The Promise of Pain Read online

  Thomas stared at the man. A Gomeres mercenary who had fought like a dervish during the fall of Malaka, who had almost caught up with Guerrero but was rebuffed by the chaos of soldiers fighting at the entrance to the Gibalfaro fort. A man who fought for money but no longer did so. Thomas knew Will worshipped the man, and perhaps a little of that worship, or friendship at least, was mutual.

  “Have you come here to escape the ice woman?” asked Usaden.

  “I thought you were asleep when we came back.”

  “I was, but you made so much noise I thought it better to find out what was going on. I remained outside, in case you did not consider it any of my business. Now I know better. I assume she is the devil you spoke of?” Usaden glanced at the light filling the courtyard beyond the workshop door. “All of you should sleep now, recover. I will stand guard. I will wake you if anything happens.”

  Once Usaden had gone Thomas stretched out on the cot, aware it felt wider than the last time he had lain there, aware he had lost too much weight, too much strength. He would need all his strength before Guerrero and his father were dealt with. He didn’t believe either were here to help Muhammed—more likely some kind of betrayal was involved. He thought about the pair and came to believe they might well have come to Gharnatah in search of him. Not because Thomas was important enough, but because both men knew he wouldn’t rest until he had hunted them down and killed them. He smiled as sleep called, and the thought of revenge filled him.

  “Men are coming.”

  Thomas woke fast, on his feet before he knew where he was. Usaden stood nearby, waiting, patient—used to watching men come awake from deep sleep and having to prepare to fight.

  “How many?”

  “I do not know. Many, I think.”

  “How far?”

  “We have a little time. I can hear fighting, so they have met resistance.”

  Thomas smiled. “This is the Albayzin. Soldiers aren’t welcome, particularly Muhammed’s soldiers. Where are the others?”

  “You can help me wake them.”

  Olaf was ready in an instant, as was Luis, who had spent weeks in Guerrero’s camp, no doubt always ready for some kind of threat. Jorge took longer, and Thomas left Belia to hurry him along. Will was awake, having slept at least some of the day, and Amal lay in her cot with a smile on her face. Thomas stared down at her. So much like her mother—dark-haired, olive-skinned, good-natured. He lifted her and grabbed Will’s hand. He stopped on the landing to look through the window, high enough here to see over tumbling rooftops to al-Hatabin square and the river Darro. Three arched stone bridges linked the red hill of al-Hamra with the opposite slope of the Albayzin, and soldiers blocked them all, with others standing in the square. Thomas went down the stairs and handed Amal to Belia, Will to Helena, and went outside with Jorge and Luis following.

  “They’re coming, but slowly,” said Usaden. “It seems half the population are trying to stop them.”

  “It’s Muhammed’s doing,” said Olaf, standing tall, his long blond hair tied in a plait at his neck that hung halfway down his back. “The Albayzin is a thorn in his side he can’t stop picking at.” He glanced at Thomas. “How do we leave?”

  “You aren’t staying?”

  Olaf waved a hand at the noise. “How can I?”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here,” Thomas said.

  “He doesn’t need to. This is not about me, it’s about him. He’s attacked his own people and is now throwing his lot in with the men who killed my daughter. I have had enough. He can fight the rest of this war without me. It is time for you and me to revenge Lubna. I am with you, wherever it leads.”

  Thomas wanted to embrace Olaf but knew it would be the wrong thing to do. A nod of acknowledgement was enough before he took on the responsibility he had spent too long trying to run away from.

  “We’ll need food and clothes, and weapons of course.” He turned to Jorge. “Take Luis to the cellar and bring some of the coin there, we may need it.”

  “And the rest?”

  “We can’t take it all with us. Hide it as best you can, but don’t take long about it.”

  “That is my entire wealth,” said Jorge.

  “Is it worth more than your life?” Thomas stared at him, waiting until Jorge looked away, shaking his head. “Bring no more than can be carried. With luck, they won’t search for it if they don’t know it’s there. Besides, it’s only money.”

