Chapter 36

Barnett looked up as the communications screen chimed for attention. “Ralph? What's got you up at this hour?”

“I am supposed to pass on the message that the attack has started.” The shepherd yawned. “Which you probably already know, I would bet my tail, so why they rousted me out of bed at three in the morning I have no idea.”

“Well, yes, it is kind of hard to miss a street full of fanatics chanting 'Death to America'. I hope there was more than that.”

He nodded. “Stand by to copy. Maps coming over.” The transfer process was repeated five times, and Ralph yawned again. “Okay, that's the satellite images and redrawn maps to pass on to Haroun if you can. Anything we can do for you on this end?”

“Not if you can't get planes through. We might want to consider a glider-bomber, though. Or maybe a dragon air force. One thing. I am currently trying to establish contact with the Palace. If someone on your end could get his embassy to give me a clue how to break into his mirror network, it would help a lot.”

Ralph nodded. “I'll pass it on.”

* * * *

The family of the Imatari had served the Old Goddess for as long as they could remember, daughter succeeding mother since the days when the first of their line had helped nurse her back to health at the behest of Prince Haroun. Things had changed since they had awakened from their long sleep, and for the first time in centuries one of her line had left their native land to accompany the Goddess on a journey across the oceans. Now she had been roused in the middle of the night by one of the guardians of the embassy at the request of the American... not court, she had been told, but their leader.

“The messenger says it is most urgent, milady. The Prince is even now under attack, and they wish to consult with her and offer their assistance.”

She fought through the fog of sleep and forced herself to alertness. “Their scryers know this?”

“The messenger says that they do, milady. And that she is invited to join their leader and his advisors as they monitor events.”

That decided her. “She has mentioned her curiosity about their methods. Tell the messenger to wait, I will bring her this news.”

The Goddess was still a cat, of course, and waking a sleeping cat was always a tricky thing. One of the secrets that had been passed down from mother to daughter was how to wake her safely. Once the guards had admitted her to her quarters, she took one of the large feathered fans from its place on the wall and went into the sleeping chamber. Her mother's words came to her now. <She often dreams of the hunt, and it is best not to be in arm's reach when she first awakens.> The fan provided the needed distance, and she caressed the Goddess' back with the feathers, gently at first and then getting more insistent. After the third brush, the lioness raised a paw to bat at the feathers and the Imatari shifted to her face. A snort and a clawed hand slashing at the fan brought the Goddess awake, blinking sleep away while her eyes shone in the dim light.

The Imatari knelt, bringing the fan up to a more respectful position. “The American King has sent a messenger requesting your presence. The foretellings of their Seeress have come to pass, and even now the rebels move to attack the Prince and those of us who slept through the years with him. He would consult with you and ask your help to contact Prince Haroun as their scryers watch what develops.”

Bast shook herself awake. “Their scryers? Then this is an opportunity not to be squandered. Tell them I will join them as soon as I can. And then return and help me dress. Go!”

* * * *

“Ambassador. Welcome to the White House.” The white-furred wolf smiled and offered her hand in the American greeting. “I would apologize for dragging you out of bed at such an hour, but in truth it is your rebels that are to blame.”

Bast nodded, and politely accepted the handshake. “No need to apologize. Your offer of assistance is welcome, and I should apologize for our original suspicion of your offers. You have proven yourselves to be a generous people, Seeress, as unusual as that is in the usual discourse between Powers. The recommendation of the Eldest is not to be sneered at, either, even if some of your practices are quite puzzling to us. But it is difficult to argue with your success.”

Lowe smiled at that. “We do have a saying. 'If it is stupid, and it works, it wasn't stupid.' To business, then. If you will come with me...?” The wolf led the way to one of the non-public areas, a room where several people were watching screens and taking notes at one end, while at the other end of the room a lone canid sat at his own screen.

Bast frowned at the apparent segregation for a moment before she realized that the crowded end of the room did include two non-humans. “May I ask why that one is all by himself?”

