Bow shook his head.
Slippery Slued scanned the area, and seeing no one else, wondered what an archer might be doing alone in this dangerous part of the desert. But perhaps this was not the time to ask questions. “We’re going to the Oasis of Teshir, up north. Would you like to join us? We could use an archer of your caliber.”
Bow nodded and followed them back to where they had left Slued’s horse and Huska’s camel. They got astride their mounts and were startled to see Bow sitting on a horse. Where did the horse come from? thought Slued, but the sound of angry galloping hoofs behind them made him forget about Bow’s horse as he focused on escaping the Sahripat.
“What is your assessment of the situation?” Sharr asked.
Kalibaal looked at the three orbs revolving around them and kept quiet for a while. “I do not know how to interpret the signs, Your Highness. On the one hand, it seems that the kôhrosh has successfully accomplished the first part of its intended mission by branding the Seer. On the other hand …”
“On the other hand?” Sharr pressed.
“On the other hand, it seems that the kôhrosh’s branding has been slightly altered in ways I do not understand. Something happened that I am at a loss to define.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sharr said. “A force stirs within the Arayat. Someone lurks in its shadows, and it is that someone who is helping the Seer. We must find where this source of power is flowing from and annihilate it.”
“Do you still think it is the Lady of Eleeje?”
Sharr shook his head dubitatively. “There is no record of the Lady ever visiting the Spell World. It may be someone else, and we must quickly find out who. Use whatever resources you need to discover who it is that intervened.”
“Yes, Master.” Kalibaal bowed and left the room.
“Ahiram, wake up. Wake up, Ahiram.”
Slowly, Ahiram came back to his senses. His labored breathing became normal again. He opened his eyes and saw that he was enmeshed in a web of red light. He sat up and the web of light vanished suddenly. He looked around him. The winged creature and its rider were gone. Ahiram turned and saw Sheheluth kneeling by his side. He sheathed his sword and took off his mask. The darkness surprised him and he had to adjust his vision to the night.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “One moment you were standing next to me and the next, you’re on the ground, unconscious.”
“Did you see something? Something strange?”
“I didn’t see anything,” she replied. “Besides, it’s too dark to see. Are you alright? Were you attacked?”
“I’m fine,” replied Ahiram with characteristic abruptness. “It was nothing, don’t worry.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sheheluth said with a gentle smirk. “I noticed that you’re not very talkative. I heard you groan and then you fell to the ground right when the storm exploded. I wouldn’t call this nothing.”
“Listen, Sheheluth, I can’t begin to explain it myself. You wanted to come with me and so you did. Now, don’t ask me questions and above all, don’t tell anyone about this, or how I got the horse up this peak, or … just don’t tell anyone anything at all.”
Ahiram strapped his bag on the horse and held the reins. He waited for Sheheluth to mount and decided to walk next to the horse until he was sure they were safe. He did not have to go very far to find out that they were not safe. A group of masked men dressed in black sprung up and surrounded them, bows drawn.
The Black Robes, and they don’t trust us, he thought.
The men fanned out and encircled them. “Please follow us peacefully or else we will be forced to kill you,” one of them said. Ahiram handed him the horse’s reins. “For the duration of our walk, we will need to blindfold you. I apologize for the inconvenience.” His voice was calm, almost polite.
Sheheluth sighed as the men blindfolded them. They walked until they reached the eastern edge of the mountain. There, the Black Robes tied the prisoners’ hands behind their backs and made them ride on separate horses while another rider led Ahiram’s stallion. The group began descending toward the plain behind the range of Kesrwan. Ahiram tried to keep track of the direction and duration of their travel. After what seemed like two-and-a-half hours of a tortuous circuit, they entered a cave and dismounted from their horses. Someone held the Silent by the arm and led him through a labyrinthine path toward a room. He felt the rope around his wrists loosen and heard a door shut behind him. He understood that he was alone. He took off his blindfold and looked around. He was in a small cell, carved into the mountainside and closed by a thick wooden door with a small window. A tight metallic grid covered the window and precluded any idea of escape. A faint ray of light seeped through, and Ahiram determined that the best thing to do was to wait. Better rest, he thought, sooner or later, they’ll be back. He lay on the ground, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.