  “It’s easy for you to say that. I’ve never had any.” But Jorge turned, Luis following, and they descended into the cellar.

  Thomas watched the pair disappear, then turned back to Olaf. Usaden had climbed the low wall and now clung to a corner of the house so he could look across the jumble of houses that descended the steep hillside.

  “They’re closer. I can see men now. There are some in grey uniforms, not Moorish soldiers.”

  “Guerrero and Mandana’s men,” Thomas said. “It’s time to go.”

  Belia had spent part of the morning packing what she could, and handed sacks to them as they entered the house. There was still no sign of Jorge and Luis, so Thomas went down to the cellar to find them emerging from a dark corner.

  “We’re leaving. Now.”

  “I wanted to make sure the boxes were hidden well,” said Jorge. “There’s that escape passage Britto built for you, we’ve put them in there and locked the door.”

  “It’s us they’re looking for, not gold.” Thomas turned away, hoping Jorge would finally stop worrying about the wealth they had managed to accumulate over the years. It didn’t matter anymore, if it ever had.

  They left the house to find the alleyway deserted and began to climb its turns toward the crest of the hill. Most people had locked their doors, so their progress was unimpeded. The sound of fighting came clearly from below. Guerrero’s men were meeting fierce resistance.

  Olaf took the lead, but Thomas knew he was holding himself back so the rest of them could keep pace. Even so, Thomas’s breath burned in his lungs, and once more he cursed his weakness even as he knew cursing was useless. He would have to do something to regain the strength he had allowed to drain from him. How could he expect to take revenge on those who took Lubna’s life if he wasn’t strong? He knew he had lost sight of his goal, had allowed himself to be seduced by the temptation cast from the darkness beyond life. So immersed in his own thoughts was he that he ran straight into the back of Helena, almost knocking her to her knees. He grabbed her, then went past to where Olaf had stopped on a corner.

  “Men,” said Olaf, never one to waste words.

  Thomas leaned around him and looked into a small square. They were almost at the top of the hill, close to where Muhammed’s mother maintained her own miniature version of the al-Hamra palace. Beyond lay the town walls and their promise of escape.

  “I count fourteen,” Thomas said. “And five of us.”

  Olaf nodded. “One of whom is Olaf Torvaldsson, and another Usaden Hamid. The rest of you can wait here if you wish.”

  Thomas shook his head and offered a tight smile at Olaf’s words. He was probably right, but he couldn’t let the two of them fight while he stood aside.

  “It will be quicker if we all do it,” he said.

  “Can the boy fight?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  Olaf thought a moment. “Tell Jorge to stay at the rear. I have grown strangely fond of him and would not have him killed.”

  Thomas left Olaf on the corner and went back to tell the others of the plan.

  Usaden already had a sword in each hand, bouncing on his toes. No doubt he was impatient to use his skill, and Thomas was pleased the man had decided to stay with Will to continue his training, knowing it must have been hard to turn his back on the fighting that continued in other parts of al-Andalus. Now the fighting had come to him.

  Thomas drew his own sword, a dagger in his left hand. He turned to Luis. “This is not your fight. You can stay and protect the women if you wish.”
/>   “Those men held me prisoner,” said Luis. “They killed my parents in front of me.” His eyes were cold, his shoulders tense, and Thomas hoped he possessed enough skill to keep him alive.

  Olaf left the corner and came back to them.

  “They’re just standing there waiting. They have been sent in case we come this way, but they don’t really expect us. If we go in hard and fast it will be over before it starts. Is everyone ready?”

  Thomas nodded, letting an anger settle through him, once more aware of its difference, a hot rage that was alien to him. He wondered if this is how it would always be from now on, if he had changed so much. He shrugged. If he had, so be it. He pushed past Olaf and began to run. Like Usaden, he was impatient for mayhem.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thomas lay on his belly as he watched six of Guerrero’s men steer their horses up a steep track. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see if any conscripted men formed part of the party, but he thought not. It made him feel better about what they were about to do.

