Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [115]
“There it is. Maysef lies a few miles straight up this trail.” Kadar reined in and looked up at the mountain. “You are sure, Ware?”
“I’m sure. We have no choice.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I saw puffs of dust on the horizon behind us when we stopped the last time.”
Thea felt a rush of fear. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“So that you could worry too? It would not have been sensible.”
No, Ware would never share a burden if he could bear it alone. “I would like to have known.”
He shrugged. “Now you do.” He glanced at Kadar. “You go first. They know you.”
“Let us hope the Old Man doesn’t have new acolytes who aren’t familiar with me.” Kadar nudged his horse past them on the trail. “Oh, well, follow me.”
“Do you think Kemal will stop here?” Thea asked, looking over her shoulder. Was that haze in the distance the dust clouds about which Ware had spoken?
“It depends how much he values his head above his honor,” Ware said. “I’d judge he’ll come after us…until he runs into the first of the Old Man’s followers. Then he may be discouraged.”
Thea shifted her gaze to Selene, who was following Kadar up the trail. “I won’t have her put in danger. Could we leave her hidden here in the foothills?”
“Would she stay behind?” Ware shook his head. “Not unless we tied her to a tree, and then she’d be helpless if Kemal found her. She’s safer on the mountain with us.”
The mountain did not appear to possess any aspect of safety to Thea; it was dark and shadowy and full of menace. She shifted her shoulders uneasily. Imagination. It was only a mountain like any other.
But assassins did not lurk behind trees and rocks on any other mountain.
“Shouldn’t we go faster?”
“Not until it becomes necessary. The horses are tired and we may need a sudden burst of speed.”
“Won’t Kemal’s horses be tired also?”
“Perhaps. If he didn’t bring extra horses to switch.”
She had not thought of that possibility and did not wish to dwell on it. “Why won’t this Sinan welcome Kemal? Is he not a follower of Saladin?”
“He hates Saladin.”
“Well, then won’t he welcome the Templars if they come after us?”
“He hates the Franks also.”
“Then where does his allegiance lie?”
“With his own sect, the assassins. He rules an independent state here in the mountains. For the most part he’s content to watch and wait for Saladin and the Franks to kill one another.” He paused. “If they do not offend him.”
“And if they do?”
“At one time Saladin sought to destroy the assassins. He came here and laid siege to Maysef. Sinan was not in residence, and it should have been no trouble to capture him when he journeyed back to defend his fortress. For some reason they found it impossible to intercept him. Then Saladin became troubled by hideous nightmares every night. He was afraid to go to sleep. He became worn and haggard, jumping at shadows. One night he woke in his tent and found on his bed some hotcakes that only the assassins were known to bake, a poisoned dagger, and a paper with threatening verse written on it. Saladin was convinced that the Old Man of the Mountain himself had been in his tent. His nerve broke, and he sent a message to Sinan asking to be forgiven for his sins and begging self-conduct out of the mountains. He promised to leave the assassins forever undisturbed.” Ware smiled sardonically. “Sinan graciously pardoned him.”
Thea found the tale darkly fascinating. “How did the assassin get into Saladin’s tent? He must have been surrounded by his army.”
“Ask Kadar. Infiltration is part of the training of all Sinan’s followers.”
Her gaze went to Kadar. “Would he answer me if I asked him?”
“Probably not. He doesn’t talk about his time with Sinan.”
Kadar’s words came back to her. One must learn to walk the dark paths. But sometimes it’s possible to learn too much, delve too deep.
She suddenly realized she didn’t want to know about those dark paths. If she did, she wasn’t sure she would ever view Kadar in the same way. She went back to the original