Seven months ago, Slippery Slued, Krom the Hunter, and Quiet Surata had spirited away Corintus and his companions out of Tirkalanzibar and had guided them through the desert until they reached the caravan of Master Kwadil, which was waiting for them at the Enchanted Dunes. Even though Slippery Slued’s mission ended, Kwadil had asked Slued and his companions to stay with the caravan until they reached Cordoban, the capital of the Kingdom of the Marada. They stayed in Cordoban for six months and made a small fortune advising the nobility on how to properly protect themselves from thieves. They were back to their care-free lifestyle and enjoyed every minute of it. Then, three months ago, Slued and his companions found a caravan heading back to Tirkalanzibar. They said their good-byes to Corintus and Amaréya, who were stuck in Cordoban trying to find a guide to take them down to the Island of Salem.
“It won’t be easy,” Slippery Slued told them. “A guide through these parts is worth his weight in gold. I’m afraid you might have to take the longer route, far south into Mared-Eriniel—the Maradite Richlands. You’ll then cross into the wilderness of Godovania in the Kingdom of Atlant. When you reach Godovania, you’ll need to find a reputable Scarlet Merchant—don’t worry, you’ll see what I mean when you get there—and his guild will offer you safe conduct to Sirogreel. You’ll find several ships in that port willing to transport you to Salem. It’s nearly five times the distance, but it’s a safer journey.”
Amaréya glanced at her husband. “Any Temple’s agent seeking Aquilina won’t expect us to take such a long route.”
Quiet Surata nodded. “If you travel due east through the Richlands, you’ll find a lot of giants who would be willing to be your guide. It might take you a year and a half to get to Salem, but you’ll get there safely.”
“We’ve been hearing dark rumors about Korridir,” Krom said. “Something lurks in the darkness of the former, southern kingdom of the dwarfs. Something that’s terrifying folks. Even stout giants are now refusing to set one foot past their borders.”
Corintus had beamed them a smile as if he had just found a treasure. “Thank you for your counsel, good friends, we shall take it to heart.”
After saying their goodbyes, Slippery Slued and his companions joined a caravan headed back to Tirkalanzibar. It stopped at the Enchanted Dunes, where their current client met them. He offered them gold if they could retrieve a single object from a cursed pyramid in Kemet. Quiet Surata vouched for the sincerity of the client, and Slippery Slued went along with it, even though something told him not to take the job.
“We’ll need to assemble a competent team,” she had told him. “Krom, you, and I won’t be enough.”
“Where’s Krom?”
“Sent him to Baalibon,” she replied gruffly.
“Baalibon, the beautiful city-port in Nak Shon? You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious. This is going be the heist of a lifetime, our last job, Slippery Slued. We’re going to have enough gold to travel for three lifetimes, but we’re going to need her.”
Slippery Slued stretched and yawned. He got up and kicked a stone in frustration. “Where is he?” he muttered. “Blast it, I’m done,” he added. “I don’t care much for this operation, and I’m going to tell Surata I’m out.”
He started walking away when he heard muffled footsteps.
“Yo, yo, slow down, I cannot run dhat fast,” said a man, panting.
“Who are you?”
“Da man you’re supposed ta meet.”
“You?” Slued asked, bewildered, “You?”
“Yah. Quiet Surata told me ta wait for ya here.”
Slippery Slued smiled. “Hum … Quiet Surata will always amaze me. Why did she choose you, I wonder? Can you fight?”
In a blink of an eye, his interlocutor had a sword in each hand. “Maybe I don’t know how ta speak, but I know how ta use dose.” He sheathed his swords and wiggled his fingers. “Besides, she wanted me for deze,” he said as he continued wiggling his fingers. “I can open any secret door or find a way out of any curse.”
“What’s your name?”
“Huskaragan, but they all call me Huska Da Fat on account of da cirwaistference, cirloinference, cir—”
“Circumference?” Slippery Slued offered.
“Dhat’s da word.”
“You’re from Kartagenon?”
