The Monsoon (96 page)

Dorian jumped down and, with his sword, cut the injured man free.

Batula saw what he was doing and turned back to help him. His mount slid down the slope in sheets of flying sand, and at the bottom he jumped down beside Dorian. Between them they lifted the injured man, his shattered legs dangling, up onto Ibrisam’s back.

The tail of the column was already halfway up the slope. The Prince and the vanguard had reached the lot of the rocks and were disappearing into the dark cleft of the pass through the hills.

Dorian seized Ibrisam’s halter, dragged her head round and started her up the dune. He glanced back over the plain and saw the pursuit bearing down upon them. Their mounts were stretched out at full run, the dust boiling out behind them, the riders on their backs brandishing their weapons, howling war cries into the wind, robes streaming out behind them, racing in to cut them down while they struggled up the treacherous slope.

Abruptly, from high above, came the blast of musket fire. The Prince had rallied the men as they reached the mouth of the pass, and the crash of the volley echoed and boomed along the cliff face. Dorian saw at least three of the onrushing riders knocked from the saddle by the heavy lead balls, and one of the camels must have been struck in the brain, for it dropped so suddenly that it cartwheeled, haunches over head, flinging its rider high as it sprawled on the hard-baked earth. The charge lost speed and impetus, and as Dorian and Batula toiled up the soft slope another volley of musket fire swept over their heads.

It was answered by a rattle of rolling fire from the foot of the dunes where the enemy were dismounting and turning their jezails on the struggling pair exposed on the ramp above them. Lead balls kicked up spurts of sand around Dorian’s feet, but there seemed a charm of protection over him, for despite the rain of shots he and Batula battled on.

Running with sweat and gasping for breath, they dragged the camels over the top of the sand ramp and onto the stony ledge at the mouth of the pass. Dorian looked around him swiftly as he heaved and panted for breath.

The other camels had been led into shelter behind the first turn of the high stone walls, and his men had couched them there then run back to take up positions among the rocks from where they could fire down on the enemy.

Dorian looked out across the plain below and saw the ottoman squadrons strung out over miles of the pale earth, but all headed in his direction. He made a swift count of their numbers.

“Certainly close to a thousand!” he decided, and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes with his head cloth Then he examined lbrisam quickly, running his hands over her flanks and haunches, dreading to find blood from a bullet wound, but she was unharmed. He tossed the halter rope to Batula.

“Take the camels to safety,” he ordered, “and have the injured man cared for.” While Batula led the beasts deeper into the gut of the pass, Dorian went to find the Prince.

AlMalik squatted, musket in hand, unharmed and composed, quietly directing the musketeers among the rocks. Dorian crouched beside him.

“Lord, this is not your business. It is mine.” The Prince smiled at him.

“You have done well thus far. You should have left that clumsy fellow to fend for himself. Your life is worth a hundred of his.”

Dorian ignored both the rebuke and the compliment.

He said quietly, “With half the men I can hold the enemy here for many days, until our water is spent. I will send Batula and the other half to escort you through the pass and on to the oasis of Muhaid.”

The Prince looked into his face, his expression grave.

The odds would be twenty against a thousand, and though the position was strong, they could expect the enemy to be determined and resourceful. He knew the sacrifice Dorian was offering.

“Leave Batula here,” he said, “and come with me to Muhaid.” The tone of his voice was a question, not an order.

“No, my lord.” Dorian rejected it.

“I cannot do that, My place is here with my men.”

“You are right.” The Prince rose to his feet.

“I cannot force you to neglect your duty, but I can command you not to fight here to the death.” Dorian shrugged.

“Death makes his own choices. He brooks no argument from us.”

“Hold them here for the rest of the day and the night,” alMalik said.

“That will give me time to reach Muhaid and rally the Awarnir. I will come back for you with an army “As MY lord commands, said Dorian, but the Prince saw the battle lust in his green eyes, and it made him uneasy.

