Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (23 page)

"He's cunning, Michael—ambitious and dangerous."

Michael's legs almost buckled under him, and his father led him to the bed. "You should rest."

"No. I need to regain my strength."

"Michael, you're badly injured, and we have nothing to put on the wounds. I doubt you could even walk across the cell without my support."

"I have to. Have you another shirt?"

"Michael, you aren't thinking rationally. "You can't wear a shirt with those wounds."

"I must. Bind me so the blood won't soak through."

"The blood would dry and stick to the shirt," Raile reasoned. "It'll hurt like hell when you remove it."

"I can't think about that now, Father. When the battle begins, we have to be ready. I know Khaldun will come for us."

Raile helped Michael sit on the bed, and then went to his valise. "I'll do as you ask, Michael, but I fear we will regret it later."

"I'll endure anything to get us out of here. I have a feeling Sidi will send for you next, and I don't know what he'd do to you now. He's a madman!"

Raile took one of his white shirts and ripped it so he could bind it around Michael. "I wish I had some ointment to put on your wounds."

Michael winced in pain. "Just do it quickly. I can stand anything if it doesn't last too long."

* * *

Mallory was sleeping fretfully in the small bedroom at the back of the house. It was oppressively hot, and no breeze stirred the curtains at the window. In her dream state, Mallory imagined she was again the prisoner of the Arabs, and she cried out in distress.

"Lady," a worried voice spoke from the other side of the curtained doorway. "Lady, awaken."

Mallory sat up. "Fizal?"

"Yes, lady. "I have good news to tell you. Hurry, we must make haste."

Mallory shook her head to clear it. "Just one moment, and I'll join you."

She dressed quickly and pushed her foot into the soft red leather boots. When she moved out of the bedroom, Fizal and his aunt were waiting for her.

She looked at Fizal expectantly. "What has happened? Did you find a way for us to get into the tower?"

"Yes, lady. My cousin offered to stand in for the guard on duty tonight. The man was only too willing to agree. Is that not fortunate for us?"

"Do you mean your cousin is guarding my father-in-law tonight?"

"He will be on duty for three more hours, lady. We must hurry. And do not forget about the other two guards. We will have to overcome them."

Mallory smiled at Fizal. "Thank you."

"There is no need for thanks. I do this for you and the great one."

The elderly woman smiled widely and handed Mallory a black burka, saying something Mallory could not understand.

Fizal translated. "My aunt says you are to have her best burka."

Mallory leaned forward and hugged the tiny woman who had taken her into her home without asking questions. "Please express my gratitude to your aunt. Tell her how much I appreciate her kindness."

When Fizal spoke to his aunt, she bowed and touched Mallory's hand. "She says she wishes Allah's blessing on you."

Mallory pulled the veil over her face. "Let us leave immediately."

Chapter 25

The half-moon gave off little light as it hung above the ancient city of Caldoia. The oxcart that carried Mallory and Fizal rolled along with its load of cheese and goats' milk. The streets were filled with frantic people who paid little attention to Mallory and Fizal, but conversed fearfully as they prepared for war.

Mallory sat beside Fizal, her head bent, and her white hands tucked beneath her veil. "I noticed your aunt and uncle were packing when we left. I hope you warned them not to stay in the city."

"They are leaving for the Bedouin camp where my aunt was born. They will already have passed through the gate."

She held her breath when several armed guards approached, and didn't let it out until they rode past.

"Fear not, lady," Fizal said, "no one will question that you are not what you seem."

She bit her trembling lip. "I never thought I'd be so frightened."

"I can yet take you back," he said hopefully.

"Never—we go forward."

The cart creaked and groaned so slowly over the rutted street that Mallory wanted to scream. Her heart was beating in her throat as a group of over fifty soldiers rode past.

"I fear they go to engage Prince Khaldun in battle," Fizal observed.

"I know you want to be with him at this time, Fizal."

"I will join him after we have tweaked Sidi's nose, by taking the great Inglizi out of his grasp."

As they passed a bazaar that was closing for the night, Fizal's voice rose excitedly. "There, lady, look ahead and you will see the tower where they keep the prisoner."

Mallory raised her eyes and was suddenly overcome with the magnitude of the task that awaited them. "It looks so formidable. How will we ever get in there?"

"Put your trust in me, lady. I will get you in—and if Allah is willing, I will get you safely out again."

* * *

Michael saw that his father was sleeping, so he turned to stare out the window helplessly. He was beginning to lose hope, but he couldn't let his father suspect. Three days had passed since he entered Caldoia. Surely if Khaldun was going to attack, he would have done so by now. Why was he delaying? He knew the answer to that— Khaldun was giving him more time to get his father out.

