"Only to another of the ruh who utter it."
"Ruh? I do not believe in demons."
"You will." The defense minister licked drying lips. "If you are not planning to shoot me, Precious Leader, may I shoot myself?"
"No," said Maddas Hinsein sternly. "What sound is that? Quickly, I weary of this word play."
"Mongols," croaked the defense minister.
"Speak louder."
"Mongols," repeated the defense minister, this time in a high, squeaky voice like a child whose finger had been caught in a mousetrap. "It is their hoomei you hear. What they call the long song."
The sad eyes of Maddas Hinsein, Scimitar of the Arabs, narrowed at the sound of the word "Mongols." There was not much schooling in his past. He knew little of modern history-one reason he had miscalculated so badly in annexing Kuran. Of ancient history, he carried in his head only the great moments in Arab pageantry, and little of the terrible fates that befell those rulers who, like himself, overreached themselves.
But he had heard of Mongols. Dimly. They dwelt in the far east. Somewhere.
"These sounds are made by Chinese?" he muttered, blinking stupidly. "The Chinese are not arrayed against us. They have been our friends. Sometimes in secret ways. "
"Mongols are not Chinese," the other man said after several attempts to swallow. "The Chinese fear Mongols more than any other foe."
"They have never faced Renaissance Guardsmen," Maddas remarked confidently.
"Mongols are"-the defense minister groped for a proper comparison-"more fierce than even Turks. They nearly conquered the world once," he added in a strange voice. "Once, they vanquished Irait."
"I do not recall hearing such a tale," allowed Maddas Hinsein, a worried frown beginning to darken his features for the first time.
"They rode out of Mongolia astride their tireless ponies and laid waste to everything in their path. Those who resisted were put to the sword in cruel, merciless ways."
"And those who surrendered?" wondered President Maddas Hinsein. He noticed that the song, which had lifted again, seemed to emanate from the east. The population of Abominadad was beating a path west.
The defense minister swallowed. "Put to the sword in even crueler ways. For the Golden Horde of Genghis Khan despised those who refused to fight even more than they did resistance to their will."
Maddas Hinsein's arm fell from his aide's shoulder as if every nerve had been severed by surgical lasers. He had heard of this Genghis. He was a mighty warrior. As famous in his way as Saladin, who had routed the Crusaders.
"Perhaps they have come to join our cause," he said hopefully.
"Perhaps," the other agreed. "But when they were last here, they besieged Abominadad."
"The city was walled in those days," said Maddas Hinsein. "How could mere horsemen successfully besiege our glorious city?"
"It is written in the histories that the caliph in those days first saw a cloud of dust in the distance."
Maddas Hinsein went to the opposite window of his office. The one that looked eastward. He did see dust. Of course, there was always dust in the air. This time of year the sandstorms and dust devils were especially fierce.
"What else?" asked the Scimitar of the Arabs, nervousness coloring his deep voice for the first time.
"The rumbling of many horses told the caliph that the fate of Abominadad was nigh."
Through the glass, through his boots and the floor beneath them, came a faint vibration. It made Maddas Hinsein's teeth click and chatter. He set them defiantly.
"What then?"
"I cannot understand you, Precious Leader," said the defense minister.
"What happened then?" shouted President Maddas Hinsein, unclenching his teeth. The floor under him was shaking now. It was a very steady shaking. Like a thunder that had rolled out of the ages.
"The hordes of Hulegu came to the Ishtar Gate."
Maddas scowled. "Hulegu? What of Genghis?"
"Genghis was dead by this time-otherwise we would not be here speaking of these matters," the trembling defense minister offered. "Genghis left behind only dust. Hulegu was sloppier."
"Go on!" urged Maddas Hinsein, noticing that the dust cloud was darkening. It was midday but the brightness of the sun was fading. The dust was very, very black now.
"Hulegu and his Mongols stormed the Ishtar Gate and overwhelmed poor, defenseless Abominadad," the defense minister went on.
"Bah! We are not defenseless now."
"Nor were they then, Precious Leader. The garrison was captured and its soldiers divided among the Mongols."
"Slavery is a fitting fate for those without the stomach to defend their nation," Maddas spat contemptuously.
"They were not enslaved," said the man. "They were divided for slaughter. The caliph was captured and forced to order his people to leave the city where they laid down their arms."
That reminded Maddas Hinsein of the teeming refugees passing beneath this window.
"Why do my people run without leave from their Precious Leader?"
"Perhaps because they have read the same histories as I," suggested the defense minister.
"What histories?" demanded Maddas Hinsein through tight teeth. The palace was shaking now. It was designed to withstand a direct missile hit. It took a lot to make such an edifice tremble. Yet he barely heard his defense minister's words of explanation.
"The ones that tell of how after the people of Abominadad surrendered, they were all put to the sword. The Tigris ran red on that evil day."
"Never mind the people!" Maddas shouted, seeing for the first time a line of horses coming out of the desert. They looked small, the riders astride them low and squat, their wide faces as hard and unfeeling as rank upon rank of hammered bronze gongs. "Tell me of the caliph's fate!"
"Caliph al-Musta'sim was allowed to live for seventeen days, while Abominadad was sacked and burned." Tears welled up in the defense minister's jewellike eyes.
Maddas Hinsein turned, his face sagging. His eyes implored an unspoken question.
"The caliph!" Maddas roared. "What of the caliph, you ignorant dog?"
"Then they sewed him in a bag and trampled him to death under the hooves of their horses," replied the weeping defense minister. "May I die now?"
"No, you may not die!" thundered Maddas Hinsein, drawing himself up. "You are an Arab. Arabs do not lay down their lives before an enemy. Where is your courage?"