Khoblyss meant curse whisperer. Unable to create curses of their own, khoblysses could command most existing curses as they saw fit: redirect them, amplify their effect, or neutralize them altogether. Curses from the grand masters such as Sureï were beyond their power to manipulate, but when a khoblyss was paired with a Kerta priest, a manufacturer of curses, the ability of these creatures to amplify a curse transformed the Kerta priest into a foe that few could defeat. As long as the Kerta priest was able to summon or create new curses, the khoblyss could intensify them, a fact that filled Aliolos with sheer dark delight. He had not one, but four khoblysses to do his bidding, and the tremor of pleasure he felt in his soul when the creatures stood at his door flowered into a wolfish hunger, a deep powerful thrust of impatience that parlayed the acute pain he felt whenever he thought of his submission. Like most Kerta priests, Aliolos seldom left his room, seldom saw the sun, and spoke only in short, gurgling sentences.
“He is in the city,” the khoblyss standing left of him whispered.
“Show me,” Aliolos ordered, producing a large orb from the deep ripples of his flesh. His gurgling voice sounded as if his lungs were filled with liquid. His long black robe was pocketless, but he had no need for them; he could carry a multitude of small objects hidden in the folds of his fat. Anyone else might have found it extremely uncomfortable or downright painful, but Kerta priests were immune to physical pain.
Aliolos knew he could not, on his own power, project a vision spell to cover Ezoi, but the khoblysses could. After a short moment, he felt the orb’s heat and the picture of a young man lying on a bed appeared on the surface of the orb. Before he could say a word, the image vanished.
“Sentries,” the khoblyss whispered. “Powerful sentries. They can detect our presence.”
“I see,” the Kerta priest chuckled, sounding like a man drowning in his own bodily fluids. “Someone else got to him first. Take me to him.”
The khoblysses started walking, or sliding, or gliding, he could not tell. As they did so, they left behind a faint trail of decay, the way a snail leaves a track of slime.
Aliolos forced his impossibly large body to move. His prey was near and soon he would feast on the Seer’s fears. He would watch him break and scream, and then fall into the deathly stupor of the Arayat.
“Ahiram, wake up,” Jin whispered. “It’s dark.”
Ahiram opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He gazed at the untouched trays of food. He turned to at Jin. “Can you get closer to these platters?”
“No,” she vehemently protested. “I don’t trust their food.”
“Hush. You don’t have to eat from it. Can you just get closer?”
Jin slid forward on the bed and reached the platters without difficulty.
“Good. When I nod, I want you to kick the trays to the floor.”
“Why? This will attract their attention.”
“Jin, can you do it? Just follow my directions and we will be out of here soon, I promise.” She nodded. “Wait for my signal, then shove the platters and go quickly back to your place.”
He moved toward the back of the bed and lifted the mattress. “Good,” he said seeing that the platform beneath the mattress was made of a simple slab of wood. “Ready?” She nodded once more. “Now,” he whispered. Jin pushed the three plates and they fell in a loud clatter. At the same time, Ahiram slammed his fist into the wood, splintering it, then he dropped the mattress back in place and lay on it. Jin retreated to the back, folded her legs and wrapped her arms around them just as the door opened and a man peeked in.
“Quiet in there!” he ordered. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Sorry, sir. He kicked the plates in his sleep.”
The man looked at the mess on the carpet and winced. “No sense picking these up now. Be quiet. No more noise!”
He closed and locked the door. Ahiram sprung back up. “Well done, Jin. Now I’m going to pull this mattress forward. Grip your chains and lift yourself up, all right?”
Jin did as he asked. In one quick shove, Ahiram displaced the mattress, revealing the splintered wood beneath. He carefully pulled off the slivers and laid them on top of each other on the mattress in a crisscrossing pattern. He broke off a long, thick fragment, jabbed it through the small mound of splinters and into the mattress, then began rubbing it between his hands at great speed.
“How can you do that so fast?” she asked.
