeds of Arabian horses, a primal name.” She had owned horses most of her adult life, riding several times a week on the trails of the East Bay hills. “And get this—the name comes from a mythical tale about the Angel Jibrail , the Angel Gabriel for us, who comes to Ishmael sleeping in the desert, and wakes him with a dust storm, a whirling wind spout actually. When he awakens Jibrail orders the storm to abate, and it resolves to the shape of a horse, as if the horse had devoured the dust storm. So they gave the name Kuhaylan to this strain of Arabians, which means ‘Drinker of the Wind!’”

“That’s it then!” Robert clapped his hands together. “Look here!” He pointed at the stela again, searching for the lines he had translated earlier. “Yes, yes, here it is… ‘ Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… lest they trample thy endeavor and the host is made to flee… For the unseen one that comes in the dusk shall unseat all….’”

“Then it’s not a royal personage in the cartouche,” said Maeve.”

Kelly put it more directly: “It’s talking about the damn horses,” he said. “Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… Perhaps it’s another warning to keep a firm hold on the cavalry. The charge broke and dissipated when there was a disturbance in the rear areas, and a good segment of the cavalry broke off to secure their loot.”

“Yes,” said Robert. “There was a warning inscribed about that earlier in the stela. Here… ‘ stirrings of unrest… Heed them not, or the mighty host flees before the enemy, and many will die. Forsake all plunder, lest the road become the path of Martyrs. For he who would be slain must live…”

“It’s a good lead,” said Kelly, “and an obvious warning aimed at altering the outcome of the battle.”

“Right,” said Paul, “but there’s a lot of haze there. I mean, it’s too broad. There’s no obvious Pushpoint, just a general admonition to keep the cavalry under control. How would they be able to accomplish that if they sent someone back to this milieu? Would he have to be in the guise of a respected military advisor who meets with Abdul Rahman and his Emirs before the battle? He might do so, though there is no mention of any such man in the history the Golems dig up. But even if he delivered his message, convincingly, there is still the fog and heat of battle, and men react in unanticipated ways. Panic and disorder can spread very quickly on a battlefield. A false rumor can undo even the soundest of military plans.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Robert.

“But there was something more,” said Maeve. “What was that bit about Neith and the weaver of days, Robert?”

Nordhausen scratched his head, looking at the screen again until he found the line in the hieroglyphics. “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought together….”

“No,” Maeve pointed. “You said you translated that ‘to gather’ the first time. ‘where horses were brought to gather,’ not together.”

“Yes, I suppose it could be read that way.”

“Well where do they gather horses?” Maeve was on to something now.

“In a corral,” said Kelly.

“Right,” said Maeve. “I keep mine in one. Could it be they were holding a large group of horses back in the camp, perhaps looted from the farms and fiefdoms of the countryside? They’d already overrun half of Gaul by this time. Tours is just a hundred miles southwest of Paris! And if they did have them in an enclosed place of some kind they would have to have some kind of a gate.”