Lion's Bride (30 page)

He took his hand away. “Very well.”

She was suddenly cold and alone. She wanted him to touch her again.

“But listen to me. If you believe in God, you must believe that there is a pattern to His creation. Perhaps the pattern is not stitched in exactly the manner you thought it to be, but the pattern exists. We must hold to that truth.” He paused. “And I don’t believe God will punish you for looking differently at the pattern of life. God is good, it’s man who is evil.”

“Everything is exactly the same. I’m not looking at it differently.”

“You will.” She heard rustling sounds as he lay down between his blankets. “You’ll try to keep it out, but it will creep in under the barriers. Let it come. Make terms with it. God gave us minds. Surely He meant us to use them.” He was silent a moment before he said, “You’ve done nothing wrong. If any sin has been done, it’s been by me. I’m the one who will be punished.”

“Not if your enemies have their way.”

“They won’t have their way,” he said. “Go to sleep. We must be on our way tomorrow at dawn.”

Sleep? She had doubts that she would sleep this night. Her mind was a terrifying whirl of visions of lion thrones, banners, and forbidden goddesses. Even the alien idea that God could have womanly aspects was as frightening as the rest. As a slave she had always thought of God as if He were the ultimate master who could be kind or cruel, a God who gave man His favor and woman only His tolerance. She had fought to free herself from the bondage of other masters, but her mother had taught her she must accept and revere the God of the holy books without question. It did not matter that God let Church and man decree that slavery was acceptable. God was God.

She must block all these wicked thoughts out of her mind. In spite of Ware’s advice, she would not let any of his words affect her.

Her efforts were to no avail. The last image in her mind before she fell into a restless slumber was of golden eyes shimmering from a silken banner….

“There it is. Maysef lies a few miles straight up this trail.” Kadar reined in and looked up at the mountain. “You are sure, Ware?”

“I’m sure. We have no choice.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I saw puffs of dust on the horizon behind us when we stopped the last time.”

Thea felt a rush of fear. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“So that you could worry too? It would not have been sensible.”

No, Ware would never share a burden if he could bear it alone. “I would like to have known.”

He shrugged. “Now you do.” He glanced at Kadar. “You go first. They know you.”

“Let us hope the Old Man doesn’t have new acolytes who aren’t familiar with me.” Kadar nudged his horse past them on the trail. “Oh, well, follow me.”

“Do you think Kemal will stop here?” Thea asked, looking over her shoulder. Was that haze in the distance the dust clouds about which Ware had spoken?

“It depends how much he values his head above his honor,” Ware said. “I’d judge he’ll come after us…until he runs into the first of the Old Man’s followers. Then he may be discouraged.”

Thea shifted her gaze to Selene, who was following Kadar up the trail. “I won’t have her put in danger. Could we leave her hidden here in the foothills?”

“Would she stay behind?” Ware shook his head. “Not unless we tied her to a tree, and then she’d be helpless if Kemal found her. She’s safer on the mountain with us.”

The mountain did not appear to possess any aspect of safety to Thea; it was dark and shadowy and full of menace. She shifted her shoulders uneasily. Imagination. It was only a mountain like any other.

But assassins did not lurk behind trees and rocks on any other mountain.

“Shouldn’t we go faster?”

“Not until it becomes necessary. The horses are tired and we may need a sudden burst of speed.”

“Won’t Kemal’s horses be tired also?”

“Perhaps. If he didn’t bring extra horses to switch.”

She had not thought of that possibility and did not wish to dwell on it. “Why won’t this Sinan welcome Kemal? Is he not a follower of Saladin?”

“He hates Saladin.”

“Well, then won’t he welcome the Templars if they come after us?”

“He hates the Franks also.”

“Then where does his allegiance lie?”

“With his own sect, the assassins. He rules an independent state here in the mountains. For the most part he’s content to watch and wait for Saladin and the Franks to kill one another.” He paused. “If they do not offend him.”

“And if they do?”