Lowe nodded. “He is using a mana-powered device, while the others are electronic in nature. They do not work well together. He is our contact with our embassy in Ba-Yabel, while the rest are the people keeping watch as well as we are able.”

“They are scrying -without- magic?”

The wolf gave her one of those irritating lupine tongue-lolling grins. “Indeed they are. We call it satellite surveillance. The concept is not a secret, though the details of our particular techniques are; we had debated whether or not to show this to you, but the President decided that it would not be a useful secret for long in any event. As the world changes, we suspect the satellites will fail anyway. And since Prince Haroun showed us something of his methods, it seems only fair to reciprocate.”

“Sah-tell-ite?” The lioness stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “The term does not translate.”

“Cameras that watch from orbit. Small tiny moons that circle the Earth above the atmosphere.”

“And you found these moons without magic?”

“We -made- them. I think we should also invite you to visit a launch. Wallops Island isn't far from here.”

One of the humans came over to them. “Director? We have a Keyhole pass coming up in three minutes, if you and the Ambassador would care to watch?”

* * * *

Karim looked up as the fennec jogged up to join the leaders of the loyalists. “Ah, there you are, Sergeant. I trust all is well with you?”

“There was an attempt to kill me by one of the Muslims. You recall I told you of the suicide bombers?” Karim nodded. “Had he succeeded, it would also have killed Hakim and his family, as well as his customers and many of the passers-by. Fortunately, they did not build with Ba-Yabel in mind. What works in the outside world does not always work here, and this was such a case. I left Hakim and his family with yours, and your grandson told me where you were. And he asked me to bear witness that he is following your orders.”

Karim nodded. “He was unhappy at being left behind.”

“So was young Farid, but they stayed nonetheless. Good discipline, both of them. Now, to business. They are coming down the Street of Weavers with little scouting to either side, though to be honest that would not be easy here. The weapons they carry, the long ones similar to this...?” He brought out his pistol to demonstrate. “They will throw a small bit of metal extremely fast. The effect is similar to an arrow, but causes even more damage. However, like a bow, they are clumsy in close quarters and are of no use at all at sword or knife range. Your barricade will slow them down, but it will do little to stop rifle bullets.”

This got a nasty chuckle from the red-haired woman sitting two places from Karim. “They will be surprised, I hope. Thanks in part to your Lord Ambassador, the Prince has learned something of these weapons and his magicians have devised warding spells. I have placed such wards on those manning the barricade. They will not last forever, but they will stop these 'bullets' for a time.”

Foster's answering smile was just as nasty. “And I have my armor.” He perked his ears as the sound of shouting came from up the street. “Showtime. Are you the one who emplaced the defensive wards on the street in front of them, perchance...?”

* * * *

The camera angle started out low as Ba-Yabel came over the satellite's horizon and cleared the ground haze. “Western approaches, no change. Zoom ten on Southern Road.” The image blinked and expanded, refocusing on the south side of the town. “Unusual outbound traffic, inbound traffic seems to be backed up...”

Bast was fascinated by the images. “These are as clear as any scrying I have ever seen. Can you stop the drift?”

Lowe shook her head. “That is inherent in the satellite orbits. They circle the globe a dozen times per day or more, depending on how they have been set, and can never stop. But when they pass over a region, they can provide excellent views.”

“...back to overview. Scanning... zoom ten on Palace approach southwest...”

The screens flickered once to a distant view and then again, enlarging the image of the monument-lined boulevard that connected the southern road to the center of the city. Bast growled as the cameras started to pick up the ragged column of rebels marching on the Palace. “This is the Avenue of Heroes. Where are... Ah. There they are. The Prince is trying something clever, I see. Or Colonel Sayid is, perhaps.”

