Still farther north, connected to the main castle by the curtains, commanding the mountain’s most gentle slope, stood a massive square sub-fortress.
The other three faces of the mountain were barren, rocky, and often precipitous. The surface
rock was soft and loose. Weather had been gnawing away for ages. Tortuously curved layers of
sedimentary rock showed the progress of ancient ages. The children of Yousif’s courtiers and
soldiers loved scrounging the slopes for fossils, for which Radetic paid a candy bounty.
Radetic found the castle a miserable place to live. It was either too cold and drafty, or too hot and stuffy. The roofs and walls leaked during the rare rains. The sanitary facilities were primitive, and furniture virtually non-existent. There was not one bath in the entire place. Hellin Daimiel was known for its communal baths. The only closable door he had ever seen was the one barring entry into the women’s quarters.
He often longed for the comfort and privacy of his tiny apartment at the university.
Despite its drawbacks as a home, the castle served its intended function. Its granaries,
cisterns and arsenals could support its garrison almost indefinitely. It commanded a view of vast territories. It had never been conquered by siege or storm.
Radetic paused at the gate and surveyed the miles of stony land surrounding the fortress.
“Haroun, you know what I’d like to look out there and see? Just once? A tree.”
Weeks passed. Fuad sent out a summons to the tribal levies. On the morning they were to
muster, Haroun wakened his teacher. “What do you want?” Radetic growled, squinting one-eyed
at the dawn light crawling through his apartment window. “Better be good. No normal human
being ought to be up at this hour.”
“Uncle Fuad is going to meet the levies. I thought you’d want to be there.”
Radetic groaned, swung his legs out of bed. “Want to? No. You’ve seen one mob of fellahin,
you’ve seen them all. But I suppose I’d better go, if only to keep your uncle from doing anything he’ll regret. How many showed up?” He had had doubts that a call from Fuad would elicit the
same response as a call from the Wahlig.
Haroun looked disappointed. “Not good. But they’re still coming in. Maybe some were
delayed.”
“Uh? Pretty bad, eh? Here. Hand me those sandals.”
The levies were assembling on the slope leading to el Aswad’s main gate. Not all had arrived, as Haroun had said, but the few dust clouds approaching indicated that Fuad would be
disappointed by the response to his call. “Not a third of what he has a right to expect,” Megelin observed.
“Some of those eaters of camel droppings have gone over to the bandits.” Fuad had come
out. He scowled at the assembling host. “Cowardice is spreading like the pox.”
Radetic replied, “I wouldn’t think them that fickle.”
“They are, fishwife. And those that haven’t deserted are hiding in their tents like old women, afraid to take a stand. Their excuse to my brother will be that he didn’t issue the call himself. I ought to ride out and punish them. Bloody crones.”
“Maybe you ought to wait a few days,” Radetic suggested. “Send another round of
messengers and have them talk tough.”
“What good will that do? They want to hide behind their women’s skirts, let them. I’ll mock
them when I return with El Murid’s head on my lance. Beloul! Assemble the sheiyeks.”
The captain Beloul inclined his head and descended the slope. He passed among the
contingents. Chieftains started uphill by twos and threes. Fuad did not greet any of them
warmly, though he knew them all and had been riding with them for years. His black scowl
compelled them to hold their tongues and keep their distance.
When the last arrived, joining the circle surrounding Fuad, Radetic, Haroun and Fuad’s
officiers, Fuad turned slowly. “So this is it. Only you have the guts to face these boy bandits.
Taha. Rifaa.
The other three faces of the mountain were barren, rocky, and often precipitous. The surface
rock was soft and loose. Weather had been gnawing away for ages. Tortuously curved layers of
sedimentary rock showed the progress of ancient ages. The children of Yousif’s courtiers and
soldiers loved scrounging the slopes for fossils, for which Radetic paid a candy bounty.
Radetic found the castle a miserable place to live. It was either too cold and drafty, or too hot and stuffy. The roofs and walls leaked during the rare rains. The sanitary facilities were primitive, and furniture virtually non-existent. There was not one bath in the entire place. Hellin Daimiel was known for its communal baths. The only closable door he had ever seen was the one barring entry into the women’s quarters.
He often longed for the comfort and privacy of his tiny apartment at the university.
Despite its drawbacks as a home, the castle served its intended function. Its granaries,
cisterns and arsenals could support its garrison almost indefinitely. It commanded a view of vast territories. It had never been conquered by siege or storm.
Radetic paused at the gate and surveyed the miles of stony land surrounding the fortress.
“Haroun, you know what I’d like to look out there and see? Just once? A tree.”
Weeks passed. Fuad sent out a summons to the tribal levies. On the morning they were to
muster, Haroun wakened his teacher. “What do you want?” Radetic growled, squinting one-eyed
at the dawn light crawling through his apartment window. “Better be good. No normal human
being ought to be up at this hour.”
“Uncle Fuad is going to meet the levies. I thought you’d want to be there.”
Radetic groaned, swung his legs out of bed. “Want to? No. You’ve seen one mob of fellahin,
you’ve seen them all. But I suppose I’d better go, if only to keep your uncle from doing anything he’ll regret. How many showed up?” He had had doubts that a call from Fuad would elicit the
same response as a call from the Wahlig.
Haroun looked disappointed. “Not good. But they’re still coming in. Maybe some were
delayed.”
“Uh? Pretty bad, eh? Here. Hand me those sandals.”
The levies were assembling on the slope leading to el Aswad’s main gate. Not all had arrived, as Haroun had said, but the few dust clouds approaching indicated that Fuad would be
disappointed by the response to his call. “Not a third of what he has a right to expect,” Megelin observed.
“Some of those eaters of camel droppings have gone over to the bandits.” Fuad had come
out. He scowled at the assembling host. “Cowardice is spreading like the pox.”
Radetic replied, “I wouldn’t think them that fickle.”
“They are, fishwife. And those that haven’t deserted are hiding in their tents like old women, afraid to take a stand. Their excuse to my brother will be that he didn’t issue the call himself. I ought to ride out and punish them. Bloody crones.”
“Maybe you ought to wait a few days,” Radetic suggested. “Send another round of
messengers and have them talk tough.”
“What good will that do? They want to hide behind their women’s skirts, let them. I’ll mock
them when I return with El Murid’s head on my lance. Beloul! Assemble the sheiyeks.”
The captain Beloul inclined his head and descended the slope. He passed among the
contingents. Chieftains started uphill by twos and threes. Fuad did not greet any of them
warmly, though he knew them all and had been riding with them for years. His black scowl
compelled them to hold their tongues and keep their distance.
When the last arrived, joining the circle surrounding Fuad, Radetic, Haroun and Fuad’s
officiers, Fuad turned slowly. “So this is it. Only you have the guts to face these boy bandits.
Taha. Rifaa.
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