“At one time Saladin sought to destroy the assassins. He came here and laid siege to Maysef. Sinan was not in residence, and it should have been no trouble to capture him when he journeyed back to defend his fortress. For some reason they found it impossible to intercept him. Then Saladin became troubled by hideous nightmares every night. He was afraid to go to sleep. He became worn and haggard, jumping at shadows. One night he woke in his tent and found on his bed some hotcakes that only the assassins were known to bake, a poisoned dagger, and a paper with threatening verse written on it. Saladin was convinced that the Old Man of the Mountain himself had been in his tent. His nerve broke, and he sent a message to Sinan asking to be forgiven for his sins and begging self-conduct out of the mountains. He promised to leave the assassins forever undisturbed.” Ware smiled sardonically. “Sinan graciously pardoned him.”

Thea found the tale darkly fascinating. “How did the assassin get into Saladin’s tent? He must have been surrounded by his army.”

“Ask Kadar. Infiltration is part of the training of all Sinan’s followers.”

Her gaze went to Kadar. “Would he answer me if I asked him?”

“Probably not. He doesn’t talk about his time with Sinan.”

Kadar’s words came back to her.
One must learn to walk the dark paths. But sometimes it’s possible to learn too much, delve too deep
.

She suddenly realized she didn’t want to know about those dark paths. If she did, she wasn’t sure she would ever view Kadar in the same way. She went back to the original subject. “Do you suppose the guards were bribed to be blind when the assassin slipped into Saladin’s tent?”

Ware shook his head. “Sinan has been known to use bribery and deception to position his players, but those close to Saladin are too loyal to be swayed. No, Sinan used other means.”

Nightmares and terror. Thea shivered. “How can a man’s dreams be controlled? It must have been pure chance.” The sentence sounded familiar, and she recalled she had used the same words in regard to the creation of her banner. She quickly veered away from the memory. “You don’t believe in the magical power of this man, do you?”

Ware didn’t answer directly. “I believe he’s a brilliant man with a monstrous self-love and no soul. Put those qualities together, and there are roots planted for a morbid blossoming. Over the years he’s become accustomed to being worshipped and feared more than any man in this land. Death in battle has become commonplace, but a man who can steal life when it’s least expected holds the ultimate power.”

“Will he hide us?”

“If Kadar discovers him in the right mood. He finds Kadar interesting and is prone to be lenient toward him.”

“And if he’s not in the right mood?”

“Then we’ll run as if Satan were after us.” He added grimly, “As indeed he will be.” He glanced over his shoulder and stiffened. “They’re coming.”

Thea turned and then inhaled sharply.

Armored riders. Coming fast.

Her gaze was drawn to the man in the forefront of the riders.

Over Kemal’s head the lions on the banner shimmered strong and vivid in the fading light.

“Come on.” Ware grabbed her reins and spurred his own horse to a gallop up the steep, rocky incline.

Pounding, driving speed.

The wind tore at her hair and stung her cheeks.

The horses labored, their breathing heavy, nostrils flared as they struggled up the trail.

Hoofbeats behind them.

Her heart leaped with fear as she glanced over her shoulder.

How had Kemal gained on them so quickly? Extra horses, Ware had said.

Ware was muttering curses as he urged the horses.

They could go no faster, and the hoofbeats behind them were louder.

Shouting.

Kemal’s shrill voice. “Acre. Avenge Allah. Avenge Acre.”

Dear God, he sounded right behind them.

A small flat plateau ahead. They would be able to go faster.

But so could Kemal.

His riders streamed around them, surrounding them.

Kemal raced toward her, sword drawn. His eyes glittered wildly. “Witch. Daughter of demons.”

Ware wheeled and rode in front of her. “Take care of her, Kadar.”

“No!” Thea cried.

He paid no attention. He was riding directly at Kemal, fighting his way through the multitude of soldiers that had closed in around him. “Me, Kemal. Where is your courage? Honorable soldiers don’t fight women.”

A mace struck him in the shoulder, jarring him in the saddle. He was not deterred. “And they do not hide behind their men. Come and meet me.”

“Did your King Richard face the men he butchered at Acre? You deserve no more honorable death than a dog.” Kemal gestured to the soldiers. “Cut him down. I want his head for Saladin.”

Kemal’s men swarmed around Ware.

Kadar grabbed Thea’s reins as she tried to ride into the fray. “No. Stay. You can do nothing.”

