The Waters Of Eternity Part 3

Dabir turned to me with a frown.

"What greeting is that?" I asked. "Were they not expecting us?"

"The girl may simply be unused to visitors," Dabir suggested, though he sounded doubtful.

We waited there in the muddy street, the afternoon sun warm on our backs. A relief, in truth, after all the rain we had endured over the last days.

When the reedy scholar, Azzam, opened his door a moment later and peered out at us, he claimed to know nothing of our coming.

Dabir fell instantly solemn at this news. "The vizier sent us here because of your letter. Word was sent for you to be packed and ready for departure."

Azzam's eyes flickered resentfully but his thin voice carried no disrespect. "I am honored that you have come, but it is no simple matter to ready everything I own for relocation. Days-weeks even-"

Dabir sighed and rubbed his high forehead. "Take three days."

"But that is not enough! I will need to raise money to hire carts and horses and drivers-"

Dabir cut him off. "I have money. Tell me how many carts you require and I will make arrangements."

After some dithering Azzam settled for four carts. I think Dabir would have sent me off to hire them, but Azzam did not welcome us into his home, saying that he had many preparations to make. He closed the door.

Dabir stalked away, his composure failing him at last. "He has not the courtesy of a mule!" He fell briefly silent, then launched into a list of further grievances as we walked. "A week and a half on the road, most of the time in the rain. And this is our welcome. And for what?"

I had no answer, and knew better than to interrupt one of Dabir's tirades in any case. It annoyed him that Jafar, now the vizier, had not entrusted us with the reason this scholar merited so much effort. Dabir had mused and wondered and debated aloud for nearly the whole of our journey, sometimes even asking me if I might guess what this scholar knew that was so precious, which meant Dabir was surely desperate.

Whatever the fellow's secret, it had so interested Jafar that he dispatched Dabir and myself with four soldiers to retrieve the fellow. Security was naturally a concern so close to the border with the Greeks, even though we were at peace in that year. Skirmishes and raids came almost as often as the change of seasons.

We returned to the battered, stone-walled caravanserai where we'd left the troops. They had finished rubbing down the horses and were settling down by cook fires. From the greasy caravanserai owner we learned his cousin might sell us carts, and turned down the street to find him as the sky grumbled and unsheathed forks of lightning. This set Dabir grumbling as well.

"At least we are not on the road," I pointed out to him. "And tonight we will have better food."

Dabir muttered something.

We had just entered a side street when Dabir stopped short and pushed against me. "Back!"

I retreated as he bade and we peered around the corner of the home.

Ten Greeks had entered the village on horseback. The villagers scattered, but the riders paid them no mind. All but one of them was bearded, helmed, and armored. The last was clothed in a dark blue tunic, riding-hose, and boots, with a red mantle. I knew the long-chinned face with its dark, narrow eyes instantly.

"Acteon," I hissed.

"Come, Asim!"

Dabir moved swiftly and I went with him.

"To the caravanserai?" I asked.

"There is only one reason Acteon would be here."

"He is after the scholar?"

"Indeed. We must get back to him immediately." Dabir started down a side street at a run.

And so again we stood before Azzam's door, my friend beating upon it with fervor. I sent a street urchin to retrieve our men, though I did not think they could arrive in time.

Again the girl answered.

"Your pardon, Lady," Dabir said, and pushed open the door to step past her. "Azzam!" he cried. "We must leave, now!"

I heard protestations as Dabir moved farther into the house. I, though, remained in the doorway, looking out. Acteon might be troubled to find his way through the little town, but he would reach here soon enough. The girl watched me all the while, like a falcon.

"You'd best pack, little one," I said. "The Greeks are coming."

"I am not afraid of Greeks."

"Eh, you're a brave bird. They come for your father, and will rip him from your home." Whatever it was the scholar knew, imperial agents had gotten wind of it. Perhaps they had intercepted Jafar's letter back to Azzam.

Doubtless Dabir had already thought of this. However Acteon had come to hear of things, it was bad for us. He had all the subtlety of a hammer.

