John Schettler - Nexus Point

“Not there?” Jabr kept searching the sky. “You mean the moon? It has long since set, Do-Rahlan.”

Paul looked at him, a blank expression on his face. Then he seized on Jabr’s own explanation and handed it back to him. “Yes,” he said haltingly. “The moon is down. I had lost track of the time in the cave, I suppose.”

There was a dry hiss, and Aziz edged around the screening shrubbery, a warning in his eyes. He pointed off down the long slope of the ridge, his arm extending to the shadowed valley below. Jabr exchanged words with him and turned to Paul.

“Riders,” he whispered. “We must go back inside.”

Paul suddenly felt a low vibration in the distance, a quiet rumble growing with each passing moment. He had never heard anything like it—except in the movies. Then he caught sight of something below, a glimmer of light in the distance that became more pronounced with each passing moment. “Look there,” he pointed, seeing a long winding ribbon of glowing light below, a river of torchlight snaking its way into the valley. The sound grew louder and louder, and Aziz crouched low.

Jabr took Paul’s arm, somewhat protectively, but his own curiosity had gotten the better of his caution, and he too stared at the ever-broadening stream of liquid torchlight flowing over the purple veiled landforms below.

“Taki ad Din,” he whispered. “He comes from the north where he has vied with Joscelin in Edessa and Aleppo. He comes heeding the call of his master, Salah ad Din. And with him come the pride of our horsemen, twenty thousand strong, veteran Faris cavalry. Listen to the fierce beat of their hooves upon the ground! I’m afraid the Sultan’s wrath will soon fall upon all these lands, Do-Rahlan. Taki ad Din is a stern master, cold and furious in battle. War is coming to greet the quiet dawn. War and the thunder of change.”

Paul gaped at the spectacle below. If there had been any last shred of doubt in his mind about the circumstances of his fate, it was quickly crushed under the thrumming beat of those riders. On and on they came, filling the valley below. Aziz and Jabr had lost their fear and crept down a ways to the lee of a stark outcropping of rock, elated at the sight of the vast horde below. Now Paul could hear the chink and rattle of metal and the muted twist of leather saddles. He started toward the others, but his foot stumbled on a shadowy rock and he fell, tumbling down the hillside for some twenty feet.

His fall was broken by a stand of heavy shrubbery, and he righted himself, hoping the riders below had not taken notice. He rubbed his left arm, where a stone had bruised him as he slid down the slope, but otherwise he was safe and unharmed. As he struggled up, he suddenly heard a low growl behind him that raised his hackles with a severe chill. He turned, the fear of the unknown winning out over the primal instinct to flee the feral sound, but now his eyes confirmed and magnified his fright with the leering visage of a lupine creature—a gray wolf, large and fierce, with burning red eyes. It was crouching low, as though ready to leap upon Paul at any moment, the matted fur of its muscular shoulders and broad neck raised with hostility, its dark lips stretched to reveal the white gleam of sharp teeth. Paul staggered back, feeling the bloom of the animal’s scent and an unaccountable chill. Its breath seemed heavy with frost, and the low, threatening growl lowered, as though the animal was poised in the moment of instinctual doubt, ready to leap and tear, or to bolt away to safety. Their eyes met in that suspended moment of fear, and Paul felt a queasy feeling shake his frame. It was almost as if…

The wolf slavered, its growl becoming a vicious snarl. Then, just as it seemed ready to strike, Aziz came barreling down the slope, bright sword in hand. Paul turned and saw that Jabr had fitted a dark shafted arrow to a bow and was drawing a bead on the creature. He did not know why, but something in him could not bear the death of a single living thing because of his own foolish stumbles into the mists of time. He cried out, raising a hand to ward Jabr off, even as Aziz reached him. The wolf gave back, surprised by this new disturbance, and then leapt away with a powerful spring of his lean hind legs. Paul fell backward, steadying himself on the side of the slope. Aziz reached him, and stepped beyond, his sword held before him, he looked at Paul, and the fear in his eyes was palpable. He moved his hand about before him, and Paul saw how it quavered. His breath was a cold misty fog.

“Do-Rahlan!” Jabr’s whisper from above was laden with urgency. Then he spoke to Aziz, and the brawny man seemed to take hold of himself and moved. He helped Paul up and the two of them ascended the steep slope, using the thick shrubbery for hand holds along the way.

“We must hide ourselves in the cave,” whispered Jabr. “I do not think the riders below could see or hear us this far up, but there may be scouts on the flanks of their march. Come. Are you harmed?”

“I’m fine,” said Paul, though he was still quite shaken by his experience.

They sipped back through the entrance to the cave and the relative warmth of the hidden library calmed his jangled nerves. Paul slumped down on the carpeted floor, his breath still fast with fright and the exertion of the climb. Jabr spoke with Aziz briefly, and then came to Paul’s side.

“That was very close,” he said. “Why did you stay my hand? I could have felled the creature where it stood. My aim is very true.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul explained. “I wanted to see the riders, and I lost my footing on the slope. I must have fallen upon the creature while it hunted, and I did not think it right to kill for my mistake.”

“It was my fault,” said Jabr. “I should have been wiser. I trust you were not harmed? You are certain? Come, remove those soiled robes and I will see to your wounds. We have fresh gowns here, fine cotton. I will risk a fire in the furnace niche and boil water. There are oils and balms in the next chamber. Then we will drink tea and eat.”

“Coffee,” said Paul, still fighting off an inner chill.

“Yes, kahwa,” said Jabr. “Dark, rich kahwa for the dawn.”

Kelly watchedthe progress bar on the monitor, a pleased expression on his face. “Looks like my children have all come home for a visit,” he said. “The Golems have been filling the RAM bank for the last hour now. We’ll have a good read on things in a moment. In fact, you may want to start setting up some queries on the research system. I’m sending a good mirror of the primary data over to that terminal now.”

“What’s that?”

“The GUI will display a chronological time line for you over there.” He pointed at Research Terminal 3. “I’ve been comparing data blocks as they come in from the Golems—checking all key dates and events. If the information on this fetch seems consistent with the data I stored earlier, then I’ll have the system color that segment of the chronology green. When there’s variance, discrepancy or outright conflict in the data, the system will shade the bars in different colors: yellow for minor stuff through orange to red. If you see black, then we either have a data void on that period, or a major conflict. This way we can actually look at the time line and see where things start to go fuzzy on us. I’m going to keep my Golems very busy, so we’ll be getting a constant stream of new information from the net as it exists in real time—to use a phrase.”