So?

This particular gentleman is the father of a rebel named Nassef.

Yousif seized the chart. He stared and stared. By damn! Youre right. How come nobody ever saw it before?

Because its not exactly obvious. Mustaf el Habib is a damned obscure royal relative. And Nassef is as cunning as El Murids Evil One. His moves remain strictly explicable within the context of his service to the Disciple. Why should anyone expect a threat from this direction? Would you like to bet that El Murid hasnt the vaguest notion that the Scourge of God could become King?

No. Hell no. Megelin, somebody has got to kill that man. Hes more dangerous than El Murid.

Possibly. He does think on his feet. El Murid was ready to set the Harish on him before Wadi el Kuf. Six months later he took over the Invincibles.

Well, Ive got a surprise for both of them. Itll so amaze them that theyll waste six months trying to figure it out. It might even panic Nassef into abandoning his eastern wars. Yousif laughed a little madly. How soon will Hawkwind arrive?

I couldnt guess. They should be coming by now, but its a long haul from High Crag.

I hope its soon. I do hope its soon.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Ripening Soldiers

High Crag was an ancient, draughty stone pile surmounting a wind-and sea-battered headland.

The Gates of Hell, Bragi gasped as his training company double-timed uphill, toward the fortress. For three months he and his brother had been in the hands of merciless veterans. Seldom had they had a moment to call their own.

They had found themselves a new friend. He was the only other Trolledyngjan in their Itaskian-speaking company. He called himself Reskird Kildragon. It was just a small dragon, he was wont to say. And thereby hangs a tale. But, though Reskird almost never shut up, he never told that tale. He hailed from Jandrfyre, a town on the Trolledyngjan coast opposite the Tongues of Fire. He was as loquacious as Haaken was reticent.

No, Kildragon replied to Bragis remark. Hell would look good from here.

Knock off the chatter up there, Sergeant Sanguinet thundered. You barbarians got breath to waste, Ill send you round the course again.

Kildragon had come south with a raiding fleet the previous summer. It had been one of the few to sail during the succession troubles. An Itaskian warship had rammed it off Libiannin. He had managed to swim to shore, the only survivor. Of necessity, he had learned southern ways fast.

Still a scroungy-looking lot youve got there, Tore, the gatekeeper called as they double-timed into the Guild stronghold.

Ill get them weeded out yet, Andy.

The three months had been a pitiless weeding through exhaustion of body and will.

Wichards about had it, Reskird murmured as the Itaskian ahead of him stumbled.