"Go, girl. Gather your baubles. We must leave, now."

She blinked at me, then dashed away inside the home. I remained in the threshold, watching the street. Behind me I heard Dabir demanding the fool to move, telling him that his life was in danger.

Might it be possible, I wondered, that Acteon had come to the town for some other reason? Dabir did sometimes guess wrongly.

It was not so, for within moments I heard the pad of horses and the jingle of harnesses and the Greeks rode down the street, looking to the left and right with cool confidence, as though they owned all. I shut the door and barred it. We would have but moments.

"Dabir," I called, "the Greeks are on the street."

Inside were meager furnishings, old rugs, threadbare wall-hangings. Typical for a scholar, except for the pots. Everywhere were pots, large and small, many fashioned with interlocking patterns and swirls that were not displeasing. Also there were statues of men and beasts, of various sizes. I found Dabir with Azzam in a back room cluttered with even more pots and statuary. Both were shoving papers into satchels from a ma.s.s of doc.u.ments and scrolls lying across a bevy of low tables. Azzam's eyes stared in wonder and he moved sluggishly.

Something heavy rapped against the door.

"That is all!" Dabir said. "We've no more time!"

"But-"

"No more! Move! Where is the back door?"

The fool stared at us, blinking. "In the courtyard," he finally answered.

The pounding on the door grew louder. A man with a Greek accent called out a greeting.

The door to the courtyard lay near the scholar's nest. I threw it open and motioned them before me. "Go-where is the girl? Your servants?"

"I have no servants," Azzam said, breathing hard as Dabir pushed him out. The girl came hurrying down the hall as another knock sounded, much louder. Again a Greek voice called, asking if this was the house of Azzam ibn Yacoub.

Weeds thrust up between the flagstones and the fountain reeked of brackish water. An immense clay oven occupied almost a third of the courtyard. Many houses had a second story, but there was none to Azzam's house, only a high wall.

The door from the courtyard was stoutly fashioned of thick wood planks and locked with a rusted iron bar stretched across its center. This I removed and set beside a pile of crumbled stone. I opened the door a crack and peered out.

I faced a blank wall only a few feet away. By poking my head out I looked down the narrow alley toward the front. Nothing. The Greeks still banged upon the door.

"Hurry," I said, and motioned Dabir through.

Dabir pushed the still protesting scholar before him and urged him onward around the corner away from the front. The girl, burdened only with a long cloth bag, scurried after.

It was as I stepped out that the first Greek moved into the alleyway. I heard his footfalls. In that shadowy s.p.a.ce, under overcast skies, I would not have known him save that he did not wear the armor of the others. It could only be Acteon. He called out a greeting.

There was no love between Acteon and myself, yet I realized without really dwelling upon it that he could not recognize me in the poor light any better than I could distinguish him. If I were to flee, regardless of whom he thought I was, I would be chased. If I were to confront him, he would run, and then the chase would be in earnest, for he would know Dabir and I were after his scholar. All this came to me quickly, perhaps as quickly as Dabir's reasoning on more weighty matters occurs. The next thing I knew I had grabbed one of the stones from beside the door and hurled it. The figure threw up a warding hand just as an armor-clad form came up behind him.

G.o.d decreed that my aim should be good and thus the stone struck him atop the head. Acteon folded in on himself and I fled down the alley amid Greek shouts.

Dabir waited for me at the end of the next corner, frantically urging me on with his hand. I caught up to him, saw that Harim and the men had arrived with our horses in the muddy back street. The thickset soldier was even now helping the girl mount a horse. The scholar sat hunched forward upon his already.

"Why did you delay?" Dabir demanded.

"I paused only to brain Acteon," I said.

"Ho! Truly?"

"He lies now either stunned or unconscious. I do not think I killed him, alas."

Dabir clapped my shoulder. "You bought us time. Quick, to saddle!"

