The Moghul

ten- inch blade shining in the lamplight like a mirror, then tossed it atop his sea chest. It would make a nice memento of the trip; every fighting man in India seemed to carry one. Who in London would ever believe such a weapon unless they saw it?
    Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flutter in the portiere of his tent, and he looked up to see Shirin standing silently in the doorway.
    "What . . . ?" He looked up to greet her, unsure whether to betray his relief by taking her immediately in his arms, or to scold and tease her a bit first.
    She silenced him with a wave of her hand.
    "Are you ready?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
    "Ready for what? Where in Christ's name have you been? I've been . . ."
    Again she silenced him as she moved inside.
    "Are you ready to ride?" She glanced in dismay at the belongings he had scattered about the tent. "We have to leave now, before dawn."
    "Have you gone mad?" He stared at her. "We're returning to Agra day after tomorrow. The Moghul has . . ."
    "We have to leave now, tonight." She examined him in the lamplight, consternation growing in her eyes. "The prince . . ."
    "Jadar is finished." He cut her off. "Don't be a sentimental fool. He brought this on himself. You can't help him. Nobody can now."
    They stood, eyes locked together, for a moment that seemed as long as eternity. Hawksworth did not move from his place on the carpet. Gradually her eyes clouded with sorrow, and he thought he saw her begin to turn.
    He was on his feet, seizing her arm, pulling her toward him. "I'm not letting you die for Jadar. If he's meant to win, he'll do it without either of . . ."
    He sensed a movement in the portiere behind her, and looked up to see the glint of a sword thrust exactly where she had been standing. She caught his bewildered look and revolved in time to see the sword slash through the fringed cloth. An Imperial guard, wearing light chain mail and a red turban, moved through the doorway, weapon in hand.
    "You son of a whore!" Hawksworth reached back for the naked sword lying on the carpet behind him and grabbed his leather jerkin. Holding the leather as a shield, he lunged at the attacker.
    As Hawksworth's sword thrust reached him, the guard caught the blade with his own and instinctively parried it aside, throwing Hawksworth against a tent pole.
    As he tried to regain his footing, he heard Shirin cry out and turned to see a heavy sword cut through the side of the tent behind them, creating a second opening. A hand ripped away the striped chintz and another Imperial guard entered, weapon in hand.
    "Jesus! Shirin, get back!" Hawksworth shouted in English and shoved her across his sea chest, sending her tumbling away from the second attacker. As she fell, he saw her grab the pocket pistol lying on the table and turn to face the guard approaching her.
    Hawksworth felt a blade rip through the jerkin in his hand and tangle in the leather. He shoved the jerkin and sword aside and cut upward with his own blade, miraculously imbedding it in the exposed neck of the turbaned guard. The man yelled out and dropped his weapon, which slid harmlessly onto the carpet. Then he stumbled and fell forward, holding his neck. Still incredulous, Hawksworth looked up to see two more Imperial guards standing in the doorway behind him, both with drawn swords. As he moved to keep them at bay with his own weapon, he turned and saw the guard who had entered through the side of the tent advancing menacingly toward Shirin. Just as the guard raised his weapon, Hawksworth heard a sharp report, followed by a moan, and watched the man crumple and fall directly in front of her smoking pistol.
    As he fell, two more guards appeared at the opening behind him and began pushing their way through.
    "Shirin, the lamp!" Again he shouted in English before realizing she could not understand. Without waiting, he grabbed the open oil lamp and flung it against the uniforms of the guards, bathing them in burning oil. Their turbans and hair ignited and they pulled back against the side of the tent, slapping at the flames.
    He turned back to the doorway in time to see the other two guards coming toward him. As he attempted to parry them away, he found his feet tangled in the leather jerkin on the carpet and he stumbled backward, losing his balance long enough for one of the attackers to bring his sword around with a heavy sweep and knock his own weapon spinning into the dark recesses of the tent.
    As he grabbed a tent pole