He turned suddenly, and pain ripped through his back, leaving him gasping. He clenched his fists and stiffened his body until the pain subsided a bit.

Michael's mind turned to his new bride. They had known one another such a short time, but she had aroused feelings in him that he'd never had before.

He realized that he and his father would never leave Sidi's lair alive. If only he knew that Mallory was with child, and the DeWinter line would continue, he could die without remorse.

He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. He had badly bungled his attempt to rescue his father. He had many regrets, but he wasn't sorry he was with his father. If they were going to die, let it be together. But how his mother and sister would grieve—for that he was sorry.

Would Mallory grieve? He wondered.

* * *

Fizal halted the cart at the back door of the tower, and jumped to the ground. He banged on the door with his fists, while Mallory waited in the cart.

The door was suddenly thrown wide, and a man in a green uniform barred the way. She watched the exchange between the two men, and it appeared that they were arguing. She surmised that this was not Jabl. The surly look on the guard's face told her that he was none too happy at being disturbed.

At last Fizal returned to the cart and spoke under his breath to Mallory. "Keep your head down." He shoved a basket into her hand. "He knows me as Jabl's cousin, and I have convinced him that you are Jabl's sister, come to bring his dinner."

When Mallory and Fizal entered the tower, bright torches illuminated the large anteroom. The guard gave them a muffled command and unlocked a heavy wooden door which closed behind them. Mallory heard a key grind in the lock. There was no turning back now, they could only go forward.

They moved through a labyrinth of hallways and then ascended steps until at last they came to a room were two men sat at a table playing backgammon. When they stood up, Mallory saw that one man wore a ring of keys at his waist, and she knew the other would be Jabl.

Fizal engaged both men in conversation, and although she couldn't understand them, she knew he was explaining that he was Jabl's cousin and that Mallory was his sister. The man was easily convinced, because he dropped back in the chair while Jabl approached Mallory.

He spoke in a whisper. "You will distract the guard by offering him food from your basket. All you need say to him is
molokhiya
, for that is his favorite meat dish."

Mallory nodded, glad for the heavy veil she wore so they wouldn't see how she trembled with fear. Taking her courage in hand, she moved forward, pronouncing the unfamiliar Arab word over and over to herself. As she approached the guard, he glanced up at her, and she flipped aside the heavy cloth that covered the basket.

"
Molokhiya
?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice how badly she was trembling.

He grinned widely and reached inside the basket. Greedily, he attacked the meat-and-rice dish.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mallory watched Fizal approach. With the hilt of a heavy sword, he came down hard on the back of the guard's head and the man crumpled to the floor.

"We have trouble," Fizal said, quickly removing the keys from the belt of the unconscious man and handing them to Jabl. "My cousin tells me that there is a second Inglizi in the cell."

"Bring them both. It doesn't matter who he is, I will not leave one of my countrymen behind," Mallory said.

"It will make escape more difficult," Fizal told her, taking one of the lanterns.

"Nonetheless, you will bring them both."

"We must hurry," Jabl said in Arabic, inserting the key in the lock and motioning for Fizal to follow him.

"Remain here," Fizal cautioned Mallory. "If the guard awakens, call out and I will come to you at once."

* * *

Michael heard muffled voices and rose from the cot. He moved to the bars. Two men were looking in all the cells, and he wondered what they were doing. At last, they stopped before him.

"Inglizi?" one of the men asked.

"Yes, I'm English," Michael said in a cutting tone, thinking the men probably had orders to take him or his father to Sidi.

Fizal raised the lantern and stared at Michael. "Akhdar 'em Akraba, I did not know you would be here. We came to rescue only your father."

By now, Raile had joined his son.

"Who are you?" Michael said in a suspicious voice, thinking this must be one of Sidi's tortures.

"I am Prince Khaldun's man."

"I don't know you."

Jabl tried the keys until he found the right one, and the door swung open. "There is no time to talk," he said urgently. "We must leave now."

Raile and Michael exchanged glances, and Raile nodded. "We can't be worse off than we are now."

When Michael moved out of the cell, he almost collapsed, so his father supported his weight. When they reached the anteroom, they saw the unconscious guard and an Arab woman draped in veils.

Mallory could only stare at Michael. How had he come to be in prison? And he seemed to be injured. He was so pale. She lifted her eyes to the man who supported Michael's weight—his father—the duke.

Her first instinct was to run to Michael, but at that moment, the outer door swung open and laughter emitted from the lips of the man who stood in the doorway with two guards at his back.

"So, my birds would have flown their nest. I think not today," an oily voice said in English.

