The Dove (42 page)

Polunsky’s troops moved on and Omar staggered to his feet again to the horror of those watching him.  Across the plain a series of shouts went up and a number of horsemen began riding toward them, kicking up dust and rocks as they came.  Several random shots went up and chaos swept among the ranks of the armies as they gradually became aware of what was happening.

Polunsky shouted orders to his troops and they kicked their horses, catching up to the truck.

Mark Andrew reached Omar first, and Levi came to help him with the wounded Prophet.  Edgard, Lavon and Simon rode past them and stopped a few yards beyond them.  Edgard slid from his horse and climbed on top of a large boulder stained with blood from the day before.  He held up the baculus and began to speak in the tongue of the ancient Hebrews.  Simon and Lavon climbed up beside him.  Polunsky’s contingent was in a panic now.  The truck was bouncing wildly across the open range between Omar’s army and the European forces.  Soldiers were running and riding out to meet them firing wildly at the disarrayed cavalry charge from the British, French and Persian ranks.

Edgard struck the stone with the base of the staff and golden lightning leapt from the amber ball atop the rod.  The bolt struck the ground in front of the rock and the earth opened up before them like a watermelon rind in front of a sharp blade.  The crack widened and streaked after the retreating Romanians with such speed the resulting noise was delayed like a sonic boom.  The earth shook as the noise rumbled away in all directions, sending the foot soldiers to the ground and causing the horses to rear and buck, throwing more soldiers into the dirt. 

Polunsky’s guard looked back in time to see the approaching danger and tried to flee to the east, but their horses panicked when their riders threw too much weight into the reins and threw them to the ground as well, galloping off in all directions and adding to the panic.  Several of the horses along with their riders were lost into the depths of the widening chasm as the splitting earth overtook them.  Hesitation meant death and while the confused horsemen tried to see the source of the trouble, the splitting earth and deafening noise accompanying it found them and took them down before they knew what had come upon them.  The Baron’s horse veered right and then jumped the crevice, galloping hard to the west, taking his rider with him in spite of the Baron’s efforts to control him. 

The earth continued to split and rumble as it approached the speeding truck. The two men inside were unaware of the danger approaching from the rear. The driver’s earlier panic and subsequent speed across the rough terrain had dislodged the tail pipe at the manifold, and the resulting noise made it impossible for them to hear anything outside the truck or even each other inside the cab.  The crack in the earth neared the rear bumper and then veered sharply west at the last moment, passing the truck and continuing on, turned back to the east cutting perpendicularly across the path of the vehicle.  The driver saw it in time to slam on the brakes, skidding precariously close to the edge on the desert pavement.  The two astonished men leaned forward to watch as a small avalanche of pebbles, rocks and dirt rolled over the edge of the abysmal gap and disappeared into the depths. The soldiers looked at each other and then smiled at their luck, but before they could recuperate fully, the front wheels slipped over the edge as the dirt gave way and the front undercarriage of the truck slammed against the newly formed ledge, further weakening the lip of the chasm.  The crate containing the Holy Ark slid forward in the slanting truck bed, slamming into the back of the cab, causing the soldiers to scream in unison as they perceived something attacking from behind.  The doors flew open on both sides and the two soldiers leapt out, both completely engulfed in green flames.  They ran screaming across the desert until they unwittingly threw themselves into the gaping hole.  The enormous rend in the earth’s surface traveled on devouring everything in its path without sympathy or regard.

Edgard tapped the rock with the base of the staff again and then leapt down to the ground.  The noise had abated, but the screams and shouts of terrified and wounded men continued.  Simon left his father and hurried back to where Mark Andrew sat holding the Prophet’s head in his lap.  Omar was dead… at least temporarily.  They picked him up, threw him over the rump of one of the horses and handed him over to the soldiers before going after the truck.