“Training.” He smiled. “Long hours of training.”
“You’re setting the mattress on fire?”
He nodded. “This room is well-furnished as you would expect from the house of a tajèr. The mattress is stuffed with feathers.” His hands began moving faster. “Highly flammable, and there’s nothing like dry splinters of wood to start a fire.”
Thin wisps of smoke rose from below his rapid hands. When a quick spark appeared in the smolders, Ahiram spun the wood faster until he saw a tiny flame. He stopped the spinning, crouched low, and blew softly on the single flame until the slivers of wood caught fire. The flames licked the edges of the hole where Ahiram had stabbed the mattress. It darkened, and widened slightly. Ahiram grabbed it and pulled. The fabric covering the filling tore and he grabbed the bed stuffing and started feeding his small fire. The flames leaped and spread. Ahiram pushed the mattress forward and dropped it to the ground. With a satisfied grin, he watched as the fire grew and spread to the edges of the mattress, then to the sides of the carpet.
“What do you hope to do?” Jin said. “They’ll come and punish us.”
He pivoted his upper body to look at her, grinned widely, and placed a finger on his lips. Turning away, he said softly, “Taw.” Immediately, a small rectangular object inscribed with the curious symbol materialized in the palm of his hand. Jin scowled, wondering why Ahiram held an empty hand open, for the Silent was the only one who could see the strange tile bearing the Letter of Power.
He took a deep breath and then called for El-Windiir’s blade using the new name he had given it at the end of the battle with the Urkuun. “Noraldeen,” he said. The name sounded strange in his ears and brought a raft of emotions. Not now, he thought. He held out his hand and waited.
Jin thought he had lost his mind until she saw the wall opposite their bed explode and a sword land in Ahiram’s raised hand. A blue halo sprang from between Ahiram’s fingers and spread to the tip of the blade. In four quick strokes, Ahiram broke the chains from his wrists and feet, and in a frightening gesture, flung the blade against the back of his neck. The last iron shackle restraining him fell in a loud clang.
Ahiram looked at Jin still chained to the wall. “I’ll be back to get you.”
“Don’t leave me!” she pleaded, eyeing the door.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not leaving without you.” The fire had already consumed a good portion of the carpet. Ahiram bounded off the mattress, jumped over the flames, flipped, and landed safely beyond the remains of the cursed rug. He yelled, “Fire! Fire!” then dove through the large hole his sword had made. He landed on his feet inside a corridor, and parried a debilitating blow from the massref standing guard.
A creature of the Arayat, the massref was used by the tajéruun to protect their main vault. As tall as a giant, the creature had gelatinous, thick skin and a single eye on its forehead beneath two small horns. Its face was bright yellow, and its scalp, devoid of any trace of hair, was dark red. The rest of its body was a disturbing translucent pink.
The massref’s blade spewed a gray smoke and was powerful enough to strike down any steel-forged blade. But Noraldeen was pure meyroon, the mystical metal the dwarfs of old knew how to beat into deadly weapons. Ahiram had fought the Urkuun of the Third Order, and next to that monster’s dark blade, the massref’s blow felt like a gentle rattle.
What the massref lacked in power, he made up for in speed. Despite his size, he had the swiftness of a snake and rained blows as if a storm had turned raindrops into steely daggers. He rapidly gained grou
nd on the Silent, who retreated steadily down the corridor, deflecting the attacks with an alacrity that matched that of the creature’s. I won’t be able to keep this up for much longer, he thought as he eyed the wall to his right. At last, he found what he was looking for: the other hole his sword created when it had answered his call. But the massref left him no occasion to slip through the opening.
“All right, all right,” Ahiram grumbled, “I surrender. You can stop.” The massref halted his attack, but kept his blade raised. Ahiram slowly put one knee down. “See? I’m dropping my sword.” He shoved his blade forward and it slid between the legs of the creature and stopped several feet behind him. “See?” Ahiram added, standing back up and raising his hands, “I’ve let go of my sword, which by the way, is called Noraldeen!”
