The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (16 page)

Sandilianus
shook his head in vigorous denial, and crossed his arms across his
chest. “You were dead as stone, Ahmed. I took your pulse
myself. I could lie to the rest of the men, to you even, but not to
myself.” He paused a moment, as if uncertain whether he would
speak of something, then charged forward. “And there was a
green glow about you. I thought at the time it was some creature
from the sea, and I had no intention of reaching in your shirt to be
stung by it. But now....” He sighed and gestured towards
Ahmed's makeshift necklace, a half-lion's head on a simple leather
thong. “I am certain it was that. No reason, just my gut.”

Ahmed
fingered the talisman, his “souvenir” as he tried to
absorb what Sandilianus was saying.
What is this thing?
It
was indeed something to consider, but later. For now, it would have
to remain a mystery. More pressing matters demanded his attention.
Slowly, carefully, he asked, “Why speak of this now?”

“When
was there time before? I should have trotted this out in front of
the men?” He waved his hand as if to bat the notion aside like
a fly. “Even you are close to calling me mad for this. If I
had lost their faith spouting wild stories, where would either of us
be right now?”

Ahmed
stared back at Sandilianus in silence, feeling as if the world were
slipping out from beneath him.
I died!
It was madness, but
what else could he believe? “Never have I even
heard
of
such a thing. Dead men do not come back!”

Sandilianus's
gaze was unwavering. “At least one
has
. I swear it
Ahmed, I swear it before
Ilaweh
. Why else do you think a
veteran like me would follow an unblooded boy, guide you and groom
you? The same reason Brutus at last began to believe in Yazid.”

“Yet
he would not see it through.”

“No.
I think Yazid's death left him feeling a fool, and to have to flee
the battle on top of that, it was too much for him. It's why I say
we could never have changed his mind. Once he turned away from
believing, he would never have gone back again, so Ilaweh called him
home and put me in his place.” The veteran wore a wry, wistful
smile. “Ilaweh knew him well, too, it seems.”

Ahmed
took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still having trouble
digesting Sandilianus's revelation. “We must work out what to
do next.”

Sandilianus
looked at him in horror. “Do you not
know
? Did not
Yazid prepare you for this?”

Ahmed
shook his head, feeling terribly weary. “Yazid's writing and
books are at the bottom of the sea, and even then, he kept most of
it in his own head.”

“But
surely he taught you?”

Ahmed
knew his discomfort must show, but there was no good way around
confessing. “I was a poor student. He tried to teach me much,
but I often did not listen, even knowing I would get my ears boxed
if he caught me daydreaming. I wanted to fight, not sit in a
classroom. I thought because I could sometimes feel Ilaweh's will in
my heart, it would be enough.” He stared at the ground,
feeling tears of shame burning in his eyes. “In truth, I never
imagined it would be me to bear this duty. I leaned too heavily on
Yazid's strength, and now I am on my knees as Talifah smiles. I am
not worthy of this task.”

Sandilianus
moved forward with the speed of a lion and crashed his hand down on
the desk, his eyes aflame with fury. “You blaspheme!
You
are the man Ilaweh
chose
! Who is the fool, Ilaweh or you,
eh?”

Ahmed
ran his forearm furiously across his eyes, full of shame at such
weakness. “I am the fool.”

“Then
stop this whimpering and do his will!”

“I
would, if only I
knew
it!”

Sandilianus
stepped back and scowled at this, rubbing at his chin in
appreciation of the problem. “I always assumed you prelates
knew the answers, but perhaps that is unfair. Yazid
seemed
to
know, but I suspect in his heart he had as many questions as we do.
He put on a bold face to lead. There's another lesson for you, if
you will learn it, poor student.”

Ahmed
chuckled at this. “Your lessons are more to my liking. With
Yazid, I wanted to fight, not study books. Your lessons seem more
practical.”

“They
are. And here is one more. War is risk. Sometimes we must give
orders without full knowledge, and sometimes men die because of it.
If we do not gamble on occasion, the enemy will get ahead of us. If
we cannot be certain, and time is precious, we must make a choice
and pray Ilaweh guides us.”