  A day had passed since three of them had separated from the rest of the group who had escaped Gharnatah and sent them on to Pampaneira. Luis hadn’t wanted to go, but Thomas insisted because the youth knew the trails better than anyone else. For a moment, as their party moved away, Kin had tracked backward and forward, clearly unsure who to stay with—then fealty won out and he had gone with Luis. Now only Thomas, Usaden and Olaf remained, and they had a plan, of sorts.

  “Where are they going?” Olaf lay close beside Thomas, his voice a whisper.

  “Looking for more recruits, I expect. Muhammed hasn’t sent any of his soldiers yet, so Mandana won’t attack al-Zagal until he’s assured of victory. For that he needs more men.” The day before they had lain on another hillside and watched as Guerrero and Mandana led their small band away from Gharnatah. If they had been expecting Muhammed’s soldiers to accompany them, they were disappointed. Once again, Muhammed had shown himself too timid to commit to a course of action for fear of failure.

  “Drafted men don’t fight well,” said Olaf.

  “They don’t need to fight, only to die. They will be placed in the front ranks to protect the others. Some will fight in an attempt to save themselves, and that is all he needs. They know if they refuse their families will be punished.”

  “It is a waste of lives.”

  Thomas glanced at him. “Do you think he cares? Do you think either of them care?”

  “Can I go down there now?” asked Usaden. He appeared completely relaxed, but Thomas knew Usaden was always ready for mayhem. He nodded, and watched as the Gomeres darted away, as sure on his feet as the ibex that roamed these slopes. A few minutes later he appeared on the trail, sauntering down the slope. His hands were empty of weapons, but that could change in an instant.

  “Should we go to help him?” Thomas asked Olaf.

  “Why would he need help? There are only six men.”

  Thomas watched as the riders caught sight of Usaden. They slowed a little, but only to give themselves time to judge the situation. Thomas imagined their thoughts: one man, alone, and they were in search of men to add to their number. A single man was still an extra man, and they had built their forces in just such a way.

  The leader drew a sword and encouraged his horse forward. His mistake was in leaving the others behind, but Thomas doubted it would have made much difference. Usaden waited, an unthreatening figure, except something in his manner made the lead rider slow. Perhaps he saw that Usaden was not afraid. He slowed further, but by then it was too late.

  Usaden moved fast. A run to one side, a leap from a rock, a second jump to land behind the rider, and a knife appeared in his hand. Usaden pushed the dead rider from the saddle and took his place. He bullied the horse around and rode hard toward the remaining five. It was an uneven contest.

  Thomas and Olaf picked their way down the slope to help lift the fallen men back into their saddles and tie them in place with rope from their saddlebags. They slapped the horses’ rumps and let them canter downslope, knowing they would find their way back to Guerrero’s camp.

  As they watched the horses disappear Olaf said, “How many do you think they will send next time?”

  “No more than a score, I’d say—for now, anyway. They may think this is nothing more than a random attack. So yes, they will send more to find out what happened, but not many more.”

  “We can take twenty,” said Olaf.

  Thomas glanced at him. “Can we?”

  “Of course. There are three of us, remember.”

  Thomas saw the logic of it, and for a man who had so recently sought his own death he was surprised at the thrill that sparked through him. The three of them together, each of whom had loved Lubna in their own way. This was the start of the punishment for those who had stolen Lubna’s life, and he knew it would only get bloodier. He smiled, pleased at the thought.

  Thomas discovered he had been wrong, and he wondered if Guerrero might not have some inkling of who had killed his scouting party, because he sent not a score of men but more than twice that. They came by a wider trail, riding at their own pace, a small knot at the front testing the way.

  “I count forty-seven,” said Usaden.

  Olaf nodded. “The same as do I. Too many?”

  “For a direct assault, yes.”

  “Agreed.” Olaf turned to look at Thomas, who sat against a rock eating an orange as he watched the soldiers pick their way south and east. “They are looking for us, aren’t they?”

  “What would you do if six of your scouts were sent back to you dead?”

  “I would send more men next time.”

  “How many would you expect to be looking for?” Thomas asked.

