In the Shadow of Swords (24 page)

“Thank you for those kind thoughts,” the
imam
said, producing a small flask. “I’ll be warm enough for a while yet.”

Nasir snatched the flask from him and took a sip. “Has sharing been eradicated from your extensive list of virtues?”

“Not completely. The weather does cut to the bone, does it not?”

“We won’t see anything tonight,” Nasir said. “We may as well leave him here to watch until morning.”

“No one has moved along the trail in some time,” said Munif, “and the old hut outside the village is long since deserted.”

The
imam
nodded and settled to his watch.

Munif stretched and motioned to Nasir.

“Show me where I may find that warm fire.”

10

THEY WAITED.

Munif and Nasir returned to their observation post just after the first sun’s dawn. At some point during the night the rain had stopped, leaving a thick mist to filter the suns’ rays.

Itani Hayyek lingered with the two men. Munif enjoyed the
imam’s
dry wit and quick retorts. After about a half-hour, the cleric carefully stretched his back.

“Well, I doubt you heathens have any more use for my services this day. I’m off to get dry and have some–”

Suddenly he dropped beside Munif and bent low, looking off into the distance. Munif followed his gaze, peering through the thick vegetation. A massive shape lumbered along the roadthat descended into the vale from the north. They could hear low growling, and something akin to a dog’s high-pitched whine. The thing approached and moved past the abandoned house.

Munif could not believe what he was seeing. Twice as tall as a man and nearly as wide as the road itself, the creature walked on two massive feet. Its thick skin was a dull dark gray, and black fissures scored it all over, like mud that had dried in the sun. Pavanan Munif had not believed he’d see such a thing in his lifetime.

The Kúrrul had a young girl tucked beneath one arm; she was trying vainly to break free. It was plain to see she was exhausted; her screams were so weak he could hardly hear them. Directly below her, the demon’s fist clenched around a massive spear—a twenty-foot-long tree trunk sharpened to a point at one end. In its other fist it dangled three human heads by a knot of hair. Munif shuddered as it passed below him and went on its way.

“So the rumors are true, then,” Munif murmured as he weighed the situation before him. “I never would have believed it if I had not seen it myself.”

Nasir shook his head. “To conjure up such creatures—” he muttered. “Dassai must have used considerable magics to set Kúrruls on the loose. He’d need a legion of Carac to conjure up those vile things.” Nasir studied the back of the demon as it receded from their view. Hayyek sat quietly, but his lips moved in a silent prayer.

Only a handful of summoners had the power to break the binding of the world and unleash the Kúrrul, and the monster’s presence could mean only one thing: someone very dangerous had either forced or persuaded the demons to act. Few creatures were as strong and cruel as these, and where there was one, there would be others.

As the suns rose and the mist cleared away, Munif and Nasir watched with the
imam
as three more demons came from the direction of the village. Farther off they could hear the sounds of men and dogs foolishly giving chase.

The three men watched in horror as the grisly scene took shape below them. The first demon tossed one of the pursuers effortlessly against the wall of the house, so hard that a scattering of stones fell onto his writhing body.

As the demons drew nearer to Munif’s hiding place, another villager stabbed with a sword at the second creature’s legs. The demon turned and the man backed up against a tree, dropping his broken blade. He let out a muted scream as the demon’s great ax descended upon him. The massive weapon tore through his skull and clove his body in two, embedding itself in the exposed roots of the tree between the man’s feet. The halves of his corpse fell to either side, and his organs emptied out across the ground. The Kúrrul barely paused before continuing up the path.

A man screamed in pain as a Kúrrul hacked off his hand. One of the dogs lunged at the third demon’s groin, whipping its head back and forth, growling fiercely. The dog’s teeth could not puncture the demon’s flesh. The demon reached down and clenched its fist around the dog’s body. Suddenly the dog ceased struggling. The last sounds it made were the crunch of its collapsed ribcage and the dull thud of its body hitting the ground.

The first demon turned, making a swift motion with its hand, and the three moved south on a path that led them below the onlookers.