“If then the kôhrosh was a higher being of the Dark Pit, the Annuna-Kals could be said to be no less dangerous, for they had been brought forth to support and complement the work of the kôhrosh. In as much as the kôhrosh was an ethereal creature preferring the Arayat to physical realities, the Annuna-Kals dwelt in the depths of the Earth, far beneath the walkways of Men and Dwarfs. There, they brought their progeny into existence. Had the kôhrosh and the Annuna-Kals formed a united front, I doubt that the Land would have survived their onslaught, but such are the affairs of the Pit that while its masters long to be set free, they are set against each other in an unremitting fight for total power and control.”
–Teachings of Oreg, a High Priest of Baal.
“Remove your blindfold.”
Sheheluth complied. She found herself in the middle of a whitewashed cave with a low ceiling and a red-brick covered floor. Despite the two torches hanging from the back that burned brightly, the room remained mostly in darkness.
A short, middle-aged woman with straight black hair and skin the color of a summer night came out of the shadows. She wore a long, flowing black dress over black leather pants. An aura of sadness surrounded her like a shawl.
“What is your name?”
The voice was soft, studious, but with a hard edge.
“Sheheluth.”
“Where do you come from, Sheheluth?”
“Byblos.”
The woman noticed immediately that Sheheluth was not afraid but rather stood with an amiable smile and a quiet composure. “Why did you leave Byblos?”
“I have run away from my master.”
“Who was your owner?”
“Tawr, the head of the port’s workers league.”
“Where were you born?”
Sheheluth gazed at the woman before replying, “I was born in the land where the Ancient of Days lives.”
“You know the Ancient of Days?” There was a definite strain in the woman’s voice. She looked intently at Sheheluth, scrutinizing her gaze.
“Yes. From birth.”
“So he exists, then. He is not a myth.”
“Yes and no. The man exists, but so does the myth.”
“Where does he live?”
“On the Island of Salem, up on the hill of the three waterfalls. There, at the foothills, beyond a lake of crystal clear waters, you will find a staircase that leads up to him.”
“Isn’t that a secret? Did you just betray him by revealing his location?”
“Betray him? Not at all. His location is known even to the Temple of Babylon. But knowledge is not always power. In this case, it won’t do you much good. You couldn’t climb the staircase on your own. But tell me, why is this important to you?”
The woman’s expression hardened. She circled slowly around Sheheluth, closing her eyes at times. “What can you tell me about the young man who came with you?”
“He is also a fugitive. He is running away from Baal.”
“Do you know why?”
“The High Riders came to the inn where he slept and they arrested him. He returned the following day, took his bel
ongings, and was about to leave when I asked him to take me with him. He agreed to help me.”
“Is he an acquaintance of yours?”
“We’ve been together in Byblos for the past six months, so in a way, yes, he is.”
“Where does he come from?”
“I was a slave. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him.”
“Surely you must have overheard him talk with other port workers.”
“He does not talk much. He often spent the later part of the evening on the roof of the inn and kept to himself.”
“When our men found you, you were standing on the mountaintop with a horse. It’s impossible to get a horse to climb the face of that mountain. Clearly, someone must have been waiting for your and gave you the horse. Who was it?”
“After we left Byblos, we stopped by an isolated barn. He knocked on the door and told a man that he was coming on behalf of someone, I don’t remember who, now. The man gave him the horse.”
“Are you saying that he got that horse up the mountain face?”
“That’s what I am saying.”
“How?”
“We flew on the back of the horse.”
A strangled chuckle escaped from the lips of two guards standing in the shadows, but it died as soon as the woman gazed in their direction. “Don’t humor me, child.”
“I’m not. He used magic to get that horse to fly.”
