Free Book 4 - The Fire in His Hands by Glen Cook Page B

trial . . . For a minute I thought you were going to give in.”
    “For a minute I did. I’m as subject as anyone else to the wiles of the Evil One. But I found
    my strength, and the lapse made the outcome sweeter. You see how the Lord moves us to His
    will? We do His work even when we think we’re turning our backs on Him.”
    Nassef stared across the barren hills. Finally, he replied, “It’s hard to accept a defeat hoping it will yield a greater victory someday. My friend, my prophet, they signed their death warrants today.”
    “I’m no prophet, Nassef. Just a disciple of the Lord’s Way. And I want no deaths that can be
    avoided. Even King Aboud and the High Priests may someday seek the path of righteousness.”
    “Of course. I was speaking figuratively. Saying that by their actions they have doomed their
    cause.”
    “It is often thus with the minions of the Evil One. The more they struggle, the more they
    contribute to the Lord’s work. What about the raid? Are you sure we can pull it off?”
    “I sent Karim back to Al Rhemish. If our people do what we ask, if they keep the riots going
    and send us five hundred warriors, we can. There’ll be no one to stop us. All the lords came to Al Rhemish to see our humiliation. The riots will occupy them through Mashad. We’ll have a week’s lead.”
    “I just wish we could have christened the baby.”
    “That was a pity. We’ll return, Lord. We’ll see it done, some Mashad. I promise it.”
    For once Nassef’s words burned with total sincerity, with absolute conviction!
    The by-ways of the desert were long, lonely and slow, especially for a man apart from other
    men. There was no one for El Murid to confide in, to dream with, except Meryem. The
    Invincibles were too much in awe of him, too worshipful. Nassef and his handful of followers
    remained engrossed in their scheming against tomorrow. The riders who overtook them, coming
    from Al Rhemish by tens and twenties, were all strangers. The fast friends who had been his first converts, the others who had come with him out of El Aquila, were all dead, sainted.
    Nassef’s struggles on his behalf took their toll.
    The Disciple rode beside the white camel, his child in his lap. “She’s such a peaceful, tiny
    thing,” he marveled. “A miracle. The Lord has been good to us, Meryem.” He winced.
    “Your ankle?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’d better let me take her back, then.”
    “No. These moments are too rare already. And they’re going to become rarer still.” After a
    minute alone with his thoughts, “How long will it be before I can set aside my staff?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “How long before our success is achieved? How long till I can settle down and lead a normal
    life with you and her? We’ve been riding these hidden trails for three years. It seems like thirty.”
    “Never, my love. Never. And as a wife I loathe to admit it. But when the angel spoke to you,
    you became El Murid for all time. So long as the Lord sees fit to leave you among the living, that long must you remain the Disciple.”
    “I know. I know. It’s just the mortal within me wishing for something it can’t have.”
    They rode without speaking for a while. Then El Murid said, “Meryem, I’m lonely. I don’t
    have anyone but you.”
    “You have half the desert. Who brings us food and water from the settlements? Who carries
    the Truth into provinces we’ve never seen?”
    “I mean a friend. A simple, ordinary, personal friend. Somebody I can just play with, as I
    did when I was a child. Somebody I can talk to. Somebody who can share the fears and hopes of a man, not somebody smitten by the dreams of El Murid. Surely you’ve felt the same things since Fata died.”
    “Yes. Being the woman of El Murid is lonely, too.” After a time, “But you have Nassef.”
    “Nassef is your brother. I won’t speak ill of him to you. I do love him as if he were my own
    brother. I forgive him like a brother. But we’ll never be