He whirled and ran a short way, banging bewildered warriors out of his way. He dived into a shadow behind a tent. The tent was unoccupied. He slithered under the fabric's edge.

The uproar grew. There were cries that the Wahlig was attacking. Men rushed to the stockade. As many ran hither and thither in panic. A very few sought the interloper who had slain the Disciple's guards.

The halloo moved away. Haroun peeped outside, saw no one. He crept out and slid from shadow to shadow, toward the Disciple's tent. He knew which it was now.

Behind him flames rose. In their panic some of the enemy had scattered a fire. Some tents had caught. The blaze was spreading.

The fallen Invincibles had been replaced. Haroun cursed. There was no way, now, that he could deliver the stroke he had been anticipating all day.

He would have to use the Power. He hadn't wanted to do that. He wanted the Disciple to see death coming, wanted the man to look into his eyes and recognize the boy from Al Rhemish. Wanted him to know who as well as why.

The lilac killer would not do. It would take the nearest Invincible, not a man cowering inside a tent. It had to be something else. His arsenal of petty magicks contained little that was apt. Again he cursed the chain of circumstance that had prevented his achieving his full potential as a shaghûn.

He selected a spell that would induce the symptoms of typhoid, ran through the chants softly, visualized the El Murid he recalled from Al Rhemish. He loosed the spell.

A cry of agony answered it.

Some Invincibles rushed to their master. And some rushed toward Haroun.

"What the hell is going on?" Haaken asked.

"I don't know," Bragi replied. "But he's sure got them stirred up."

"Maybe we ought to help. Maybe if they think they're under attack he can get out in the confusion."

Bragi doubted that. He had written Haroun off. The decision he faced was whether or not to rush back to el Aswad in hopes he hadn't been missed. It had to be too late. Might as well do some good here.

Some of the enemy were fleeing the camp. Within, the fires were spreading. Horses were making panic noises.

"All right. Let's go. Harass the ones running away. You guys with the bows. Shoot a few over the wall."

Alarms awakened Megelin Radetic. Groggy, he staggered from his cubicle, his seldom used sword dragging. A night attack? He hadn't anticipated that. It wasn't to the Disciple's advantage. The man merely needed to wear the defense down with hammerings like yesterday's.

He paused, listened. Plenty of people running around yelling, but no thunder. No crash of lightning striking the fortress. Maybe it wasn't an attack.

What, then?

He reached the north court to find it aboil with men rushing out the gate. He grabbed a soldier. "What's happening?" The man pulled away. So did the next he caught. Nobody wanted to spare a moment. Radetic dragged his weary bones to the ramparts.

The Disciple's camp was ablaze. Men were scurrying everywhere. Animals were stampeding with the men. There was fighting. The defenders of el Aswad were falling on their foes in a great disorderly rush. The anthill simile occurred to him. "Trite," he murmured.

It took Megelin just seconds to guess how it had started. "Haroun! You fool!" He panicked. His own Haroun... He practically threw himself off the wall in his haste to get down there.

The observer within was amused. The boy isn't your child, it said. He's only on loan to you.

Even so, his heart was ripped by fear that the boy had destroyed himself in some romantic scheme for rescuing his father's fortunes.

Bragi kept his men close together, unbroken by the human stampede. Two score bodies lay around them. The enemy was easy in this state.

A rabble from the fortress arrived, as disorganized as the foe, but with blood in their eyes. The area became a slaughter yard. Bragi urged his men toward the gateway.

Entering was easy. The enemy simply ran away or piled over the stockade. Guildsmen and the Wahlig's warriors followed Bragi's squad.

What now? Where to look? Haroun wanted the Disciple. El Murid's quarters should be near the center of camp. "This way. On the double." Haaken kept the men together while Bragi ran off to the right, skirting the fires. His squad left a trail of enemy injured. Wild-eyed horses proved a greater danger than enemy weapons.

Bragi found an aisle of encampment unthreatened by flames. He turned toward the camp's heart.

Haroun stifled a cry when the Invincibles slammed him to the earth at El Murid's feet. He spat at their chieftain. The man cuffed him.

"The Wahlig's brat, Lord."

"You're sure, Mowaffak?"

"The very one who attacked you in Al Rhemish."

"He was just a boy."

"That was a long time ago, Lord. He's learned more shaghûn tricks, it seems."

Haroun watched the Disciple's face darken. He compared it with the face he recalled. The man had aged beyond his years. He looked old. "You'd damn me when you use a fouler sorcery yourself?"

The Invincible hit him again. Blood filled his mouth. He bit down on the pain, spat scarlet on the man's robe. "Pig eater."

"You delude yourself. I use no sorcery." El Murid puffed up with offended dignity. "I call upon the might of the Lord, as vested in me by his angel."

"Somebody is deluding himself."

El Nadim arrived. "Lord, the camp is total chaos. The fires can't be contained. Guild soldiers are inside the stockade. We'd best get out."

The Disciple's face darkened further. "No."

"Lord!" Mowaffak snapped. "Be reasonable. This scum panicked the men. The enemy are upon us. We can't make a fight of it. It's get out or be destroyed. Now, before the panic infects the Invincibles."

El Nadim agreed. "We can rally the survivors on the road, then return." He exchanged a look with the Invincible.

Haroun caught it. Both knew there would be no second attempt on the fortress. This night would see their strength leeched. "None of you will escape," he gurgled. "You're dead men." Big talk. But maybe they would be destroyed. He heard the fighting now.

Agony lanced across the Disciple's features. Bodyguards rushed to support him. The Invincible captain snarled, "Get him onto a horse. Get everybody you can mounted. Riding double if you have to." He faced Haroun. "What did you do to him?"

Haroun said nothing.

The Invincible hit him. "What did you do?"

Haroun gritted his teeth and willed the pain away.

The blows fell steadily. The Invincible became workmanlike, telling him the pain would stop only when he undid whatever he had done.

The minutes felt like hours. The pain got worse and worse. Only stubbornness kept Haroun from yielding.

An Invincible rushed up. "They're headed this way."

"How close?"

"Right behind me."

The captain dragged Haroun to his feet. "We'll take him along. Is the Lord safe?"

"They're leaving through the back way now, sir. The General and some of his men are with them."

"Help me carry him." Haroun hadn't the strength to support himself. He sagged between the men, his feet trailing in the dirt. He could not see well, now. Everything was out of focus, distorted and fire-tinted.

He was going to die. They would make him break the spell, then they would kill him...

He was not afraid. Despite the pain, he felt only triumph.

"There he is!" Bragi yelled. "The white robes have him. Let's go." He charged, bloody sword overhead.

One of the Invincibles looked back. His eyes widened. He ran. The other turned, assessed the situation, released Haroun and drew a dagger. He grabbed the youth's hair, pulled his head back for a throat slash.

Bragi threw his sword. It smacked the white robe's shoulder, doing no harm, but did foil the murder attempt.