“Watch out!” yelled Dariöm, coming from behind. “It’s a trap!”
The creature’s chest exploded as Noraldeen flew through him to return to Ahiram. He caught his sword in one hand and calmly walked into the room with the hole in the wall. He saw a similar hole in the opposite wall, went through another door, and stepped into a narrow closet filled from floor to ceiling with boxes. His bag lay open on the ground next to the shattered staff that had concealed his blade. He placed the gold mask on his face. Hearing a faint noise behind him, he turned around just as the door burst open. Ahiram saw Dariöm standing in the door. The Silent breathed into the mask as Dariöm flicked his hand. A roaring flame engulfed the tajèr just as a wave of medallions flying like arrows attacked Ahiram. Thick beams crackled under the intense heat and exploded as Ahiram lunged to the floor to avoid being hit by the rain of propelled medallions. They slammed into the boxes behind him, causing the shelves to buckle. He sidestepped them just before they crashed to the floor, spilling their heavy wooden container. The closet became a roaring furnace. Frantically, he grabbed the pair of wings from his bag, and waited for the sensation of a sharp tug between his shoulder blades, which told him he was ready to fly. He shoved his belt inside the bag and managed to extricate the sheath from under the heavy wooden boxes. Despite the searing flames, Dariöm drew close, unscathed. Not waiting, Ahiram, who had the mask still on his face, looked up to the ceiling and breathed, then he looked at Dariöm and breathed once more. The closet erupted in flames and he knew he had seconds only to get out alive. The ceiling was burning. He blew again and the flame burrowed through the beams overhead. Without hesitation, he leaped, sword extended. The sword sunk into the ceiling. He used it to slice through the wood, and with one powerful shove, shattered the ceiling and flew up into a living room. Three men and two women, who apparently were enjoying a social evening, fell from their seats in a medley of screams and shouts of astonishment. Two Bartanickians and three Thermodonians, thought Ahiram. They must be up to something. As he rose up, he noticed a large table with a scaled-down model of Mycene. On a whim, he blew into the mask, incinerating the map. He then landed nimbly on both feet.
“My apologies for the mess,” he said as he was about to step out of the room, “but I never cared much for models; they accumulate dust and are too difficult to keep clean.”
Not waiting for an answer, he ran out of the room and into a corridor wider than the one he had fought the massref. Mentally, he retraced his footsteps and veered into a large, lit office where two massrifuun were standing guard.
“As you were,” he said, and he blew three times, turning the room into a fiery tornado. “Sorry about the mess,” he added while drilling a large hole into the floor. He kicked it with his foot and jumped back down into the room where he had left Jin. The bed was in flames and she was cowering against the wall.
“Sorry, Jin,” he said as he shattered her chains. “It took a little longer than expected.” He grabbed her and they flew toward the columns that held the ceiling, and Ahiram sliced the beams with three strokes of his blade. Just at that moment, Dariöm rushed in. The tajèr flicked his wrist, sending a hail of medallions so fast, Ahiram had no time to dodge them. But the ceiling, bereft of its supporting beams and weakened by the fire, collapsed on the onslaught. By the time the dust had somewhat settled, Ahiram and Jin had disappeared. The tajèr calculated the financial loss he had just incurred and decided to add it to the already expensive bill he would request Ebaan to pay.
The two massrifuun stood by the door.
“Has your injured brother healed his wound?”
They nodded.
“Very well, the three of you go after him. I’m certain at least one of my medallions hit its mark. He won’t be able to go very far. Find him and bring him back alive. Call your other brothers here. We have company from the Temple.”
“What do you see?” Jin asked.
“A city,” the dragonhead replied. “A large city.”
“Do you see a canal somewhere?”
“Yes, there’s a large canal oriented north to south. It’s a straight affair, suitable for flat barges.”
“Good. We’re in Ezoi, then.”
“Well, yeah, I could have told you that.”
