Glen Cook - The Fire In His Hands

When the last arrived, joining the circle surrounding Fuad, Radetic, Haroun and Fuad’s officiers, Fuad turned slowly. “So this is it. Only you have the guts to face these boy bandits. Taha. Rifaa. Qaboos. All of you. I promise you my brother will remember this. And he’ll not forget the faces we don’t see here today.”

Someone suggested, “Maybe we ought to give the others more time.”

“More time, Feras? Will the Disciple give us more time? No! We strike. No game. No subtleties. We hit them like a hammer. And we bring their heads back to decorate the walls. Every motherlorn one.”

Radetic muttered, “Fierce this morning, aren’t we?”

Fuad rewarded him with an ugly look. “You’ll find out fierce, teacher. Keep nagging. Beloul. Order the column according to plan. Just drop the places of the cowards who didn’t show.”

“Fuad,” Radetic whispered, “I really think you ought to reconsider this.”

“We ride when the column is in order,” Fuad countered. “There will be no more discussion. We will be victorious or we will fail. I wouldn’t want to be in the sandals of those cowards if we fail and I survive. Get away from me, teacher. You don’t have anything to tell me.”

Hours later Megelin watched the column pass out of sight. “I did what I could, Haroun. But he’s too damned stubborn to hear reason.”

“You don’t think he’ll win?”

Radetic shrugged. “Anything is possible. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”

A messenger located Megelin in his classroom two days after Fuad’s departure. “The Lord Yousif has awakened. He asks your attendance.”

Radetic was irritated by the interruption, but could not ignore the summons. “Ali. I’m leaving you in charge while I see your father. Keep on with the lesson.”

Outside, the messenger chuckled. “You set them a grim taskmaster.”

“I know. It’s the only way I can get him to learn anything. He doesn’t want his students thinking they’re smarter than he is.”

“Would that I had had such an opportunity when I was young.”

“Ah.” Radetic smiled gently. Yousif’s subterfuge was working. Before children could be educated their elders had to be convinced that there was some point to education. “How is he?”

“Quite well, considering. But he’s tough. This is a tough family. The desert has never been kind here.”

“I can see that.” Megelin had heard the same remark so often, even where the desert had been kind, that he suspected it was a homily.

Yousif was sitting up, arguing with a physician who wanted him to lie down. “Ah. Megelin. Here at last. Save me from the mercies of this old woman.”

“The old woman probably knows more about what your body needs than you do, Wahlig.”

“You all stick together, don’t you? Well, no matter. Come here. Take one of these cushions. I can’t use them all.”

Radetic sat. He could not conceal his discomfort. He was too old to adapt to the desert custom of sitting cross-legged on cushions.

Yousif ignored his discomfort. “I’ve been away from this world a long time. It makes a man take stock. You know what I mean?”

“I think so, Wahlig.”

“My first job in this second life is to get you to stop acting like a servant. We have things to talk about, Megelin. I think the first should be friendship.”

“Wahlig?”

“You brought my caravan through.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’ve spoken with Muamar. We won’t argue it. I’m grateful. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might be leaving enemies behind me.”

“My life was in danger, too.”

“That’s one way of looking at it. Whichever view you choose, my wives and children came through safely. I consider your effort an act of friendship. I do as I’m done by, Megelin.”

Radetic could not stifle a wry smile. “Thank you.” The gratitude of princes was notoriously short-lived.

“Megelin, you show expertise in surprising directions. I value a man who has skills beyond those demanded by his profession.”

“Score a point for education.”

“Indeed. Tell me. What do you think of Fuad’s expedition?”

“I haven’t been over the ground, except on the chicken tracks you call maps. He had a thousand men. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”

“He outnumbers them three or four to one.”

“The numbers might be enough to make his hammer blows more convincing than Nassef’s finesse. Your brother isn’t a thinker.”

“How well I know. Tell me, why are you so impressed with Nassef?”

“He has the subtle touch of genius. In a western context his threat to send an assassin to el Aswad would have been brilliant. Here it’s a waste of inspiration.”

“I don’t see it. That was just talk by somebody who got spit on.”

“That’s the flaw in his subtlety.”

“What?”

“There’s no one here subtle enough to see the implications of the threat. Is the assassin here already? If not, how will he get in? And so on.”

“You westerners are a devious race. We’re more direct.”

“I’ve noticed. But Nassef and El Murid are working on a different level. Their behavior betrays careful calculation. They occupied Sebil el Selib knowing your strength and probable response.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they’re confident they can hold it. There’s no point in their taking something they can’t keep. Not at this point in their growth.”

“You give them too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough. Despite everything you told me at Al Rhemish, you haven’t really convinced yourself that these people are anything more than bandits led by a madman. Do you recall what you said? About El Murid selling the snake oil everyone wants to buy? I’ve reflected on that, and I think it’s even truer than you know.”

“What would you have me do?”

“There are a lot of possibilities.” Radetic suggested several, all of which Yousif rejected as impractical or politically unfeasible. “Then be direct. Murder El Murid. People will scream, but they will forget quickly enough. And Nassef won’t be able to survive without him. Not at this point.”

“I plan to try. Assuming Fuad fails. You haven’t given me a thing.”

“I know I’m overlooking the financial and political difficulties. You asked for options. I laid out what I see. Hell, it’s even remotely possible we could ignore them till they all die of indifference.”

“Megelin, my recovery wasn’t spontaneous. I’ve been lying here for two days, aching more in mind than in body. I’ve thought of it all. And the only workable option is to fight and hope we get lucky. If we can’t get lucky, then we’ll try to keep them contained.”

“This is depressing. We’re talking ourselves into accepting a defeat before the event.”

“Drop it, then. Megelin?”

“Yes?”

“You can do one thing to brighten my life.”

“Wahlig?”

“Stay here when your contract is up. I may need the outsider’s viewpoint desperately before this is over.”

Radetic was surprised. This was the first time ever that Yousif had treated him with more than minimal respect. “I’ll consider it, Wahlig. I’d better go. I left Ali in charge of my class.”

Yousif chuckled. “Yes, you’d better.”

“I’m a political historian, Haroun,” Megelin explained. “That’s why I’m going to stay. Why I have to stay. I can’t leave during the political storm of the century, can I?”

The boy seemed slightly disappointed. Radetic understood, but did not have it in him to lay out the true, emotional bases for lengthening his stay. He did not understand all his motives himself.

“You see, I’m the only one here at the heart of it. History is written by prejudiced parties, Haroun. By winners, usually. This is a unique opportunity to capture the truth.”