John Schettler - Nexus Point

The alarm was never raised in the lower levels of the castle. When the Sami swept down the long corridor to the council chambers of the Kadi, he did so without the knowledge that the insurrection he had conjured was already quashed. Two men burst through the heavy oaken door, the hafts of their swords clanging harshly on the metal bindings. The Sami came after them, with five more men following in his wake. He had come to ascend to the council chair, and take upon himself the full mastery of the castle and all its clan. To his surprise he found the Kadi seated squarely on the high seat of authority, a scepter of discernment clutched tightly in his right fist. At his feet were the bodies of the three Assassins sent this night to bring his death, and behind him, flanking the dais to either side, were twenty men at arms, brandishing bright scimitar swords and bows of burnished ash.

The intruders gaped with surprise, and even the Sami gave pause. His men clustered close about him to shield him from harm, but the Kadi spoke a harsh command and seven poisoned arrows cut them down—all except their master, where he stood amid the scattered corpses, his ice blue eyes gleaming with ire and malice.

A long tense silence fell over the room. The armed men about the Kadi seemed to quail a bit in that interval, as though the specter of the Sami, the Silent One they all had come to know and fear, would suddenly transform itself into some monstrous shape, and wreak vengeance upon them for their deeds. But the Kadi spoke first, his voice clear and steady, his eyes bright with determination.

“Shall I continue, or will you relent?”

“Strike me, if you dare!” The Sami’s voice was a dry rasp. “Show these assembled the full measure of your treachery!”

“Treachery?” The Kadi stood up, his face a mask of anger and resentment. “It was you who raised your hand against the brethren—you, who claim the rightly guided way!”

“Look about me,” the Sami gestured with a long robed arm. “Who has slain the brethren? Surely not I. Why do you raise arms against us? We come here at the bidding of the Sheikh himself! Yes, Sinan has sent to me this night, and orders what now passes in the chambers below.”

“That is a lie!” The Kadi drew out a rolled scroll and flung it across the room to the Sami’s feet. “There is the written hand of Sinan. Take it; read it. Show me where it says that the brothers were to act as you have commanded. I have seen the severed head you planted below, and so I took precaution. Yet that was but the crowing of the cock to name the hour of your treachery. Sinan condemned you two days ago. He saw what you intended, and gave instruction. The stranger was secreted away, and has not been harmed. The men you sent to take his life lie as these do here, and they will not see paradise, if you have promised such.”

The Sami seemed to gather himself in, like a billow of smoke spiraling about some unfathomable dark center. He spurned the rolled scroll with his foot. “I do not believe you,” he said in a low voice. “You say this only to win the hour before these men, who you press to murder at your command. If Sinan draws nigh, and speaks his true mind on this, then I shall stand corrected. Yet if this be proved a falsehood…” his voice resounded sharply from the arched dome of the ceiling. “Then it is you who shall answer in the Eyrie of Sinan for this misdeed, not I.”

He stood in his wreathed silence, undaunted, adamant in his opposition to the Kadi’s will. He would not suffer himself to be shamed here before these men, and he showed no fear. If the Kadi wished his death, the arrows would have struck his breast long ago.

“Put down your arms,” he said. “Do you not know me? I am Sami of the Seventh Gate. I have seen the portal of Eternity, and sat at the feet of the Master of Time. I have heard him speak, and reveal unto me the deepest of mysteries. You think to slay me here? Think hard! For I shall return, again and again—in a thousand guises I shall be made anew, and the price I exact for this insult will be dear, I assure you.”

The guards about the Kadi looked at one another with fearful glances, eyes white and wide when the Sami spoke. His voice seemed a lash that coiled about their limbs and cut at their flesh until it burned. His eyes seemed to brand them with the same cold blue fire that scored their hearts when they first sat before him in the rite of initiation. The Sami reminded them all of that day, seeming to know their thoughts as the sweat of fear wet their brows and their hands closed tighter about the hilts of their swords—not to ready a blow in anger, but to fend off the black wrath of the Sami, a force that seemed to radiate out upon them like the heat of a great fire.

“Do not listen to him,” said the Kadi, yet his voice seemed small and weak by comparison. Then he breathed heavily, seating himself in the place of authority once more. “I hold the scepter of discernment,” he said. “And I, too have passed the Seventh Gate and heard all you have spoken of. This is a matter of equals, here, and we do not reach accord with the edge of a blade.”

“Oh? Then why do these men lie slain in your chamber?”

“Do no persist in this,” said the Kadi, a weariness in his voice. The lines of his face were deeply drawn, and his gray beard seemed a shade whiter. “Now, I must send these men away, and we may face one another alone, for the news I have received this night is for your ears only.”

“News? More lies? More pretext for your misdeeds?” The Sami continued to play out his strength. He could see the resolve of the assembled guards beginning to melt, and even the Kadi seemed bent and weary with the effort of his opposition.

“News has come from afar,” said the Kadi. “Fast riders carry the word to every quarter. Great peril is upon us, and now we shall need all our strength to prevail. Even the loss of these men at your feet may be cause for regret, though I can only believe their death forestalls a far greater loss. Go!” He gave the command to his soldiers now. “Remove the fallen and take up your posts outside these chambers. The Sami is not to be harmed. He is a Walker of the Seventh Gate.”

There was just the hint of rebuke in his words, and the Sami watched sullenly while the guards approached him cautiously to remove the dead, their eyes averted with fear. There was no room for remorse in his heart, but anger swelled in his breast, tightly reined.

When the soldiers departed the Kadi spoke. “The Wolf is abroad, as you have warned. News came at the eleventh hour. He has set himself upon the caravans making their way along the pilgrim’s road from Egypt, many days ago. He sits like a spider in the fortress of Kerak, and now he preys on all the faithful who dare to pass his gates. We must confer.”

“Did I not warn you of this? Arnat will not rest until he sets his hand upon the Ka’ba itself; until he defiles everything that is holy!”

“For now he sets his hand upon the Pilgrims. Only this time he has overreached himself. The caravan he plundered moved under the banners of the Sultan himself, and the loss was dear. Even the sister of Salah ad Din was taken, and now she rots in the hold of Kerak.”

The Sami passed a moment of self-righteous vindication, the look plain on his shrouded face as he took this news in. “I would have killed this man by now were it not for your interference,” he accused. “Now the quarrel between us over the coming of this stranger has set my plans awry. The Fedayeen you so callously put to the arrows were all to be set fast upon the track of the Wolf—and now we are without the deftly guided knife when it is most needed.”

“My actions may prove the wiser, in time,” said the Kadi. “If you would have read the scroll you spurned for theatre’s sake, you would know the mind of Sinan on this matter. Yes, the Old Man returns to Massiaf, as you warn. Yet more things are moving in the night than you have heard. Salah ad Din burns with anger over the doings of Arnat. He would have all that was taken returned to him, especially his sister, but the Wolf is adamant. You need not concern yourself with this any longer. Salah ad Din has sworn to kill that man by his own hand. He musters the whole of his army and plans to come to the Gate of the West, close by the Horns of Hattin. Even Taki ad Din has been recalled from Aleppo, and he swells the Saracen host with all the veteran cavalry at his command. It will need the might of all the Christian Lords to oppose such an army. So leave the matter of Arnat to the Sultan.”