Huska was bewildered. “How da ya know dhat?”
“Your accent betrays you my friend. Where from Kartagenon? Ashtart? Baal-Adoun? Argannon?”
“Nah, Kim.”
“Ah, a southerner! You’ll do just fine then.”
“What’s yeir name?”
“Call me Slippery Slued, everyone else does.”
“Da Slippery Slued?”
“The one and only.”
“Pleasure ta do business with ya. Where da we go now?”
“Do you have a horse?”
“My camel, Samra, dhat’s her name. Finest steed in the east and the west and … all other directions also.”
“It’s a camel, not a horse.”
“Best horse ever.”
“Never argue with a Kartagenan when a horse is on the line. Fine. Follow me. We go to Teshir. She’ll be waiting for us.”
“Teshir? Dhat’s a long way.”
“I know a detour or two. We’ll be there on time.”
“Right-o-neyto,” intoned the Kartagenan Huska the Fat. “I want ta be where Quiet Surata is.”
“You’ve got a thing for her?” Slippery Slued asked.
“Me? Nah. She’s far too skinny for my heart. I loooove da gold, and she makes it rain. Dhat’s all.”
We shall see, Slippery Slued thought.
The thief glanced at the man walking next to him. I don’t know, Surata, he thought, I have a bad feeling about this operation. I’m afraid it will be our last job, but not the way you’re thinking of. It might simply be the end of us.
“There can be no accidents, no coincidences, no doubt. All is weaved in El's greatest tapestry—the Universe—so that every action of every creature proceeds unhindered in its own device and yet serves to illuminate El's majesty, so that, even if the creature’s purpose is dark, it highlights the many golden threads streaking through the universe like a moment of clarity and peace, and those threads are a lasting reflection of El's power.”
–Lost Discourse of Ramael, son of Shatumael, son of Hanayel, son of Zarubael, son of Lamatael, great grandson of Habael the Wise.
After a long walk, Ahiram reached the fork that Syreen had indicated. He veered to the right but the corridor ended in a fresh pile of rubble. The sidewalls had crumbled, blocking the way. He searched for a way forward, and as the flame of his torch sputtered and died, he knew he had to go back. I don’t want to go all the way back to the starting point, he thought. I’ve got no choice but to take the other passage. He hoped it would lead him not too far from the inn, for he needed to retrieve his sword, his belt, and his artifacts before leaving Byblos.
Fortunately, the fork was only half a mile back. Resolutely, he took the left side. The way was spacious and allowed him to move swiftly, but it grew progressively narrower as he forged ahead and then turned into a steep downward slope that forced him to let go of his torch and crawl in the dark. The slope became a nearly vertical drop, and Ahiram had to rely on all his skills to avoid falling. He heard a quiet swishing sound and smelled the salty air. I’m close to the beach, he thought, relieved. The sound grew stronger and light seeped in, getting slowly brighter until he slithered down the face of a vast open cave where he saw the moon high in the sky over the sea. A short while later, he landed on a sand-filled floor.
The tide was rising and the waves were licking the edge of the cave. I could get out of here, thought the Silent, but what if the High Riders are patrolling this area? He crossed over to the other side and saw an opening up the opposite wall. He climbed another steep facade and entered a passage lit by the moon through small crevices in the cliff’s side. His senses on alert, he proceede
d forward. After some time, he saw a ray of light ahead of him. The light was tenuous, level with the ground. As he drew closer, he realized that it was coming from beneath a thick drapery hiding an entrance. Suddenly, a man on the other side of the curtain spoke with a loud voice. Ahiram threw himself against the wall to the left of the curtain, expecting the man to come through. Instead, the voice moved away from the mantle, then grew closer again. He’s pacing, Ahiram thought. The language was foreign but the Silent recognized the voice of the stranger who asked Shamal and him to come aboard the ship; the person who, years before, had wanted to buy his medallion.