Munif noticed that a group of four women had run out of the town toward the woods. They managed to avoid being spotted, racing through the scrub, not daring to look back.

Near the point where the women had left the path, a lone figure fled the village at a dead run. A Kúrrul followed the man, easily overtaking him. It rammed a sharp branch into the man’s back. The point exited through his chest, and the demon lifted the man into the air, then flung him violently to the ground. Munif hoped the man was already dead as the demon pinned his head down with its gargantuan foot and jerked the tree-spear free.

A fourth demon joined the first three on the road. Munifs stomach lurched. As he started to turn, a steady hand held him still.

“Wait. We’re not moving yet. Watch!”

Minutes passed as the demons moved slowly south, unhindered, following the road directly beneath the horrified watchers. It was then that Munif thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The first demon’s left side shifted and blurred.

Nasir set his lips close to Munif’s ear and whispered excitedly, “Look at the right arm of the second one. They’re not true Kúrruls. It’s all a clever deception. They’re Haríís—changelings—experts in shape-shifting.”

Munif glanced at Nasir and asked, “Are they worse than the Kúrruls?”

Nasir shook his head as the third and fourth Haríís lumbered by. “No. They can take on the characteristics, the strengths, of the thing they feign to be—it’s a true change of form. But they have weaknesses. Still the survivors will report that demons killed those men, and there’ll be no reason to doubt them.”

After the last Haríí had vanished from view, Nasir stood up and motioned to Munif and the cleric. “We need to get back to the village. Dassai no doubt wants to be certain the news of the demons’ rampage reaches the
misal’ayn
, and is then relayed across Miranes’ and back to Qatana. Hayyek and I will deal with the Haríís. You must find Dassai. Keep him alive if you can, and hold him until my return.

“Now go!”

11

NASIR AND the
imam
followed the Haríís.

They knew that the fiendish creatures could not maintain the strength and size of Kúrruls for long; they would have to change. They also knew that the Haríís would be weak and disoriented once they transformed back to their own lithe forms.

Nasir and Hayyek hunched over in an attempt to remain dry. Their labored breathing beneath their dirty, sweat-drenched robes was the only discernible sound. The air’s chill had beset them without mercy since the outset of their journey, and the deepening darkness only made it worse.

With every moment that passed, the Haríís were less able to hold their false shape. Their forms blurred as the strength of the spell waned.

Hayyek began to move, drawing a short dagger from beneath his robe, but Nasir stayed his hand.

“Patience,” the Prince whispered. “Soon.”

After a short wait, the changelings reverted to their natural shape. They blinked nervously, eyes darting in their dark-red, horned heads. Their thin arms, each ending in a three-fingered, clawed hand, twitched as they glanced about.

“Now!” Nasir yelled, flinging himself forward, unsheathing his sword.

The momentum of his charge speared the first one through the chest. Bright green blood gushed as Nasir wrenched the blade out. He whirled and slashed another across the throat as Hayyek drove his dagger through the third one’s ear. One last upward thrust from Nasir’s blade ended the fight.

The two men stood panting, staring at the strewn bodies.

“I doubt the villagers will believe they were Haríís,” Hayyek said weakly. “Still, one cannot be sure.”

“Once they’ve seen the bodies, they will be convinced,” Nasir replied. “It’s getting late; let us try to get back tonight.”

“We still have to get to Aley to aid Pavanan.”

“Let’s not worry about that yet,” Nasir said as they moved on. “He is very capable. If Dassai is there, Pavanan will not lose him again. In the meantime, pray the rain doesn’t flood the ground here.”

“I do know how to pray my friend,” Hayyek said.

12

MUNIF WAS close.

He traveled through the rolling hills, staying in sight of the road. Using the suns as his guides, he worked his way skillfully to the spring where the three of them had set up a camp. Their gear was still stowed at the base of a tree near the water’s edge. Taking a fair share of the food and water from one of the packs and leaving the remainder for his companions, he made his way to Aley.