Luke Andrew had been thrown from his horse before he even had a good idea of what was going on.  He had seen the others riding out with their weapons drawn and had simply followed them, assuming the worst.  When his horse suddenly reared for no apparent reason and then bucked three times, the hapless apprentice went sailing through the air onto an exceptional painful boulder that had been just waiting to greet him.  In a senseless daze, he had lain gazing up at the sky, wondering where he was until he had missed the entire spectacle.  His horse had returned, almost apologetically, and nudged him off the rock after the excitement had died somewhat.  The apprentice had climbed to his feet, rubbing his head and retrieved his horse, cursing the animal soundly before climbing back into the saddle.  He was shocked to see the confusion around him and the great fissure that had opened in the desert separating the Eastern European forces from the Templars and the Fox contingencies.  He rode out in time to intercept the soldiers, who were leading the horse with Omar’s lifeless body draped over the rump. 

“Great Scot!”  He leaped from his horse again and ran to Omar, reaching it at the same time as Colonel McGuffy.

The Colonel radioed for the medics and then helped Luke pull the Prophet from the horse.  They laid him out on the ground and inspected his wounds.  The stab wound inflicted by Mark Andrew was only just beginning to heal.  He had received a bullet wound in his upper left arm, another in his right thigh and a third and fatal one in his chest.  Selwig appeared with Il Dolce Mio and a small group of elves, in time to ride back to Omar’s army in the back of the ambulance as the medics cleaned and bandaged the ugly wounds.  Omar regained consciousness just long enough to smile at Luke Andrew’s worried face and then slipped into the uneasy sleep that would most likely last three days.  All three bullets had passed through him leaving terrible exit wounds that made Luke’s heart faint.  The pain must have been incredible.  It was far worse than anything that they had suffered when they had fought for King Ramsay in the Underworld.

The return trip to New Babylon was put off until the following day.  Omar’s partial recovery from the fatal wounds only served to reinforce his men’s conviction that their beloved Prophet had, indeed, returned to them.  Only the presence of the golden hand had outwardly differentiated Jozsef Daniel from Omar Kadif. With the golden skin gone, only the presence of the earrings and numerous tattoos indicated that this body had ever belonged to anyone other than Omar Kadif.  Jozsef Daniel was gone.  The Prophet had returned.  Great rounds of chanting and loud proclamations passed through the ranks of his Fox soldiers as they learned what had happened.  Voices calling out ‘Long live the Prophet of Allah!’ and ‘Praise be to the Prophet Omar!’ echoed across the desert as the soldiers broke ranks and rode back and forth, firing their weapons into the air, apparently just happy to be alive and on their way home.

The men carrying the unconscious Prophet raised his body high over their heads as the soldiers circled on their horses around them.  Whether they fully understood where their Prophet had been or what had happened to the impostor, no one could say. They most likely had never even realized that the two had once been entirely different persons. 

Omar’s long talks with them the night before partially explained what had happened to the New Order of the Temple, but he had not told them everything.  They would never have understood it all.  McGuffy was hard-pressed to keep the remnants of Omar’s battered army from attacking the retreating forces aligned with Rome.  By the time they had set up the command tent again and had Omar situated on his bed, Polunsky and the rest of his allies had disappeared over the northern horizon in a cloud of white dust with the great form of the Sphinx stalking them at a distance simply to add to their terror.  The creature would follow for a few miles and then return to his master.

Sir Ramsay made sure that the Ark was safely within the bounds of the Templar forces and then made his way back to the Fox command tent.  He sat next to Omar for a while before calling Luke Andrew outside.

“You will be expected to go with the Grand Master when they leave.”  He told his son.

“I don’t want to go with them.”  Luke told him. “I don’t belong with them.  I was with Omar from the beginning.  I would rather travel with him.”

“You have an obligation to the Order.”

“What about you?  Don’t you have an obligation to the Order?  Are you not the Chevalier du Morte?  Or did you just kick the Order to the curb along with your family?”  Luke asked him angrily.  “I resign!  Here…”  He pulled the golden sword from its scabbard and threw it on the ground at his father’s feet.  “Take it!  I never wanted it to begin with.  I never felt particularly comfortable in knowing the only reason they want me around is to cut off their damned heads when they get fucked up!  They don’t give a damn about me.  They never did.”

