Empire of Lies

65

By dawn, they had made decent progress.

Led by Kolschitzky, they had followed the bank of the river north, moving with extreme caution, their senses alert to any sound or any flicker of movement.

Traveling at night had been slower and more exhausting than it would be during the day, but it was safer. The strain of the low visibility and the uncertain terrain, coupled with the hunger they all felt, had drained them and slowed them down. And without horses or weapons, Kolschitzky, Kamal, and Nisreen were no match for any threat, so it was crucial that they remain unseen.

With the light breaking through the horizon to their right, they took advantage of a carved cleft in the riverbank to rest and drink water before pressing on. An hour’s walk later, the river turned left, heading west, toward Stetteldorf and Tulln. The terrain under their feet had risen into a small hillock, and, as they reached its crest, they saw the thick forests up ahead, the dense carpet of oak and beech that hugged the north bank of the river and would take over from the exposed meadows they were on.

The sun would soon sweep away their cover, and they needed to get to safer ground before that happened.

They were making their way down the hill when Kolschitzky saw movement in the distance. He froze and trained his eyes on the edge of the forest. Some horsemen emerged from behind a thicket of trees and were riding into the plain ahead of them, less than three berids—the equivalent of half a mile—away.

“Down,” he said.

The three of them dove to the ground and flattened themselves in the tall grass and wildflowers, raising their heads just enough to track the danger.

More riders appeared, a pack that grew to well over fifty horses. The ground thundered under their hooves as an angry cloud of churned earth swirled around them.

Kolschitzky squinted, studying them. “Tartars,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

The Tartars were headed their way.

Kamal and Nisreen had never seen anything like them. Even at that distance, the menace they projected was nerve-wracking.

They rode in a short-stirrup fashion, their advance fluid and yet forceful. Each horseman trailed two or three spare ponies, which they were known to rotate to always ensure a fresh mount. The horses themselves were huge and powerfully built, specially bred to cross vast distances at speed. The riders wore no armor and carried no firearms; instead, they relied on their distinctive recurved bows, whose forward-curved tips stored more energy while allowing a short, fast, and smooth pull. Trained archers and horsemen from a young age, Tartar raiders could unleash a fusillade of heavy arrows with deadly accuracy at full gallop. After centuries of raiding and pillaging, they had fully earned the nickname “the devil’s horsemen.”

Devil’s horsemen who were coming straight at them.

Kolschitzky scanned right, then left, beyond Kamal and Nisreen. “Roll,” he blurted, jabbing his finger at the air behind them. “Roll away, down the hill.”

The hillock sloped gently down from where they were, back to the water, the tall grass only interrupted by scattered clusters of hornbeams and rocky outcroppings.

“Go, go, go,” he hissed, gesturing insistently.

They rolled sideways, one after the other, moving frantically, hugging the ground, tumbling as quickly as they could. The sensation was dizzying, the spinning amplified by the lightheadedness caused by their hunger, but they kept going, while in the background, with each rotation, their ears picked up the growing rage of the approaching horses.

“There,” Kamal said, pointing at an outcropping that, while low, spread out enough to provide some cover.

Still hugging the ground, they clawed their way toward it, one after the other, the mounted storm getting ever closer. They took cover behind it just as the clamor from the horses felt like it was right on top of them, but the raiders stormed past, bypassing the outcropping and sticking to the clear grassland.

Kamal hazarded a peek as the last of them thundered by. The men looked different from the Ottomans and Austrians he’d seen; their features were more Asian, and they sported pointed beards and wispy moustaches. Their dress was also different: flared caps folded upwards, leather cuirasses, thick belts holding jacketed scimitars, and the unique bows, slung across their backs along with quivers brimming with arrows.

They waited there, breathing hard, muscles taut, until the convoy receded into the distance.

“That was close,” Kamal grumbled.

“They’re everywhere,” Kolschitzky told them. “These barbarians, and the bashi-bazouks. I don’t know who’s worse.”

Kamal flashed back uncomfortably to the explanation he’d given Kolschitzky the first time they’d met, about why he and Nisreen had appeared in Vienna with no clothes on. It was too close for comfort.

“We need to get to the forest,” Kolschitzky added.

“And after that?” Nisreen asked.