“Aye.
We planned a day of rest, so let us finish it. Sometimes answers
come in dreams. We will make our decision in the morning, whatever
the case.”

“
You
will make the decision,” Sandilianus corrected. “Rest
well, Ahmed.” He hammered a fist to his chest and left without
another word.

Alone
now, Ahmed bowed his head, folded his hands, and began to pray.

Ilaweh, show me the way
!

Ahmed woke with a start, still
seated at the desk. The lantern had burned out, and it was pitch
black inside the cabin.
Something is wrong!
For a moment, he
felt his innards chill with seawater, imagining they were once again
sinking, but that was not it. The ship was rolling gently, but
otherwise calm. There were no sounds of storm or breakage, no cries
of terror.

This was something entirely
different.

It was absolutely quiet.
Too
quiet. The night watches tried to be courteous, but there was always
some conversation or accident that made noise. Now? Nothing.

Ahmed checked his sword and
moved to the door. He hammered the latch and threw the door open
hard enough to slam against the outer bulkhead. Silvery moonlight
streamed into the dark room through the open hatch as he stepped out
onto the main deck.

It was, indeed, bad. The decks
were empty, meaning the ship was essentially out of control! Where
was the crew?

“Battle stations!”
he cried.

That seemed to upset someone.
He could hear his own men scrambling to readiness, but he also heard
cries of fear from…overboard?

He turned his head to the port
side to see the ship’s small boat had been lowered. Damn them!
They were fleeing in the middle of the ocean? It was madness!

Ahmed sprinted over to the
railing and saw he was right. The thirty some odd natives were
packed into the small lifeboat, and almost ready to depart. The
Nihlosian was nowhere to be seen. The mutineers looked up at Ahmed
in shock and fear, then redoubled their efforts to cast off their
remaining lines

“Fools!” Ahmed
shouted. “We are deep at sea! You will all surely die in that
punt!”

One of them, the ringleader
Ahmed supposed, shouted back, “It is a better death than
driven straight to hell over the edge of the world!”

“Superstitious wretch!
There
is
no edge to the world!”

“So says a black skinned
demon. Better to drown than go back to your home!” The last of
the lines came loose, and the boat began to drift away.

For a brief moment, Ahmed
considered letting them go to their doom, but he knew it was too
cruel a punishment for simply being idiots. Besides, he really
needed them. His men could likely run the ship without them, at
least for a while, but it would be dangerous with no extra hands.
They could limp back to the coast on their own, but without a
navigator, they would never be going home.
Ahmed
though briefly of Tahir, remembering how much he had hated the
halfbreed.

Ahmed looked about, hoping some
of his men would be closer, but they were only just now emerging
onto the main deck. If the mutineers got the boat even a short
distance away, it would be damnably difficult to overpower them. His
men were soldiers, not sharks.

His eye fell upon a great hunk
of metal lying against the rails. It was tied to a long rope. An
anchor, perhaps? No, too small, and he didn’t really need to
know exactly what its actual use was in order to give it a new one.
He pulled at it, grunting. It was at least a hundred pounds.
Good.
That should do.
He hauled the thing onto the top of the
rail with a grunt.

“Will you not turn back,
fools?” he called down.

They looked up in horror,
realizing his plan, but this did nothing to dissuade them from
leaving. They scrambled for oars and plunged them in the water,
cursing and shouting at one another, but it was too late.

Ahmed heaved the chunk of metal
over the side. The escapees watched it fall, screaming and
scrambling to get out of the way. It hit the bow like a catapult
missile, tearing away the entire front of the boat with the
thunderous crash of snapping timber.

Ahmed turned back to his
approaching men. “Someone help them aboard before they drown.
And find me that damned Nihlosian!”

They found him quickly enough,
bound and gagged in the aft crew’s quarters. Eleran glared
about in impotent fury as they chuckled at his plight, his eyes
making promises for his fists to keep when he was free. Ahmed
grinned at this and brought out his blade to cut the bonds. “Hold
still, fool, or I’ll end up opening an artery.”

Eleran groaned, but held still
long enough to get a hand free. He tore the gag from his mouth and
groped for Ahmed’s blade. Ahmed pulled it back, smiling in
good humor. “A man’s sword means something. Would you
grab at my woman, too, if I had one?”