The woman’s green eyes became a slit. “It takes a mighty form of magic to perform such a feat. Are you certain you’re not lying to me?”
“Why would I lie? Ask him.”
“Very well then,” She clapped twice and a guard entered the room.
“Escort this young woman back to her cell.”
After Sheheluth left the room, the woman stood still and closed her eyes. Moments later, a tall man with bushy white hair and a thick beard joined her. His blue eyes sparkled as he stood and waited in silence.
“You’re too pale, Uran,” she said after a while, “you should get out in the sun more often.”
Uran examined his hands and waited. The two of them were the magic interrogators for the Black Robes’ camp in Kesrwan. Both were former members of the Temple, and both had a broad knowledge of the magical lore practiced in various parts of the world. Ashod played the same role in the other Black Robe camp near Rastoopa. But the camp in the mountains of Kesrwan was mostly a forward position the Black Robes used to track any military movement from Baalbek, the coast, or from any of the major military camps of Baal in Marduc.
“Tell me Uran, if you were a spy of Baal, would you use magic in plain sight? Would you then admit that you used magic to lift a horse in the air and up the mountain?”
“Since I’m not a spy of Baal, I can’t tell you what I would or would not do,” the man called Uran replied. “What I can tell you though is that in my twenty years of being a member of the Black Robes, I’ve rescued a lot of people from a lot of different places, and I have never heard anyone say that Baal lifted something this heavy with magic.”
“I agree. In Tamigo, my hometown before Baal raided it, there was a lot of people dabbling with magic. Old Stawana used to tell us that to move objects is easy, to move living things is hard. To move living things while you’re on the ground is very hard, and to lift yourself along with living things is superhuman, especially when they are heavier than you.”
“The Temple uses orbs,” Uran observed. “He doesn’t have orbs.”
“The girl’s name is Sheheluth. Have you ever heard that name?”
“No. Never heard of a Sheheluth before.”
“Why would a thirteen or fourteen-year-old slave girl keep her slave name? Usually run-away slaves revert to their birth name.”
“Did you probe her? Is she using spells of protection?”
“I have. Her mind is defended by a maze of mazes, layered, and very powerful. She does not have the mind of a thirteen-year-old.”
“Maybe she is the spy and he is the decoy?”
“She’s most definitely using high magic. Strong magicians will surround their minds with spell-barriers, and you either break through or remain out. In her case, she doesn’t have that. Instead, her mind, her entire mind, functions like a spell. I have never seen such a thing before.”
“You mean to stay she is stronger than you?”
Evetta nodded. “I don’t stand a chance against her. I doubt that Ashod would too. I am not even certain that Sarand could break her.”
“Was she lying?”
“Our scouts saw them sit on the horse and fly to the top of the mountain. She wasn’t hiding anything. She was telling the truth.”
Uran sighed deeply and then laughed. “Every time I tell myself that I’ve seen it all, something comes up to prove me wrong. Our business is to save people, Evetta, not torture them. What should we do?”
“What surprises me,” Evetta replied, “is that a young girl who has known the Ancient of Days since the day she was born could end up as a slave to a petty inn-owner. From the little I have heard, the Ancient of Days is a power to be reckoned with. Even Baal leaves him alone.”
“The Ancient of Days? She said she knows the Ancient of Days since birth? Well that might explain the high magic, but, yes, that also means she could have run away from that inn any time she wanted.”
Evetta smiled. “That’s it, Uran, you’ve hit Baal on the head—”
“Come again? I did what?”
Evetta laughed. “That’s true, you’re new to these parts. That’s an expression we use to say you got it, you understood what’s going on.”
“Weird, but fine, go on.”
“She went to the inn on her own accord. She pretended to be a slave there, because she wanted to protect the young man.”
“Like a guardian of sorts?”
“Exactly.”
“So you don’t think these two are spies of Baal?”
