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"More than you suspect, evidently. Though that wasn't the meat of the old
man's plan. What do you want from me?"
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Bel-Sidek paced, giving Carza time to reflect. Then, "I want the key to the
citadel. I want it badly." "And I can't give it to you. I don't know what it
is." Bel-Sidek stepped to the door. "Sheed." The man came in. "Go to the
Minisia. Find Homena bel-Barca. Tell him Carza will be tied up for a while.
He's to act as khadifa till Carza comes back."
Homena bel-Barca was an old friend. Despite being Carza's second his ties were
with the moderates. "You can't do this, bel-Sidek."
"I'm doing it. You rejected my authority by refusing my request."
"You push me, you'd better kill me."
"I don't want it that way, Carza. You're valuable to the movement. But if you
insist."
Carza gave him a searching look, suspecting he might be serious.
He was, at the moment.
Meryel was right. He had to take charge. He had to show that he was in charge.
"Tell me what I need to know, Carza."
General Cado was extremely uncomfortable clad Qushmarra-han and bundled
against the rain. No one gave him a second glance but he could not shake a
feeling that they all knew what he was and were snickering to themselves. All
part of the Herodian curse. Everywhere but in the home provinces Herodi-ans
were out of place, stubby little bald men.
He'd never articulated the curse concept to anyone.
Hell. They were by damn in charge, short or not. They were masters by right of
conquest.
He glanced at the guide Colonel bel-Sidek had sent, sniffing for the taint of
treachery. This was the biggest risk he had taken since he had accepted battle
at Dak-es-Souetta, counting on unproven Dartars to give him the day. For all
he had known, Fa'tad's offer had been just a ploy.
He could tell nothing. His companion was as bundled up as he, hunched over as
he marched into the slanting rain. Just a brother in misery.
It was not weather to inspire flights of fancy leading to sudden treachery. It
was weather for plodding straight ahead, for muddling through. The afternoon
was leaden grey, depressing. The citadel, as they skirted it, was a lump of
wet dark stone, filled with menace, an awakening viper coiled beneath twisting
clouds.
Cado was concerned about his fleet. If the weather was no worse at sea,
wonderful. The breeze would push the ships across the Gulf of Tuhn at six to
eight knots. They should reach the far shore sometime tomorrow. The troops
should be ashore and astride the coast road, behind the Turok raiders, before
nightfall.
He hoped for a great and bloody success, the impact of which would strike
Turoks and Dartars, the peoples of the coastal provinces and his detractors in
the mother city. A few thousand Turoks taken unaware would make a potent
statement.
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From the acropolis they descended into the narrow streets of the Hahr. He
wondered how much longer, how much more runaround to confuse him about where
he was . . .
He caught a flash of motion from the corner of his eye. His companion grunted
and pitched forward. Something hit him in the back of the head and on the
shoulders. Darkness descended.
He awakened with his hands and feet bound and his head tied into a sack. He
was in a wagon. And he was frightened-more for his troops than for himself. He
had sent both generals into the field.
Bruda was good at what he did. But could he cope with a Sullo? Could he manage
if things started falling apart?
It looked like Colonel bel-Sidek had decided it was time the Living moved.
He wondered if anyone would bother ransoming him. Taliga might not want to
bother. His sister would profit if her husband fell to an enemy blade.
He developed a tormenting itch in his bladder.
18
Naszif had gone to Government House with the Living's guide, it seemed forever
ago. He had thought Aaron ought to stay, just in case. Now Aaron wished he had
asserted himself and had insisted he go, too. Or at least had told Naszif to
tell General Cado to send his family home. He was painfully alone here.
Would Naszif return now he had played out the part General Cado had given him?
He hoped not, but feared that was a futile hope. He had caught the eyes of the
mighty and they were not going to let him slip away.
Someone tapped on the door.
His heartbeat doubled. He started to sweat. He went to peek through the
peephole.
It was the Dartar Yoseh.
He opened up. "Yes?" He smiled. He liked the boy despite himself.
"Fa'tad wants to talk to you."
Aaron did not respond. He stared into the street. It was almost dark out. The
rain was not yet a downpour but it was a real rain now, and steady. What they
called a soaking rain. The sewer channel was alive, snorting and gurgling.
When the weather cleared, Qushmarrah would have a newly scrubbed look and a
fresh, clean smell.
"Sir, Fa'tad wants to know if he can come talk to you." Sir? Better keep an
eye on this boy. "Fa'tad al-Akla?" "Yes sir." The Dartar was amused. "I
understand, sir. He scares me, too."
Aaron snorted, a predictable response from a man whose courage had been
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questioned. "He can come. As long as he doesn't blow trumpets and make a
Dartar carnival out of it."
"He'll be here in a minute." The boy hurried away.
What now? Aaron wondered. He did not retreat from the doorway. The street was
as vacant as ever he'd seen it, barring the presence of the Dartars. Tonight,
at least in this area, they had made no pretense of leaving for their
compound.
Fa'tad had on his polite face when he arrived with Yoseh and the boy's older
brother. Nogah? To make him feel more comfortable, having someone around he
knew at least vaguely?
"I'm sorry I can offer no hospitality," Aaron said. "But welcome to my home,
anyway."
Fa'tad looked around, comparing the actuality to reports he had received.
"Thank you. That you have received me is hospitality enough."
"To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
"Ha!" Fa'tad snorted. "You do that almost as well as a Dartar."
Aaron was puzzled. The man must have heard something he had not said. He was
just trying to be courteous.
Fa'tad said, "I am hoping you will help me carry off something that should get
your boy back. If we move fast."
Aaron was not so naive as to assume Arifs well-being meant anything to Fa'tad
al-Akla. The old nomad wanted to use him. But that was all right. He would [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]