  Olaf smiled. “More than three. More than six if it had been my men. A dozen at least, most likely more.”

  “So you would send a large enough party to attack between ten and twenty, or more. Would you judge fifty enough?”

  “Certainly.”

  “So would I.”

  “Is there a point you are trying to make?” asked Olaf.

  “What is the last thing you would expect?”

  Olaf’s gaze flickered across the hillside as he thought, then he grinned. “I would expect my quarry to run away from me.”

  Usaden laughed. “So, we ignore forty-seven men and attack a thousand instead?”

  “You were with al-Zagal before the siege of Malaka,” Thomas said to Olaf. “When he was routed by the Spanish.”

  Olaf offered a nod.

  “The best leader in al-Andalus was with you, yet still you were almost killed. How did the Spanish do that to you? Did they confront you directly? Come into your midst?”

  “They had a larger force than we did,” said Olaf.

  “But they didn’t attack directly, did they?”

  “They were cowards. I am no coward.”

  “Is victory a cowardly thing?”

  “If it means fighting from the shadows, yes.”

  Thomas raised a shoulder and glanced at Usaden. “What is your opinion?”

  “Victory is victory. I am with you. Burning arrows?”

  “And rocks,” Thomas said.

  Usaden smiled. “It is a shame we have no powder. I have seen mules with kegs of black powder strapped to them sent into a horde and flaming arrows sent after them.”

  Thomas thought of Ibrahim, of his black powder and his bravery, and nodded. “Yes, it is a shame.”

  “No,” said Olaf. “It is a coward’s way to fight. A warrior confronts his enemy face to face. I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Then stay here. Usaden and I are more than capable of scaring them. That’s all I want to do for now—keep them on edge, not allow them to see who’s attacking. Fear is our best friend in this endeavour.” Thomas watched Olaf, seeing his stubbornness, his sense of chivalry. There was another weapon he could use to persuade the man, but would prefer not to unveil it—though of course Olaf knew of it as well as Thomas hi
mself.

  “I know Mandana,” said Olaf, “but not his son. What is he like?”

  “I know more about him than I used to, but still not enough.”

  “But you know the father. Are they alike? Mandana is a snake who cannot be trusted. Is his son the same?”

  “Worse, I suspect.” Thomas believed they had come close enough to risk the final toss of the dice. “You know as well as I do what he is capable of. The slaughter of innocent women and children.” He felt the prick of unshed tears behind his eyes, determined Olaf wouldn’t see them. “You can’t negotiate with a man like that. You can’t fight him like you would other men. All you can do is destroy him like the rabid animal he is.”

  Olaf stared at Thomas, but it was clear he wasn’t going to change his mind.

  Usaden was going through their small cache of weapons, picking out what they would need. Long swords were not required for what was planned. Instead he set aside two bows, together with a dozen arrows each, and a long knife for each of them. But if it came to hand-to-hand fighting Thomas knew they would be as good as dead.

  “Will you stay here?” he asked Olaf, as he sheathed the knife and hung a bow across his back.

  “I might take a look around, judge the lie of the land for when it comes to a real fight.”

  “There’s no point fighting them.”

  “There was a goatherd’s hut we passed a half hour since,” said Olaf. “I will wait for you there until sunrise tomorrow. If you don’t appear by then, I will find the others. Pampaneira you said the town was, didn’t you?”

  Thomas nodded, then turned and followed Usaden, who was already a hundred paces ahead.

  Usaden climbed steadily, his feet as sure as if he walked a city street. Thomas tried to emulate him but knew he had lost the skill, together with his certainty. He needed to find both again if he wanted to destroy Guerrero and Mandana. He knew both would have to be destroyed, or he would die in the attempt.

  After a while Usaden slowed and let Thomas take the lead, because he knew better where they were going. They came to a cliff edge that looked down into the valley where Mandana’s forces had been arrayed only days before. Now it lay empty, only the rubbish scattered across the ground testament to the horde who had resided there. Thomas picked his way down, examined a fire which was cold to the touch.