Eleran’s rage backed
away, and he offered Ahmed a wry smile. “Probably.”

Ahmed relented and handed him
the blade. “No wonder they didn’t include you in their
plans.”

“Yeeh, that and the fact
that I’m the 'paleskin',” Eleran said as he began
cutting through the rest of his bonds. “Like I said, I do a
lot of fighting.”

Ahmed scowled at this. It was
surely true, and even something he might have done himself. But
suddenly, it seemed
wrong
.
A beast did not
know
it was a beast. If it had the presence of mind to object to being
treated as such, then it would not
be
a beast.

Eleran handed him the blade
back and massaged aching muscles. “Thanks.”

“Where the hell is the
midwatch?”

“I dunno. I gotta take a
leak, ok? Then I’ll help you look for them.”

Ahmed nodded, and the two
headed up the ladder to the main deck. Eleran did his business over
the side, looking about as he did so. Too late, Ahmed realized that
the entire business about the rail was less biological and more
scouting. When Eleran was done, he charged headlong at the
mutineers’ ringleader, knocked him flat, and rained a truly
impressive series of blows upon the man.

Ahmed and his people didn’t
know the exact reason for the fight, but they followed decorum,
gathering round in a circle and pounding rhythmically on whatever
was nearby.

It became apparent very quickly
that Eleran was not merely boasting when he claimed he did a lot of
fighting. It was likewise apparent that the ringleader did very
little. Ahmed let it go on for a bit. It was rude to interfere in a
contest of fists or steel, but a contest of fists was supposed to be
non-lethal.

“Enough!” Ahmed
called. Eleran seemed not to hear. Ahmed stepped in and grabbed him
from behind. It took three more of the Xanthians to completely
restrain Eleran’s flailing fists. Ahmed put a knee on the
Nihlosian’s heaving chest and looked down at him with
admiration. “We will release you when your blood cools. You
are a good fighter.”

Sandilianus’s head poked
from below decks, followed by the rest of his body as he mounted the
ladder. “Did I miss it all?”

Ahmed pointed to the
ringleader. “This fool needs a medic.”

Sandilianus eyed Eleran, who
was still gasping and struggling in fury. “What did he do to
you?”

Eleran took a deep breath and
relaxed. “What didn’t he do?” His captors, sensing
he was in control once again, backed away cautiously, ready to seize
him again if this were a ruse. “But lately? He took my stash,
for one thing. That’s how they drugged your men. That shit was
worth a fucking month’s pay!”

The ringleader spat through
bloody lips, “Fuck you, demon man dog.”

Sandilianus kicked him in the
ribs, drawing a grunt from the man. “You have made enough
enemies today. No need to encourage more. Now shall I throw you a
beating as well, or will you have my aid?”

The ringleader snorted blood
and shrugged. “I got no choice.”

Ahmed laughed. “Smart
man.”

Sandilianus spoke as he worked.
“We found them below, Ahmed, piled up in the sail locker,
sleeping like babies. We should beat them for being stupid enough to
get drugged.”

“I may just do that.
Meanwhile, I have other problems. I want you and your patient in my
quarters as soon as he can walk.” He turned to Eleran. “You
too, ‘demon man dog’.” He chuckled. “That’s
too many words for a good insult.”

Eleran shook his head,
embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

Ahmed nodded. “Don’t
be.”

Sandilianus shook his head in
dismay. “What I can’t understand is what you imbeciles
hoped to accomplish! You were going to your
deaths
,
fool.”

He stood leaning against the
bulkhead of Ahmed’s cabin, arms crossed over his chest. Ahmed
sat at a great desk, and Eleran and the ringleader occupied the two
chairs facing Ahmed. The ringleader, who had identified himself as
Bendaro, hunched his shoulders and scowled at the floor.

“We know how to sail,”
he muttered.

“Thirty leagues of open
ocean? In a fucking
punt
?”

Bendaro shrugged, looking more
resigned now, and nodded. “We knew the risks. We ain’t
gonna get sailed over the edge of the world to hell! Better to die.”