A second voice interrupted. The older man, the leader, Ahiram thought. He drew closer to the curtain and carefully lifted it. He could see a room with a large table. Three men were seated along the long side, to his right. From the conversation and the voices that took part in this exchange, Ahiram determined that there were at least four men seated along the opposite side of the table, which was hidden from view.
The man that spoke first started pacing again. He walked toward the curtain and Ahiram withdrew from the opening. If I’m right, this is the secret chamber beneath the Temple to the Unknown God. After they’re gone, I should be able to leave through the secret door I tried to open the day before. He closed his eyes and tried to relax while waiting for the meeting to end.
Suddenly, a commotion jolted him out of slumber. He lifted the curtain and saw the wooden crate that he was asked to lift was now lying on the table. It wasn’t there when I peeked the first time. How did they get it on the table so quickly?
One of the men tried to touch the mysterious container, but he was immediately restrained. The old man’s voice was heard again, but this time it was neither quiet nor gentle. It was icy and exuded terror, so much so that Ahiram did not dare move. Incredible, the Silent thought, breathless. What kind of man is he? The old man’s voice went back to normal, and the change was so sudden that Ahiram wondered if the dread he had felt was not the product of his imagination. He lifted the curtain for the third time. The man with the turban was now standing across from him and seemed to be admonishing his companions, who bowed their heads like scolded children. He gave a signal and they all turned and left the room, walking away from Ahiram’s hiding place. Soon after, the room grew silent. They’ve left, he thought, and walked in. A quick look around confirmed that the hall was deserted. Toward the far right end corner, he saw a set of stairs. That must lead to the secret door. He was mid-way to the short staircase when he caught sight of a bright flash inside the crate. He carefully drew closer to inspect the strange box he had lifted with his bare hands some time earlier. Its top cover was slightly ajar. Ahiram opened it and peered in. It was too dark to tell what it contained. He walked to the other end, grabbed the upper edge of the crate with one hand and lifted it. Once more, it felt light as feather. He kept lifting and tilting it until he heard an object slide. It tumbled onto the table and fell to the ground with a loud clang. The crate suddenly became so heavy, Ahiram had to apply all of his strength to get it to stand in the upright position. That was close. It could have crushed my feet.
He went to the object and examined it carefully. A candelabrum, he thought, somewhat disappointed. He was about to pick it up but retracted his hand quickly. Careful, it might be cursed. He bent down to examine the object closely and recognized the dark, dull metal immediately. Meyroon! The smooth cylindrical handle divided into three prongs, crowned each by an intricate rim circumscribing a circular hollow. The three holes were too wide to hold the regular sized candles used in most temples. Leaning the candle-holder to the light, Ahiram peered inside the prongs and saw nothing beside a smooth, dark surface, but he noticed twelve tiny statues exquisitely engraved along the rim. The level of detail was stupendous, clearly the mark of a great master. He got up and began to pace.
It could be cursed, he thought. Better leave it here.
On the other hand, he countered, you’re the only one who could lift this heavy crate with bare hands.
So what? There are curses adapted to strike specific people.
What do you know about magic? he protested to himself. Nothing.
Which is why I should leave this candelabrum here. My goal is to find Hoda, not become some grand collector of magical artifacts.
That last thought helped him make up his mind. He stopped pacing and headed back to the secret door, ignoring the candelabrum. After a short climb, the stairs dead-ended inside a low cavity. Ahiram inspected the surroundings, pressing on various stones. But the wall refused to budge. He crouched, his back against the wall, thinking what to do next when it started to pivot silently. Ahiram found himself face to snout with a familiar black dog.
Shadow? What are you doing here? Ignoring him, the dog slipped through and went down the stairs. “Wait,” Ahiram hissed, “Come back, you stupid dog. Here I go again talking to this animal—or fake animal, or whatever this quadruped is.”
Ahiram quickly went back into the hall and found Shadow standing near the candelabrum. He was about to admonish the dog when he heard footsteps from behind the curtain where he had hidden. He lifted it slightly and listened. A large group coming this way. High Riders. He dropped the curtain and turned around. Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Blast that dog. I’m going to have a word with Sheheluth as soon as I see her.
