Cook, Glen - Dread Empire 04 - The Fire In His Hands by Cook Glen

Author:Cook, Glen [Cook, Glen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction
Published: 1984-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The Castle Tenacious and Resolute

There is great rejoicing in Sebil el Selib,” Fuad snarled as he stalked toward Yousif, Radetic and the Wahlig’s captains. A heavy layer of trail dust covered him. “Nassef and the Disciple have returned. They survived.”

The cords in Yousif’s neck stood out. His face darkened. He rose slowly, then suddenly hurled his platter across the room. “Damn it!” he roared. “And damn that fool Aboud! When they finally take Al Rhemish and strangle him, I hope I’m there to laugh in his halfwit’s face.”

Wadi el Kuf had been the limit of Royal aid. Nothing Yousif had done or said had been sufficient to excite Prince Farid into exceeding his orders and following through. The opportunity had been there, to pursue and slay, to recover Sebil el Selib. But Farid had had his instructions, and had been satisfied himself that El Murid and Nassef were dead.

Farid’s father was old and fat and none too bright. He loved his comforts and could see nothing beyond tomorrow. He did not want his son wasting money or lives.

There had been a time when Aboud had been a renowned warrior and captain. He had driven the Throyens from the disputed territories along the northern end of the eastern shore. But that had been long ago. Time, that old traitor, slows and weakens all men, and makes them less inclined to seek hazard.

“Thank God for Farid,” Yousif sighed, his rage spent. “No one else could have gotten us the help we needed at Wadi el Kuf. Megelin? What now?”

“We step back a few years and go on.”

“The same thing?”

“The same. And don’t count on them making any more mistakes. They’ve had their one and gotten away with it. El Murid will take the lesson to heart. He’ll listen to Nassef now,”

Nearly eight thousand of Nassef’s men had escaped Wadi el Kuf. They were back in the desert now, stunned, but a foundation for a new guerrilla infrastructure.

“We should have attacked Sebil el Selib while they were still demoralized,” Yousif growled. “We should’ve hit them and kept on hitting till they gave up. None of the leaders were there.”

“Hit them with what?” Fuad asked caustically. “We were lucky they didn’t come after us.”

Yousif’s forces had been battered and exhausted after the battle. Getting themselves home had been the most difficult task they could handle.

Fuad added, “They would have if anybody had been there to tell them what to do.”

Yousif’s anger evaporated. He could not sustain it in the face of the truth.

The years had taken their toll. El Aswad was approaching its limit. Yousif had done all he could, but his best had not been enough. From Wadi el Kuf onward he foresaw nothing but a downhill slide. His last hope had been that El Murid and his generals had perished. But Fuad’s news accounted for the last of the missing leaders. They were all alive. The fury of Wadi el Kuf had consumed none but the expendable.

“Megelin,” Yousif said, “think for the enemy.

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