“We’re almost halfway to the castle,” Kolschitzky told them. “Once we get to the forest, we’ll follow the river until we reach the bank across from Tulln. From there, Stetteldorf is directly north. But it’s an open trail.”

“Open, meaning exposed,” Kamal said.

“Yes, but not for long. We should be able to cross the open ground in no more than two hours. And if what you say about the relief army being close is true, I should think there’ll be less risk of running into more of these savages.”

“Better get moving then,” Nisreen said.

Kolschitzky nodded and took the lead.

Kamal brought up the rear, and they trudged forward, his unease growing with every step. On foot, they were easy prey for the hordes of raiders. Ideally, he would have much rather that they waited another night, but it was not an option. It was Monday. The suicide bombers would strike on Wednesday, at midday. Waiting until Tuesday would barely give Sobieski and his allies twenty-four hours to devise a plan to thwart the bombers and ambush the Ottoman army that would follow. And Kamal needed enough time to carry out his own part of the plan.

He also needed to discuss what he had read about what had happened with Nisreen and Kolschitzky. That part of the homework—the forensic accounts of what had happened on that infamous Wednesday—had gripped him. The great Ottoman victory had been pored over by many a historian, but the work that intrigued Kamal most was Rasheed’s own account of it. The time traveler had allowed his ego to run rampant while writing about his ingenious master stroke, which gave Kamal all the information he needed. Kamal had come up with his own counterplan, and he now needed to share it with his companions in case something happened to him on the way to Stetteldorf. They were still exposed and would remain at risk until they were behind the castle’s gates.

He also needed to inform them of his plan to deal with Rasheed. He couldn’t delay it much longer. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Nisreen at the castle, but there was no other way. He knew it would be an impossibly difficult moment for them both, and it had to be done.

As they moved on, he shared what he knew with them about the timing and the specifics about the suicide bombers and the army’s onslaught that would follow, the question of what would happen once they reached Stetteldorf festering in his mind.

Once he’d finished, and as if she had been reading his thoughts, Nisreen soon forced the issue.

The question had reared its unwelcome head each time Nisreen had a quiet moment of reflection, which, perhaps mercifully, hadn’t happened too often since they’d made their last jump.

Listening to Kamal talk them through his plan, she felt that they had the first part of what they needed to do—warn Sobieski—reasonably well covered. But what about the second? How would they make sure Rasheed wouldn’t be able to jump back in time and try again?

Back at the library, in Paris—it now felt like years ago to her, a brief interlude that was more dream than reality—Kamal had told her that he would need to do it alone, and she had grudgingly agreed. But as that moment drew nearer, the dread of confronting it had spread through her like knotweed.

She decided to raise it once Kamal was finished, which coincided with their reaching the relative cover of the forest and cutting through it to get to the water’s edge.

Kolschitzky walked around, foraging for food; then he bent down and picked something. He turned and waved them over. “Over here, my friends,” he told them. “Let the feasting begin.”

Kamal and Nisreen joined him. Small, light-brown mushrooms littered the ground between the trees.

“Yummy,” Nisreen groaned.

“These ones aren’t poisonous,” Kolschitzky said as he chewed on one. “And there’ll be berries about.”

“Too bad we don’t have time to hunt for boar,” Kamal said. “I believe these woods are part of the emperor’s hunting grounds?”

“They were. But we’re the hunted ones now,” Kolschitzky said. “Here’s hoping for that to change very soon.” Then, wryly, he added, “Inshallah”—if God wills it.

Nisreen watched as Kamal gave him a slight, tacit bow of the head.

The dread was still festering in her mind while they collected enough mushrooms, bilberries, and primrose flowers to fuel them on. They were eating gratefully by the water’s edge when she finally decided to bring it up.

“Kamal,” she asked, her tone hesitant, “what about Rasheed?”

Kamal stopped drinking the water he’d cupped in the palm of his hand and watched it run off. He just stared at the rippled surface of the river, then inhaled deeply before turning to face her.

“I’m going to have to go. Soon.”

Even though she’d been expecting it, his confirmation still unsettled her deeply.

Kolschitzky stepped in, asking, “You have to go? Where?”

Kamal took a breath, seeming to need to formulate his response. “There’s a man advising the grand vizier and the sultan. He’s the key to all this. I need to make sure he doesn’t survive this.”

