John Schettler - Nexus Point

“But you don’t have a spatial locus yet.”

“I will in a second or two. All archeologists use GPS to mark the exact locations of their dig sites. All I have to do is key the researchers name in the Geo-Sync database and I can read all their recent registries.”

He was already throwing switches and Maeve knew that there was nothing she could do to take this away from him. She breathed heavily. “Alright,” she said with equal finality. “You’re the only one who can run all this.” She waved expansively at the banks of glowing computer terminals. “We’ve got a hundred thousand Golems running wild out there, so I’ll go, while you keep watch on everything from here.”

Kelly stopped cold, pivoting to face her. “I didn’t mean to drop this on you, Maeve. Look, I’ll take the risk. I can program things and automate the jump. The retraction sequence can be triggered five seconds after I open the continuum. You just wait—“

“Oh, no, mister.” She deliberately imitated the tone of voice Kelly would always use with Paul in their secret banter. “The three of you have already bounced all over infinity and back while I sat here worrying about it all.” She folded her arms, decided. “It’s my turn.”

The wind howledabout the high stone walls of the Eyrie Of Sinan, whistling through the lancet windows in greeting. The Master of the Tower had come home. Three riders reached the castle gates at dusk, and a hush had fallen upon Massiaf. The troops of the faithful Fedayeen were assembled in silent ranks in the courtyard beyond the gate, breathless with the sight of Sinan. The Old Man dismounted, throwing back the thick hood of his riding cloak, his dark eyes scanning the brothers, black as basalt, yet lit with an inner fire. He had seen much on his journey from the east. The land was alive with movement and the din of marching men at arms. The hooves of fifty thousand horses troubled the earth, and he knew a turning point had come

The Kadi had given orders that the severed head was to be left untouched where the Sami’s men had planted it in the courtyard, a silent testimony to the misdeeds of his rival. Sinan took notice, but passed quickly on, as though the doings of the castle were well known to him. He was bound for the high tower, driven by some pressing need. There he would meet with the two stewards of the castle, and hear their complaints.

The Kadi came first to him, and departed soon after, his face ashen white, his eyes vacant and confused. He returned to his chambers without a word while the Sami climbed the long gray stair to the tower, head lowered with shame. Sinan sat upon the high chair and watched while the Sami prostrated himself in submission, begging forgiveness for his failure.

“And how have you failed me?” Sinan’s voice was icy cold, yet it seemed to reach for that which it already knew.

“The Wolf,” the Sami whispered. “I have failed in my charge against the Wolf.”

“Oh? What charge do you speak of?” Sinan waited while the Sami groveled in uncertainty.

“I received your ring, Lord, with an order to strike the Wolf at an hour and a day that would be appointed. All was made ready—the Fedayeen prepared. Then this stranger came upon us, and I was possessed with madness.”

Sinan leaned forward, “Rise and face me,” he said harshly, and the Sami drew himself up, still kneeling, as he looked upon his master’s face. “Hear me, Sami of Massiaf: I sent no ring, and laid no charge upon thee. Quite the contrary! It was my judgment that the Wolf, Arnat, must live. Did you not receive the signs late sent to you? The Wolf is an enemy, to be sure, yet he is reckless and overbold. He will stir the Christian camp to rash deeds, and such will play into the hands of Salah ad Din.”

Sinan raised a single hand the long fingers held wide, and reached for a thin shaft of light that skirted the edge of his dais. “See the ring where it sits now upon my hand?” He let the light play upon the ruby red gem there, the gleam of light on gold a condemnation of the Sami’s headstrong ways. “Had you done this thing,” he whispered, eyes alight with distant flame, “then all of Christendom would not now be marching. The great castles would still stand well guarded, unassailable, as they have for decades past. The time appointed for them would never have come, and the heads of all the Templars would remain fast upon their shoulders to bring untold misery to the faithful, for years to come.”

Sinan drew his hand into a fist now, his voice hardening as he continued. “Yet that error has been avoided—perhaps by mere circumstance. The Christian host is doomed!” His voice boomed in the tower; his fist tightening as he spoke. “They will fall like wheat before the scythe. The Wolf lives, and you may count the coming of this stranger a boon. Had you carried out this deed, striking down Arnat before his time, you would have surely done the work of our enemies. Undoubtedly the Order was at play in this matter, and you were deceived. It was they who sent you this command; not I. It may be that the stranger is one of the faithful, in clever guise, and so I have come hither to see with my own eyes the truth of this matter. I say unto you now that not by your hand, but by the hand of Salah ad Din himself, will the Wolf be slain—and all the Templars will kneel before the Sultan’s tent and be pressed to renounce their faith, embracing the truth of Islam. They will all refuse and, one by one, their heads will be severed by the Turks. So I have seen this, and so it will be. It was only mine to assure that no change would be worked upon the threads of time by our enemies.”

He let the Sami kneel before him, head lowered, as the realization of what he was saying wrapped itself about him like a coiled rope. “Yes,” Sinan tugged on the cords now, “even you, Sami of the Seventh Gate, have fallen into confusion and misdeed. This is why I placed the Kadi here as equal!” His voiced rebounded from the hard stone walls of the tower. “It was given to you both to reach agreement where the death of another was concerned. I have seen the severed head in the courtyard below, and I know what passed in the night, and why.”

The Sami quailed, transparent before the all seeing eye of Sinan. All his argument, all his reason, now seemed a small and foolish thing. He had been deceived, manipulated, made a pawn in the game of his enemies, and his blood ran cold with the shame of his failing. He lowered his head, unable to look upon his master.

“The stranger,” said Sinan. “The Kadi tells me that you wished to kill this man. Is that so?”

“Yes, Lord. I feared he was an enemy; sent here to bring harm.”

“Yet the only harm worked within these walls came at your bidding.” Sinan let the Sami endure the brand of his words, a long silence tightening the ropes of recrimination until the Sami was bound in submission. Then Sinan ordered the Sami to stand. “Arise,” he said. “I foresaw your misdeeds and so I hastened to come here and restore the harmony of these walls. Now you will do a thing that I command with my own voice. Hear me! Go to the faithful assembled below. Choose five men and hasten to the vault of the hidden archive—you know of whence I speak. There you will find the stranger. If you are swift and determined, you will serve me well. Even now you harbor a poisoned blade within your robes. Do not use it! Go instead and bring this man here that I might speak with him. Had I come here sooner I might have placed two eyes upon this stranger and seen the full truth of this matter. Now the hour is late. It is the seventh day! You must reach the archive, and return, before the setting of the moon.”

The Sami was shaking with emotion as he rose. His Lord had passed judgment, and dispensed his mercy in the same cup. The Sami drank deep, his fear quenched; his resolve restored. “It will be done,” he said quickly. “Before the hour of the setting moon.”