* * * *

The rebels stopped some seventy-five meters short of the barricade, as far as they could be with a straight line of sight in the crooked streets of the ancient city. A very ragged volley of shots rang out, tearing splinters from the carts parked across the gap. The redhead grinned as the bullets pinged off the wards she had set, and frowned when two of the locals went down, injured by the splinters. “The wards did not allow for that. They are set to block metal.”

Foster nodded. “You slept through that part of our history, I'm afraid. Still, two injuries versus a dozen dead without the wards? Worthwhile.” He paused, taking a sight on one of the rebels. “This is a very loud weapon. Count of three. One, two, thr--” The last word was drowned in the explosion of noise that launched the bullet, and one of the rebels went down, screaming.

“Noisy, but effective. Karim didn't introduce us, by the way. Call me Haddiya.”

“Richard Foster. Call me Rick.”

“And they're almost there...” The rebels started to move forward as they realized there was almost no incoming fire. Haddiya spoke, in no language that Foster recognized, sounds that barely sounded human. And then the street erupted in flame, the region between the mud brick walls shimmering in heat-haze as fire danced across the cobbles.

Shouts of “Allahu Akbar!” changed to screams of panic and pain as the center of the crowd of rebels discovered they had no easy way out. The redhead snarled her satisfaction. “And that is a start on repayment for what you did to my sister, you mangy sons of an incontinent jackal.”

Foster started shooting as the lead elements of the rabble broke away from the flames and started running toward the barricade, firing wildly as they came. “Got any more of that on tap?”

“Nothing that big. Have to set something like that up in advance. But I'm sure I can manage.”

Behind them, Karim shouted. “LOOSE!” and a volley of arrows sailed overhead.

* * * *

Salah Bin Mohammed nodded in satisfaction as his people finally made it to the Palace Square. The way had been plagued by the machinations of the apostate Prince, flame and lightning erupting from the street under his people, sometimes barely moments after enemies had crossed the same spot with no problem at all. But the minions of Shaitan could not stand against his warriors, and his riflemen were even now shooting at the Palace sentries as Abd al-Rahman's column entered from the Great East Road. The northern group, the one that was supposed to approach from the Street of Weavers, was nowhere to be seen, but he had enough to storm the Palace, and he ordered his mortar squads to start their bombardment.

* * * *

“Zoom twenty. There. I think... yes. Mortars, Director. Does the Prince have countermeasures for mortars?”

Lowe glanced at the lioness. “Ambassador Knight reported that he was told about them. Did he have any samples to experiment with?”

Bast shrugged. “I do not know, of course. But I think it is a good idea to get in touch with him directly. I should either return to my embassy or contact him from here. Do you have a mirror of silver? My spells will not work on your things of glass and 'plah-steek'.”

The wolf nodded. “Close at hand. Stardancer suspected that you might use that for such spells.” She pointed to one of the aides. “We've got a half dozen of different sizes in the utility closet. Bring them in, please.”

* * * *

As arrow storms went, a dozen archers made for an anemic drizzle. But since it only had to cover the width of a street, that was enough to get the attention of the attackers. The contempt of the moderns for primitive weapons was misplaced – the advantage of firearms is ease of training, not effectiveness, and once the fight began that was no longer relevant. Return fire had to deal with the armoring counterspells, and most of the attackers had no body armor themselves. They huddled in doorways to shelter from the incoming fire, and the survivors retreated as the fire-trap died down, back behind the bend in the street. Foster perked his ears up to listen to the shouting that echoed down the street from where they were regrouping. “I think we got their leader. They're arguing about who is entitled to give orders now.” A shot rang out, and the fennec winced. “And someone decided to use a different argument...” His ears went flat. “And their new chief would rather drop back and loot rather than press the attack. Looks like we're going to have to charge them. Karim!”

“I heard you, my friend. What do you suggest?”

“That we send two groups along the roofs, one on each side, and the rest of us go down the street. Let the archers cover us until we are close to the bend in the street, then follow.”

Karim nodded, and raised his voice to the crowd. “Let it be as he says. Those on the rooftops, move along the Street of the Weavers, and the rest follow the Sergeant.”