Kolschitzky looked baffled. “If we’re successful… if we stop their assassins and turn their ambush against them, the sultan’s army will be defeated. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Kamal said. “We need to make sure he dies.”

“Who? I don’t understand,” Kolschitzky pressed.

“His name is Ayman Rasheed.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s behind all this. He’s the mastermind. And his abilities are limitless, believe me. The only way to ensure any lasting effect of anything we achieve here is to make sure he doesn’t survive.” He could see Kolschitzky was having trouble processing this. “I was there with them,” Kamal added. “I know what I’m talking about—trust me. I need to seek him out and kill him.”

“Where?” Nisreen asked.

“At the camp. His tent is next to the grand vizier’s compound.”

It was what Nisreen had been expecting him to say, but hearing him say it still cut through her like a blade.

Kolschitzky looked dumbfounded. “You’re talking about not just infiltrating the enemy camp, but killing a man, someone important, in its most heavily guarded part?” He looked like was still processing the implications. “This is madness.”

“Worse than madness,” Nisreen added. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“It doesn’t need to be,” Kamal said, “and there’s no other option. It’s the one place we know he’ll be. He watched the battle with the grand vizier from a position up in the hills, but I don’t know exactly where that is. The only place I know he’ll be at is at the camp, right until they start moving toward Tulln tomorrow afternoon.”

“Wait, what?” Kolschitzky interjected. “What do you mean, he watched it? It hasn’t happened yet.”

Kamal glanced furtively at her. She felt as caught off guard as he looked.

“I mean that’s their plan,” Kamal backtracked quickly. “I misspoke.” He turned to Nisreen. “Hayatim, I’ve thought of this long and hard. It’s the only way. But I can do it. I’ve worked undercover before. I can handle these situations. And believe me, I have no intention of leaving you here without me.” He said the last part pointedly, and she understood that he was emphasizing what was unsaid, what couldn’t be said in front of the Pole.

He stepped closer and took her hands. “It’s going to be fine, hayatim. It’ll be easier for me knowing that you’re safe at the castle. And when it’s done, I’ll come back for you there. I promise.”

She held his gaze, even though her insides felt as if they were being shredded.

Reading her, Kamal added, “Besides, we have our ways of getting out of tight spots, right?”

Her mind still in turmoil, she found herself nodding, even though she was too perturbed to process the implications of what he was suggesting. “When do you have to go?”

“Once we reach the castle, I’ll set out as quickly as I can to make best use of the light. I won’t be able to make much progress during the night. That’ll leave tomorrow to reach the camp and find him. Which should be enough. Killing him needs to be done as late as possible, just as the army’s setting off. I don’t want to disrupt anything too early and risk having them change their plans.”

A somber silence shrouded them until Kolschitzky spoke up. “All that sounds easy enough,” he said with obvious sarcasm. “But how do you expect to get across the Wienerwald?” He was using the local name for the Vienna Woods. “Do you know the area?”

“I’ve studied maps.”

“Maps? You think you’ll be fine because you studied maps? You don’t just cross the Wienerwald with a map. If you get off the high road, it’s a veritable maze of narrow trails. One can easily get lost in the paths that snake up and down those mountains. No, you wouldn’t have a hope in hell alone. I’ll go with you.”

Kamal was taken aback. He couldn’t tell Kolschitzky that the maps he’d looked at were far, far more detailed and precise than the primitive ones that were around back then, the only ones Kolschitzky would have known. But the Pole had a point. Crossing the mountains was a daunting challenge, and he didn’t have the luxury of time. He couldn’t afford any delays and knew that having Kolschitzky guide him to the Ottoman camp was, in fact, crucial.

Kamal gave him a respectful, small bow of the head. “My gratitude knows no words, Herr Kolschitzky.”

“Call me Georg,” he said, waving his words off. “I think we’ve been through enough to dispense with formality.”

Kamal smiled, and bowed again.

Kolschitzky studied him, a curious glint in his eye. “I can’t wait for this to all be over so we can finally sit down and have us a proper chat,” he said. “I intend to get you so drunk you won’t be able to hold back your tongue.”

“I look forward to it.” Kamal smiled, turning to Nisreen and letting his gaze linger on her. “Agreed?” he asked her.

She studied him for a moment, and couldn’t help but feel uplifted by his infectious fortitude. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

“It’s a date then.” Kamal beamed back.

Then they set off.