He expected her to protest, but he did not hear her voice inside his head. He left quickly and reached the temple to the Unknown God where he watched the circular door rotate back in place. Shadow dropped the candelabrum at his feet and gazed at him with a look that seemed to say must I do everything around here?
Ahiram bent over and slowly picked up the object. He half-expected to be turned into a toad or a sheep, or worse, a dog, but nothing of the sort happened. The candelabrum felt cold and heavy. The dog moaned softly and got up. “Yes, I know, I don’t have time to lose,” Ahiram said. Shadow gazed at him, then quickly trotted outside the temple and vanished from view.
Ahiram returned to the inn using the same underground passage he had taken the day before. Silently, he went through the back doors into the servants’ courtyard where he had helped Hondbrand pluck the chicken. After a quick climb, he reached the rooftops and went toward the jug where his belongings were hidden. He removed the broken lid and sighed with relief: they were still there. He strapped his sword on his shoulder, fastened his Silent belt, grabbed his leather bag, turned around, and froze. Tawr stood between him and the stairs.
“So you escaped, I see,” he said.
“You knew what happened to me, then.”
“Of course, I’m the one who called the High Riders. I told them to come and pick you up.”
“Why? What is it to you?”
“I am faithful to Baal. Magic is forbidden, and what you did on that boat was magic.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Liar. Shamal saw you lift that crate all by yourself. My workers know not to mess with folks that dabble with magic. They know to come and report it right away, but you didn’t. You kept it to yourself. Your real name is Ahiram, son of Jabbar. Oh yes, I remember him well. That haughty man humiliated me when he refused to sell his shark meat to me directly.”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” Ahiram said, “its’ all coming back to me. Father did refuse to sell you his shark meat, because you used to beat your daughters senseless. Who’s the haughty man now?”
With surprising agility, Tawr lunged to deliver two blows that would have knocked down a bull, but Ahiram had already moved. Tawr turned around in time to see the sole of Ahiram’s foot. A wave of pain exploded in his head. He staggered back, shook his head to clear his mind, and attacked, his arms whipping the air like massive oars. He was powerful and knew how to win street fights. He cornered Ahiram against the edge of the building and threw an uppercut, which missed only by a hair. Another wave of pain exploded in his chest, shoulders, neck, then his head from the barrage of blows that he was receiving. He managed to set h
is arms before him to protect his face, but a powerful kick delivered to his knee made him lose his balance and teeter back. Another kick landed. He slammed his back on the broken pot, shattering it as his head bounced on the hard stone. He blacked out.
Ahiram straightened his sword’s sheath on his shoulder and quickly climbed down the stairs. As he reached the ground, he heard a faint noise and was about to unsheathe his sword when he recognized Sheheluth.
“What are you doing here?” he snarled. “And what’s up with that stupid dog of yours?”
“That stupid dog made the right decision when you made the wrong one. I’m coming with you, and there’s no point and no time for you to argue or ask questions. We need to leave quickly.”
“Look at you now, all talkative and animated. You almost seem like another person.”
Sheheluth glanced at him sharply then gazed into the darkness of the night and shuddered. “Believe me when I say I’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Then stay,” he grumbled. “I’m not asking you to come with me.”
“I know,” she replied with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Things are not easy, and I don’t … I add to the confusion. One day you’ll understand … I hope. But for now you’ll have to put up with me.”
Ahiram glared at her. Incredible the haughtiness of this kid.
I’m not haughty. Cranky and short-tempered perhaps, but I have my reasons. You’ll thank me one day. Ahiram did not need to look to his side to know that Shadow was standing by him. “Alright then, let’s move.”
They reached the city limit in short order. Security in and around Byblos was lax, for no one expected trouble in this Temple-faithful metropolis. The gates were closed but they had no trouble climbing over the wall and rejoining the northeastern road toward the mountains.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 39