“How would you know?”
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “I just know.”
After escaping from the collapsed room, Ahiram, still carrying Jin, took to the clear, brisk night sky. He flew northwest in the direction of the sea and did not have far to go, for they were close to the coast.
“Somewhere close to the middle of the canal, you should see a bunch of large square buildings. They are low but wide. One of them has bullhorns all around it. That’s the Pleasantly Pleasant Bullying Bull. It’s the largest tavern in Ezoi. My kins work there, they can help us,” said Jin.
“Will they keep you safe?”
She shook her head. “They can’t protect us. The tajèr is too strong. I can’t fight him. I can’t escape his clutches. He will kill me.”
“Why? His business is with me.”
“I’ve seen too much. He won’t take chances. He’ll kill me.”
“So why involve your kin?”
“There’s a medallion stuck in your forearm if you haven’t noticed. That’s high magic. You’re going to need help. You’re my only chance to escape from the tajèr. If you die, I’m dead too. Besides, they’re my kin. They would be insulted if I don’t come to them for help.”
Ahiram had to admit they needed help. The medallion had burned his skin and was lodged in his arm. Despite his best efforts, he could not pull it out. He could barely touch it. “Fine, let’s go see your next of kin.”
Jin shuddered. “They are not my next of kin. I barely know them. Pray to Kerishal they will listen to me.”
“But you just said they’d be insulted if you didn’t approach them.”
“They would be. It doesn’t mean they’re willing to help. Don’t land next to them. Land across the canal. I’ll bring them to you.”
Ahiram dove toward the canal and followed it, staying close to the water at great speed until he caught sight of a series of squat buildings. He pulled himself up, turned around, and had no trouble finding the tavern. The cavernous thud of a rowdy party inside echoed from it like the heartbeat of a monster. Veering to the left, he crossed to the opposite side and landed behind a stack of shipping crates. He then realized he was at the extreme southern point of the Port of Ezoi. He removed his mask, and was taken aback by the ambient darkness.
“Wait here,” Jin said.
“For how long?”
“No more than an hour. If I’m not back before the hour, you should assume I won’t be back and run, run as fast as you can.”
Ahiram leaned against a container and slowly slid to the ground. He was famished and exhausted. Using the mask drained him. The medallion in his arm throbbed and burned. Some kind of marker, I suppose. If I don’t get rid of it, they’ll find me. He gripped it again and yanked. Shooting pain ran up his arm and exploded in his head, nearly knocking him out. His anger flared but he stayed it. No sense wasting more energy now. He considered his options. I can fly across the channel back to Tanniin,
or I can continue south. The pain subsided some, but was still very sharp. I need to get rid of this thing. He closed his eyes and worked on a plan. The last place Dariöm would expect to see me is by his side. I can knock him out cold and take him with me to Tanniin. A crooked smile formed on his face. I’m sure the high priestess would be very interested to learn more about this medallion.
The thought of Bahiya brought back to mind the last moments he had shared with Noraldeen before she died. “Love me as I have loved you,” she had told him. His heart surged and his anger boiled. He yanked at the medallion and nearly choked in pain as he struggled to breathe. Fortunately, it eventually subsided.
“Nothing like physical pain to snap you out of a bad memory.” He knew that was not what he meant. No, not bad. Heart wrenching. The Silent in him evinced a chilling thought: The tajèr must be thinking like me. He must have concluded I might try to go back to Tanniin. Where else would I go? Alarmed, he realized that unless he stopped Dariöm, his friends might be in danger. Just then, his sword, which he carried from shoulder to hip diagonally across his back, began to quiver; a sign of imminent and close danger. The medallion! That’s how they’ve managed to find me so quickly. Not sure what to do next, he called to the Letter of Power, which appeared once more in the palm of his hand. At the same time, three massrifuun emerged from the surrounding darkness and closed in on him. He slapped the tile on the medallion. A blast of white light shot out from the medallion, hitting one of the creatures in the chest.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 20