“I’m more and more convinced that they are no spies of Baal. We’ve seen spies before who tried to double-cross us by pretending to be mind-readers from Khar-Taro, or pretending to hide under some guise of being a carpenter from Anigono, that sort of thing …”
“Or when they pretend to be a spell-singer from Cangar, or a belly-dancer from Adaf, yeah, we’ve seen it all.”
“But in all these cases, they’ve never, ever used high magic in the open like these two have done and certainly not without orbs.”
Another Black Robe member walked in and set Ahiram’s sword and his bag on a table in front of Evetta and Uran. “These are the belongings of the young man,” he said. He bowed low and left.
“What do we have here?” Uran said. He placed his hand over the sword’s handle, closed his eyes and muttered a few words, then yanked his hand back as if bitten by a snake.
“I could’ve told you and spared you the pain,” Evetta said with a smile. “You’re always too curious.” Uran grumbled something unintelligible. “Now, don’t touch anything,” she said as she peered inside the bag. “Give me the spell-pliers and five curse absorbers.”
Uran went to the back of the room and dropped a ring over a specific empty spot. The small object landed on an invisible surface and vanished in a flash. An old paneled mahogany closet ornamented with gold leaves appeared. Uran opened the top right panel, grabbed a pair of silver pliers layered with a thick leather band and a bunch of dark spherical stones from an open silver box. He closed the panel and was about to return to Evetta when he whirled around, opened a lower panel, and grabbed a pair of black velvet gloves.
“This sword is mighty,” Evetta said while taking the curse absorbers. “It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Agreed.”
She placed the small dark stones around the bag and was about to open it when she stopped. “I’ll need the protection gloves,” she said as Uran opened them in front of her. She smiled. “Thoughtful, as usual.” She slid her hands inside the gloves and pulled the bag open. Using the pliers, she retrieved El-Windiir’s
artifacts and the candelabrum.
“The absorbers are cold,” Uran observed. “You didn’t trigger a curse.”
“And the pliers did not stiffen, which means there are no spells either. This is an ordinary leather bag.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I’m not sure. These objects here,” she said, pointing with her chin to El-Windiir’s artifacts, “are a definite form of high magic alien to Baal. I can now see how this young man managed to lift the horse up the mountain. Now this,” she added, as she pointed with her pliers to the candelabrum, “is of an entirely different order of power.”
Uran heard the quiver in his companion’s voice and looked intently at the strange object. “No curse and no spells, right?” he said, eyeing Evetta. She nodded. He grabbed the candelabrum and tried lifting it. He couldn’t move it. They looked at each other. “Have you seen anything like it?” he said. “You can carry it using the gloves, and Baalimor carried it inside the bag without difficulty.”
“This is old magic. Sorcerers would use such a spell to allow an apprentice to carry a magical artifact inside a container. But if the apprentice tried to use the object directly by lifting it or manipulating it, he wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“But you just said there are no spells or curses,” Uran said.
She looked at him and then stared back at the candelabrum. “Then, I don’t understand.” She tried to lift the it. “Amazing.”
Uran peered at the Silent’s belt. He placed the curse absorbers around it and lifted it with the pliers. “I don’t sense any magic there, do you?”
“Agreed. No magic there.”
Carefully, Evetta turned the belt over and examined its contents. “Darts,” she said, “these are darts. This is the belt of a warrior of sorts. Who uses darts?”
“I don’t know, but Nyananth might know. She’s got a real passion for weapons. Let me go get her.”
A short moment later, Uran returned with an energetic young woman whose big black eyes shone under the light. Like the rest of the refugees, she was a survivor of Baal’s massacres from the southern kingdom of Gaminga-Neya. Nyananth was seven-years old when she witnessed the extermination of her parents and her seven siblings while hiding in a wicker basket, where, later, Uran found her, adopted her and raised her as his daughter. Unlike many of the survivors, Nyananth carried her sorrow like a weapon, and turned joy into a form of discipline. She shared her motto with anyone who would listen: “Every step will hurt, every movement, painful, but let your heart be a song. That’s how the Temple is defeated.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 43