“Al-Safil,” he said firmly, and gripped Dorian’s shoulder to reinforce the words, “I cannot tell how long it will take for me to return with the men of the Awarnir. Hold them here until dawn tomorrow, no longer than that. Then run to join me as fast as lbrisam will carry you. You are my talisman, and I cannot afford to lose you.”

“Lord, you must leave at once. Every moment is precious.” They went back together to the camels and Dorian gave swift orders, dividing the men into two groups: those who would stay to hold the pass and those who would ride with the Prince. They shared out what remained of the water and food, a fourth part for the Prince and the remainder for Dorian’s party.

“We will leave all of our muskets with you, the five barrels of black powder and the bags of lead shot,” the @ Prince told Dorian.

“We will put it to good employment,” Dorian promised.

Within minutes it was done and the Prince and Batula mounted at the head of the departing party. The Prince looked down from the saddle at Dorian.

“Allah be your shield, my son,” he said.

“Go with God, my father,” Dorian replied.

“That is the first time you have called me that.”

“it is the first time I have felt it to be true.”

“You do me honour,” said alMalik gravely, and touched his camel’s neck with the riding wand.

Dorian watched them wind away down the narrow passage between the high rock walls and disappear around the first turn. Then he put all else from his mind except the coming battle. He strode back to the entrance to survey the plain and the cliffs with a soldier’s eye. He considered the height of the sun. It was only a little past noon. It was going to be a long day and an even longer night He picked out the weak spots in his defence which the enemy would exploit, and made his plans as to how he would counter each move they made. First they will try a direct assault, straight up the slope, he decided, as he looked at them massing below him on the edge of the plain. He went among his men, laughing and bantering with them, moving them into the best defensive positions among the rocks, making certain that each had full powder flasks and shot bags.

He had not finished setting out the last of his pickets before he heard a distant blast of a horn from the bottom of the slope, followed immediately by the beat of war drums and a swelling shout from the first wave of attackers, who rushed forward and started up the slope.

“Steady!” Dorian called to his men.

“Hold your fire, brothers of the warrior blood.” He slapped the shoulder of a man with long dark locks of tangled hair spilling over his shoulders and they grinned into each other’s face.

“The first shot will be the sweetest, Ahmed. Make it tell.” He went on down the line.

“Wait until they are staring down your barrel, Hassan.”

“I want a clean kill from you with your first bull Mustapha.”

“Let them get so close that even you cannot miss, Salim.” Though he laughed and joked he was watching the attackers come up the slope. These were Turks, he aVler men than the birdlike Arabs of the desert, with long moustaches and round bronze helmets with nosepieces, and gi lets of chain armour over their robes of striped wool.

Heavy gear for the desert, Dorian thought as they toiled up the ramp of loose sand, the first wild rush slowly becoming a laboured climb. Dorian walked out onto the lip of the slope as if to welcome them, and stood with his hands on his hips grinning down at them. Not only did he want to inspire his men by his example, he also wanted to make certain that none could disobey his order and open fire while he was standing in front of them.

One of the Turks below paused and threw up his musket. His face was shiny with sweat and his hands shook with the effort of the climb.

Dorian steeled himself, and the Turk fired. The ball hissed past Dorian’s head and the Wind flipped a lock of his red-gold hair across his cheek and lips.

“Is that the best you goat-lovers can do?” He laughed down at them.

“Come up here. Come and taste the hospitality of the Soar.” His taunts gave the leaders fresh wind, and they broke into a clumsy, lurching run up the last few yards of the ramp. Dorian stepped back into the ranks of his own men.

“Ready now, brethren,” he said quietly, and cocked the hammer of his jezail.

A line of Turks-came shoulder to shoulder over the lip. Their faces were flushed darkly, bathed in sweat, as they staggered on to the levelled jezails of the Soar. Most had discarded their own muskets during the climb. Now they brandished their scimitars and, with a hoarse yell, threw themselves on the defenders.