“Luke.”  Mark Andrew said quietly, bent to retrieve the sword and wiped the dust from it carefully.  Another man might have died for dishonoring the revered blade in such a manner.  “I understand your feelings.  They are not far from what I have always felt myself.  It is why I always lived in Scotland rather than Italy.  It is why I never seemed to fit in when things took a social turn, but we can’t simply refuse to accept our commission from the Creator.  It just won’t do at all.”

“Do you really believe that the Creator would commission me to do something for Him?”  Luke’s eyes were full of tears of frustration.  “The only person who really appreciated me was Omar, and I let him down, Papa.  I let him down more than once.  I owe him everything.”

Mark looked toward the south where d’Brouchart’s Templars, the Brits, the Irish and the Franks were making ready to ride out.

“Oll roight then.  Come with me!”  Mark pulled his son back inside the tent and ran everyone else outside.  He lowered the flap and traded clothes with his son, taking the Ramsay red kilt, giving over the black uniform that he wore under the purple mantle. 

Mark Andrew emerged from the tent a few moments later, climbed onto Luke’s black stallion and galloped away without a word to anyone until he reached the rear guard of the Templar forces moving out in a long triple column of mounted riders, interspersed with vehicles of various sorts.  In the very center of the column was the troop carrier that contained the precious cargo, again with Simon at the wheel with his son, Levi, beside him.  Mark was surprised to see a lone rider bringing up the very tail of the convoy.  He recognized the figure even from a distance, dressed differently from the other members of the armies in light tan slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt, shining black boots even in the dust of the desert and a gray mantle of elven material.  On his head, strangely enough, he wore a black kaffiyeh to protect him from the sun’s harsh rays.  Not a uniform at all, but a mish mash of things collected on his journey.

“Brother.”  Mark caught up with the bay mare.

Lucio turned his head quietly, and squinted at Mark in the bright sunlight.

“
Il Fratello
?”  He frowned and then smiled broadly, crinkling the scar on his cheek.  “
Che cosa e` esso
?”  He nodded toward the red tartan.

“D’ye loike me foine attoire?”  Mark affected his heaviest brogue.

“I think the sun will bake your brain.”  Lucio glanced up at the sky.

Mark pulled the Tartan scarf which was draped over his shoulder down and then flipped it up over his head.

“How’s this?” 

“You’ll need a veil.  The Master will know you.”  Lucio slowed slightly and put more distance between them and the last of the Templar soldiers.

“And so what will it matter?  One Ramsay is as good as another.”

“It won’t matter… ultimately.  Nothing matters… ultimately.”

“You have always been a fatalist.”  Mark smiled and looked away from him. 

“This will be our last campaign.  I’m glad you were able to make it.  I was lost without someone to insult me, belittle me and put me in my place.”

“So where is your beast?”  Mark turned about in the saddle, scanning the horizons for the great winged cat.

“He’s about.  What do you think of my creation?  Does he compare well to your dragon?”

“He might be able to hold his own.”  Mark commented dryly.  “The Sphinx, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

“And so what did you do with my spaceship?”  Mark asked him casually.

“Your what?”  Lucio frowned, sure that he had misunderstood the question.

“My spaceship.”  Mark turned a mischievous look on him.

“Spaceship.”  Lucio repeated the word.  “That’s what I thought you said.”

“So what did you do with it?”

“I haven’t seen your spaceship, Brother.”  Lucio frowned and nodded slightly.  “Have you seen my rocket-pack and secret decoder ring?”

“Did you lose them?”  Mark asked him.

“Are you serious?!”  Lucio jerked his head around.  “Do you have a spaceship?”

Mark Andrew laughed and Lucio was shocked.  A joke?  From Mark Andrew?  Impossible!