We rode then in haste from the town. I looked back until it was lost to the foothills. There was no sign of pursuit, unless I counted the large man departing the city on foot. I caught only a glimpse of him before we descended a hill, but his long stride and stiff gait struck me as peculiar. I did not dwell upon it, though, and if not for later matters the sight of him would have pa.s.sed from my memory.

II.

The bandits attacked that night in near total darkness. There were almost a dozen, but they lacked discipline. I do not think they antic.i.p.ated resistance, or knew that they would face soldiers. Harim heard their approach and a few of us took to horseback.

There came a tight moment when I was unhorsed dodging a thrust-for we'd had no time to saddle our mounts-but I slashed off the man's spear point when he wheeled. He grunted in surprise, then cried out when I leapt, my sword shearing through both his robe and chest. It was not my most glorious moment. I slid in the mud when I landed, dropping on my backside like the rawest soldier. I came up fast, scrabbling for footing, but my opponent had slipped from his horse, and was screaming as it dragged his body at a gallop into the foothills. Such is the sad truth of most battles-a quick flurry of motion from which skill and the will of G.o.d determines a victor.

My next concern was Dabir, whom I quickly saw was still horsed and unharmed, his wetted sword in hand. He had been paying attention to my tutelage by then, and though he never practiced enough, he was a competent blade.

Of our little troop, only Dabir and I and two soldiers had managed to mount, but we'd done well. I saw no more bandits in their seats, save for three galloping in hasty retreat toward a gully beneath the shadow of a mountain.

Dabir guided his mare to my side and considered me. Lightning flashed in the distance. "Are you well?"

"I am well enough. You?"

"Good. Do you think it coincidence that the bandits found us?" he asked.

"You think Acteon sent them?"

"He might have done so."

"There are ever bandits in the hills," I reminded him.

The scholar and his daughter had remained safe within their tent throughout the fray. Harim, alas, had pa.s.sed on to paradise. His friend Nawaf we found sitting in the gra.s.s. He lived, but the hair beneath his helmet was wet with blood.

Dabir dismounted quickly and pushed Nawaf's hands away as the fellow tried feebly to resist. He removed the soldier's turbaned helm and set to prodding his skull. Nawaf endured this stolidly. I could not judge the wound myself, but knew it a good thing he was not leaking brains.

"You should be fine," Dabir said, "though there is a knot on your head. The blood all comes from this cut." He drew his head along the fellow's hairline. "How do you feel?"

"The world spins, somewhat."

"What happened?" Dabir asked him.

"I sl-dodged when one of the riders tried to spear me."

"And you were more whacked than speared," Dabir observed.

"Praise be to G.o.d," I added.

"And to Harim," the soldier said. "I know the bandit would have killed me while I lay-for my senses had been all but knocked from me-but Harim ran up and pulled the man from his horse. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen."

Dabir glanced up at me.

Truly it would have been amazing, for we'd found Harim dead clear on the other side of the camp, struck down where he'd taken his position.

"What makes you think it was Harim?" Dabir said.

"He was so big. I knew it was him even with the world shaking."

"A man sees strange things when he is in pain," I said, "or when he has taken a head wound." My eldest brother had babbled for hours as he lay dying, most of the time addressing people who were not there.

Dabir set to treating the man's wound. I helped the soldier Musa secure the horses of the bandits for use as remounts. They were nags, though, and most were not worth the trouble.

When we had finished I found Dabir bent over the body of one of the bandits, a torch in one hand.

"This is the man Nawaf says Harim slew," Dabir told me.

"What of it?"

"Do you not see? There is no sword wound upon him. Look, though, at his face. His head has been smashed in."

"Perhaps a horse stepped on him," I suggested.

"And look here, Asim, at the footprint you have nearly obliterated." Dabir pointed to a depression in the ground. I discovered a series of them, blocky, larger even than my own boots, slightly rounded in the front. Truly it was curious, so deep was the indentation. I was a mighty man of some height and breadth, with wide shoulders and deep chest. Yet someone heavier than I had made these tracks.