“Now!” shouted Dorian, and the Soar fired together, twenty muskets in a single prolonged blast of gunsmoke and ball. It swept through the line of Turks Dorian saw his own shot punch a gap in the yellow teeth of a burly, moustached Turk in front of him. The man’s head snapped back. Blood and brain tissue burst out of the back of his skull and the sword flew from his hand. He fell back into the man who teetered on the crest of the slope behind him, throwing him off-balance so that they fell together and rolled down the sand ramp, knocking down another o were climbing up it, sending them all to three men the bottom.

“Take the blade to them now,” Dorian called, and they sprang out from behind the rocks and charged into the milling throng of Turks on the ledge. That murderous charge drove the Ottomans back, stumbling over their own dead, and over the edge of the ramp. The ledge was cleared, and the Soar met the men who were still struggling up towards them. They had the advantage of height, and the Turks were almost exhausted by the time they came within swordplay.

The struggle was swiftly over, and the attackers broken, dead and wounded. Those who had not been hurt slipped and slithered back down, ignoring the angry shouts of their captains, running over them and carrying them away in the rout.

The Soar danced on the ledge, beards and robes swirling, hurling taunts and obscene insults after the enemy. Dorian saw at a glance that he had not lost a single man, either killed or wounded, while at least a dozen Turkish corpses were half buried in the fine sand of the e of the banquet.” dune below.

“That was only the first cours He controlled his own jubilation. No more than a hundred Turks had come at them in that rash charge.

“They won’t try that again.” He strode among his men, shouting to them to reload the muskets, but it took him some time to get them under control again.

“I want ten men up in the cliffs.” He picked them out by name, and sent them climbing up the rock walls to where they could observe the whole front of the hills and any move the enemy made. He guessed that they would now send men to climb the sand dunes on each side of the mouth of the pass, out of musket range of Dorian’s men, then they would regroup on the ledge and close in from both sides. Combined with another frontal attack, this would be more difficult to resist.

Dorian knew that his men must eventually be driven back into the gut of the pass, and it was there in the narrow passage that they would be forced to make their final stand. Relying on the men he had posted high in the cliffs to give warning of the next attack, he took six men into the pass to select the best defensive position.

It was almost three years since he had last travelled this way, but he remembered that there was a narrow place where the rock pinched in. When he found it again the gap was barely wide enough for a loaded camel to pass through. Beyond it was a rockfalls and at his orders the ssix Soar laid aside their weapons and used the loose rock from the fall to fortify the gap, building a san gar across it, behind which they could shelter.

The camels were couched deeper in the pass beyond the next twist of the passage and Dorian went to check that they were saddled and ready for a quick escape when the enemy broke through the san gar

lbrisam groaned with love when she saw-him, and he caressed her head before he left her to go back to the mouth of the pass.

The men he had sent to climb the rock walls were in position above him, and the others were spread out along the ledge. They were loading the extra muskets that the Prince had left with them, and setting these close at hand.

That would give them an extra shot when the fighting was heavy.

Dorian squatted on the ledge and looked down upon the enemy. Even though the sun was high now and the heat becoming fierce, the white salt flats swarmed with activity. Troops of mounted men were still coming up to swell the ranks of the enemy, and Turkish officers were riding back and forth along the foot of the sand dunes, studying the lie of the land. Their helmets and weapons sparkled, and the white dust hung in a shimmering curtain over them.

Suddenly there was an even more agitated movement among the troops directly below where Dorian sat, and a ounded a fanfare. A small party was approaching, horns crrying: banners of green and scarlet, the the outriders ca could be little doubt colours of the Sublime Porte. There that this was the command party of the enemy force. As they drew closer, Dorian studied them with interest. He picked out two figures in the centre of the group who, judging by their splendid dress and the rich caparisons of Turk, their camels, were high-ranking officers. One was a for he carried the round bronze shield and wore the helmet with steel nosepiece. The ottoman general, Dorian decided, and turned his attention to the second man, an Arab. Even at this distance there was something vaguely familiar about him, and Dorian stirred uneasily. He was swaddled in fine woollen robes, but Dorian could see he was a big man. The band of his headdress was of gold filigree and the scabbard of the curved dagger on his waist shone with the same lustrous metal.