Foster nodded. “Stick to the walls, and be prepared to take cover if they show themselves.” He gestured forward. “Ooo-rah!!” The militia soldiers echoed the cry, a bit puzzled, but followed as he led the charge up the street.

* * * *

The ceremonial guards had withdrawn into the Palace behind closed gates before the rebels arrived in the Square, and the traditional preparations for a siege were underway when they ventured into the square. Like their compatriots to the north, the initial contempt of riflemen for archers didn't last long after the battle was joined, and the rebels retreated out of the immediate line of fire to let the mortars work on the defenses first.

The tubes were quickly set up, and the thump of launching projectiles echoed among the statues. Half of the first group fell short, exploding in the Palace Square itself, two overshot the Palace completely and landed on the far side, one landed in the palace courtyard, and one detonated on top of the wall. Counterspells stopped the shrapnel, but not the force of the explosions themselves, and one guard was knocked off of the ramparts to crash-land on the stone below. He did not get up again.

Haroun frowned at the explosions, audible even deep within the Palace complex. <Knight was correct – they arrive slowly compared to bullets, but the detonations can cause severe problems. Such small things, and yet they are more effective than catapult stones. And where are they coming from?>

One of the empty mirrors wavered and shifted, and he glanced toward it to see Bast's image forming, rippling as if underwater. “Can it wait? The rebels are attacking at this very moment.”

“So my hosts have told me, my Prince.” She shifted to the language of ancient Egypt, suspecting that even the wolf would not know it. “They are offering assistance, and a view of their methods from within the very palace that we could not see with scrying-spells. Two things have I seen in their mirrors already. First, that the 'mor-tars' that are pummelling your walls are set up near the statue of Hanno in the Avenue of Heroes. And second, that Colonel Sayid is moving into a trap. The Americans assure me that it will fail – the rebels are unaware that their bombs will not detonate in Ba-Yabel – but it will still be an ambush.”

Haroun whirled to face Bast's image. “You are sure of these things? How can they scry through our wards?”

The lioness looked embarrassed. “They are not scrying, my Prince. They merely -look-. From miles above, but with the eyes of griffins that can pick out a mouse while they circle that high. I do not understand it all yet, but they have told me enough that we can figure it out. They say it is not even a secret among the moderns, even the weakest of their nations knows how it is done even if they cannot do it themselves.”

Haroun was already redirecting his own scrying to the indicated spot. “Ah-hah. And there they are.” Another series of detonations rocked the Palace. “And it is time to end this farce.” He turned to the mirror that connected him to the cavalry barracks. “Send your swiftest runners to Colonel Sayid. Warn him that there is an ambush set for his people when they reach the Avenue of Heroes, and that once that is dealt with, he is to proceed to the statue of Hanno the Navigator and deal with the enemy there. They are operating the miniature siege engines we discussed from that point.”

The officer on duty saluted and was already dictating the message to a hawk-morph and a cheetah before the Prince had turned away again.

Yet another crash from above told the story of a properly targeted mortar bomb, but Haroun had faith that his fortifications would hold for a while. “You said you are within their White House, Bast?”

“By their own invitation, my Prince. They appear to have decided that the fact that we have a common enemy warrants a high level of trust.” She blinked, her ears going flat at the voice of the wolf behind her – speaking the same language that she was using.

“And now that you have set up a mirror, it will allow our leaders to speak directly, Ambassador.” She chuckled at the feline's shocked expression. “Part of my gift. There is no language, living or dead, that I cannot learn quickly. We can continue in Khem if you wish; the President does not speak Arabic, either, so someone will need to translate for him either way.”

Haroun laughed from his side of the mirror. “I think you underestimated them again, dear Bast. The Eldest was right, the Americans are an intriguing nation.”

Lowe smiled. “Thank you, your Highness. May I present the current leader of the United States of America, President John Boehner?”