“Stay? They’re
killing
him.” Ware was warding off most of the blows with his shield, but not all. How long could he withstand such punishment? she wondered in agony. “Do something Kadar. Or let me do something.”

“Not yet.” Kadar’s head was tilted, listening. “I hear—It may be…” Excitement lit his face. “If he can hold them at bay…”

Ware was holding them. His sword downed men to the right, to the left, as he wheeled and struck again and again.

Thea jerked fiercely at the reins Kadar was holding. “Let me go to him.”

“Listen,” Kadar insisted.

“I hear it, too,” Selene said. “A drumming.”

Kemal’s head was lifted, his face turned to the rocks bordering the plateau.

“What is it?” Selene asked.

“They’re called death drums. There’s a superstition that anyone who hears them will never live to fight another battle.”

The throbbing of the drums echoed over the hills, ghostly, menacing.

Thea scarcely heard them. Ware was down.

He had been toppled from his horse at last. A man on foot was doubly vulnerable. They would cut him to pieces.

The drums throbbed louder.

And Kemal’s soldiers were frozen in place, their gaze on the ring of rocks that formed a ledge around the plateau.

A white-robed figure appeared on the ledge. Another was suddenly standing a few yards from the first. The assassins flowed in a circle, silent, watching white ghouls at a death feast.

The drums became louder, faster.

“Yes,” Kadar murmured. “Let them hear it.”

Kemal’s soldiers were fleeing, streaming down the mountainside in a panic.

Thea could not believe it. Ware was safe.

“Come back here, cowards,” Kemal shouted. “There’s nothing to fear. I have the banner.”

Thank God they were not listening. Thea jerked her horse’s reins from Kadar’s grasp and rode toward Ware. His helmet had been knocked off in the fall, and he was on his knees, struggling to get up.

“I have the banner,” Kemal screamed again. His face was flushed, his eyes popping with anger. His gaze flicked to the ledge, and a ripple of fear crossed his face as he realized he was alone. His frustration exploded as he wheeled on Ware. “Vile dog!”

His sword crashed down toward Ware’s unprotected head.

“Ware!” Thea’s scream was without voice, the horror too great for sound.

Ware managed to deflect the point with his shield but took the broad side of the sword on his temple.

Kemal was gone, riding over Ware and down the mountain after his men.

Ware lay crumpled on the ground, white and still. His temple was bleeding and looked…dented.

Thea was off her horse and beside him. “Ware.” She sank to her knees and gathered him to her breast. “You will not die. Do you hear me? I will not have it.”

Ware’s lids opened. “Listen…Kadar.” Ware’s voice was a mere whisper. “Take—her away—from this land. Too much danger—here.”

“He will take me nowhere.” Her arms tightened fiercely around him. “If you want me away from danger, you must live and take me yourself.”

His gaze shifted back to her face. “Stubborn—woman…” His eyes closed and he slumped.

Dead?

No, she could see a faint movement of his chest beneath the armor. He lived, and she would find a way to fan that spark of life to flame. She glanced up at Kadar and demanded, “What do you know of healing?”

“I know he is very bad and that there is nothing either of us can do.” He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. “It is true. With a head wound you can only wait and tend and hope he will wake. With severe blows sometimes the sleep becomes death.”

“Don’t tell me that I can do nothing. I won’t let him die.”

“Can you turn back the clock and prevent Kemal from striking the blow? That’s the only way you can help. The rest is not in our hands.”

She closed her eyes as sickness swept over her. She must not give in to this weakness born of despair. She could not help Ware unless she remained strong. Her eyes flicked open. “Can we move him?”

Kadar shook his head.

“Then we will set up camp here.”

“They’re gone.” Selene’s wondering gaze was fixed on the ledge where the robed figures had stood. “Where did they go?”

“Back to the fortress. They accomplished what they came for.”

Not in time, Thea thought. Not before Ware was struck down. “I’ll tend him, and you must make sure we’re not disturbed until he’s well.”

“A small task,” Kadar said with irony. “I must contend only with the Old Man of the Mountain, on whose land we’re trespassing, and Kemal, who is sure he cannot be defeated as long as he carries your banner.”

“Then take the banner away from him,” she said. “But first help me remove Ware’s armor.”