"Sidi, you bastard," Raile said angrily. "So this was a trap all along."

Sidi sauntered in, his dark eyes moving over the faces of each person—they paused on Mallory, and then moved back to the duke. "I would like to take credit for trapping you, Your Grace, but it seems you have friends willing to give their miserable lives to rescue you—first your son— now these poor, unfortunate devils."

Sidi moved to the unconscious guard and nudged him with his foot, but he didn't stir. "You'd have made it too, if it hadn't been for the commotion at the gate. You see, your friends are attacking my city, so I came to put an end to your lives."

Mallory heard the exchange of gunfire and knew that Prince Khaldun had indeed begun his attack. She lowered her head, knowing that she had brought more trouble to Michael and his father. She watched Sidi jerk a gun from his guard's hand.

"Your Grace, how shall I hurt you the most?" he taunted. Shall I simply put a bullet through your heart? Or . .. shall I make you watch your son die before I kill you?"

Michael raised his head. "Do what you will and be done with it. Don't expect us to beg."

"Oh, no," Sidi, said through gritted teeth. "A DeWinter would never beg, would he? In any case, this is the night you both will die, but not before you know that your friend, Prince Khaldun, is doomed. As we speak, his troops are trapped between the walls of my city and my men who will come up behind them."

Sidi raised the gun and leveled it at Michael's heart. "I think the son dies first."

No one paid the slightest attention to Mallory. She carefully bent down to the unconscious guard, took his gun, and raised it at the Turk. She didn't know if the gun was loaded—she certainly didn't know how to aim, but she prayed she would hit her target. She leveled it at Sidi's chest and pulled the trigger.

Raile watched the surprised look on Sidi's face. Then Sidi stumbled backwards, clinging to a chair for support. His eyes turned slowly to the woman draped in black, who still held the smoking gun in her hand.

"Kill . . . her," he muttered, just before he fell back, his head hitting hard against the stone floor. Everyone knew he was dead.

Mallory dropped the gun and shuddered. She had just taken a man's life. But she'd had to—he was going to shoot Michael!

When the guards moved toward Mallory, she took a quick step backwards. Fizal and Jabl moved between the guards and her, barring their way.

Heated words were spoken in Arabic, and the four men came together in a violent clash. Mallory watched tensely while the men struggled. At last, Fizal and Jabl were triumphant!

Fizal took Mallory by the hand and pulled her out the door, while his cousin motioned for the two Inglizi to follow them. When they were outside, Jabl locked the door and tossed the keys into the night.

Mallory whispered quickly to Fizal. "I don't want my husband to know who I am. I don't want him to know what I did."

He lifted her into the cart. "But, lady, he will be proud of what you did."

Fizal had brought only one robe and head covering, and Raile insisted that Michael slip them over his clothing. They both climbed into the cart, and it was apparent that Michael was in agony.

Jabl arranged a large crate of cheese in front of them, so they would not be detected.

By now, the gunfire at the gates was more intense, and the battle was raging fiercely.

Fizal climbed in the cart and urged the oxen along, while Jabl leaped in the back.

"Where do we go?" Raile asked.

"I will take you to my aunt's house," Fizal told him. "You will be safe there until we can smuggle you out of the city."

From his hiding place, Raile watched the man expertly guide the cart through the chaos. "How can we ever thank you for what you have done for us?"

"There is no need for thanks. I was honored to help."

"Does your wife speak English?" Michael inquired.

"No," Fizal lied hurriedly. "She does not speak Inglizi."

"Will you thank her for saving my life?"

"She needs no thanks, great lord."

"I don't know why the three of you would risk your lives to save us, but my father and I shall see that you are rewarded."

Mallory lowered her head. She trembled to think what would have happened if the rescue had not taken place tonight. She laced her fingers together, wondering how she would ever live with the fact that she had taken a man's life.

As the cart moved along, Michael struggled to sit up. "I have to open the gate, Father. You heard what Sidi said, Khaldun and his men are trapped in a crossfire. I will not abandon them."

"I'll do it," Raile said.

Michael slid off the cart, and doubled over in pain before he could stand upright. "You can't, Father. You don't even know how to find the front gate."

Raile called for Fizal to stop, and when he halted the oxen, Raile walked back to his son. "Michael, be sensible. You can hardly stand, let alone make your way to the gate."

"I have to, Father. My friends are depending on me."

"Then I'll come with you," Rail said.

"No. You wouldn't make it to the gate. Everyone would know that you're English. And, if I had to worry about you, I would surely fail in what I must do. Please understand that my friends are dying on the other side of that gate, Father."