By late afternoon, the hills and the thick scrub gave way to cultivated fields and fertile vineyards. Gnarled beech trees grew here and there, and the flora became more varied. Munif passed through a vineyard, ignored by the workers as they tended root-stocks and repaired trellises.

Munif alternated between a steady trot and a hurried walk, driven by his need to seek both the truth and his addiction. Contrary to what he had thought, the gnawing need for
affyram
had not diminished; in fact, it had grown stronger. Sweat beaded his forehead—not solely due to his exertion.

In Aley he might find what he sought.

As darkness fell, he moved closer to the road, knowing the third moon of winter would not provide enough light to guide his way. Finally he reached the whitewashed wooden bridge that spanned the Danui river.

Aley had long been known for its beauty and its many summer houses. As Munif crossed the bridge, he caught his first glimpse of the city’s legend and its original reason for being: the dark silt of the island’s soil and the gypsum sands of the river passed over each other, creating ever-changing patterns.
Sufis
, mystics, the curious, and the desperate flocked to observe the strange shapes that seemed to metamorphose into meaningful images and prophetic scenes.

Aley had grown from these mystical beginnings. At first a select few were drawn here by the desire to study the images in the water. They’d erected a shrine on this spot, and soon gathered a following. Not long after, merchants had moved in to provide for the pilgrims’ needs.

Over time, the sect had died out, but the shrine remained and the town expanded. Seeking a way to keep Aley prosperous, the citizens began to hold an annual summer festival with an open market. A wealthy merchant had purchased land on a low hill overlooking the town, south of the river. He’d erected a
masyaf
on the crest of the hill overlooking Aley. Locals said that he’d found his fortune by reading the patterns in the river. Soon other wealthy families followed suit, building beautiful summer houses in the hills. One of them had been Dassai, who chose this place for his wife Cala.

Munif reached the
masyaf just
after midnight.

13

MUNIF HAD to be careful.

The merchant who’d built the elegant home was long gone, but his house had become a well-known retreat for Dassai. Munif knew Dassai was inside. There could also be any number of his men surrounding the place or ferrying messages back and forth to the
misal’ayn
.

The path took Munif past several summer houses to the gate of Dassai’ house. Moonlight made stealth difficult. He sharpened his ears to listen for danger, but heard nothing but the sound of buzzing insects.

Picking his way carefully, he circled the small city, darting from one concealed position to another, staying upwind of the dogs whose baying he occasionally heard. The perimeter of the
masyaf
was planted with a coass hedge of green cypress for protection and privacy; closer in, extensive gardens lay hidden in the night.

Nasir had told Munif that he had others watching the summer house. There was no sign of them that Munif could detect. He pulled himself over a stone wall and slipped stealthily across the cropped lawn.

Even in the darkness, he could make out the shapes of manicured shrubs, topiaries, and fruit trees standing no higher than his head.

He kept low to the ground, using whatever cover he could find. Finally he came to a small tree covered with auburn and golden leaves, its branches erupting from the trunk and cascading down to the ground. He carefully pushed aside the branches, mindful of the crisp, noisy foliage as he entered its interior—where he saw the figure of a man leaning against the trunk, staring at the house.

Munif knew immediately that something was wrong. The man had failed to turn toward the noise. He could not possibly be sleeping in that position. Munif touched the agent’s shoulder with his hand, whispering, “So, is he still in—”

The spy’s head lolled unnaturally for a moment before detaching with a sickening snap and falling toward Munif. Instinctively, Munif reached out and caught it. The glossy white of dead eyes stared back at him. Munif suppressed the churning of stomach acid that worked its way into his throat, and spun around, searching for the enemy.

He saw no one.

14

THE MAN had been dead for several hours.

The blood was dark and congealed. His head had been almost completely severed, probably by a razor wire or a butcher’s blade. Even more disturbing, the assassin must have held the agent’s headthere for some time to keep it from bleeding outside of the body. There was no pooling of blood and little to detect even on the spy’s back, chest, or shoulders. Instead the blood had been forced to flow down from the severed neck stump into the man’s innards.