To make matter worse, Sharr ordered him to leave Northern Mycene alone. “Ebaan is a formidable power that I do not wish to rouse at this point in time.”
“Three months of hard work for nothing,” he spat angrily. “I thought I had convinced the majority of the military council, and then this haughty female colludes with the high priest to shut my initiative down. No one defended my position, not one member of the council. Spineless drab, not worth the dust under the soles of my boots.”
“Patience, my friend, patience,” counseled Loratio, the angon in charge of the sixth battalion, comprising the forward elite forces of the Temple for the northwestern region. “They threw us a morsel to satisfy a stray dog, but soon enough, they’ll come around and give us what we want.”
The heavy Babylonian traffic of carriages and horses came to a halt as soon as the military group stepped from the sidewalk onto the street. Led by Nebo, the little group crossed the vast boulevard and walked into Baal’s Hammer, a lounge that catered exclusively to the top echelons of the High Riders. Oblong in shape, the lounge was finished with polished cedar wood, and the edges of its arched doorways were covered with brushed brass. Inside, lush carpets from Lurca hushed the steely footsteps of the soldiers, and large comfortable divans occupied discrete alcoves. The domed roof featured a magnificent fresco of Baal on his chariot crossing from east to west, lighting up the four corners of the world. The wall behind the main counter was covered with mirror fragments shaped into the face of a woman—an Adorant most likely—with jades for pupils and rubies for the lips. Above, six statues rested on a pedestal carved from white wood and shaped into two slaves carrying a platform on their heads. Each statue represented a crouching, obese figure, and each held a different weapon. They symbolized the High Riders’ dominion over the entire world.
The lounge was relatively empty at this early hour of the day, and the few officers who were resting stood immediately to attention when Nebo walked in. The three bartenders did the same.
“At ease, officers,” Nebo said as he crossed the lounge to reach his favorite alcove, which stood at the opposite end of the lounge and was set on an elevated platform. The four doors of the lounge were wide open, and a crisp breeze flushed out the blue smoke seeping out from the officers’ silver hookahs.
Nebo sat down, his back to the wall, and his companions sat with him around the sturdy table. He hated recliners because, in his opinion, they fostered laziness, but the truth was more prosaic: every time he reclined on his side and ate or drank, he ended up with indigestion.
“Mighty officers of Baal, I want options,” he said while removing his gloves and untying the top two buttons of his shirt. He set his helmet next to him and waited.
“Kalibaal doesn’t want an all-out war,” Loratio started. He glanced at his commanding officer, watching his every reaction. “He doesn’t believe this is the right moment to go to war.” Nebo’s face turned bright red. “But I believe,” Loratio continued, “there are actions we can take that would not break the priestly command, but would be beneficial to your design.”
Taliana, a tall female general, was listening intently. Even though Nebo was her equal in rank, she was his senior in number of years served, and she commanded several battalions of artificers specializing in the launching of fiery projectiles. Since two of her battalions were embedded in Nebo’s army, she worked closely with him to coordinate operations between her troops and his rear-guard heavy infantry that protected them. “I have heard from our spies,” she said in a steely voice, “that war is in the offing with Tanniin. The Kingdom is in the throws of a revolution. King Jamiir was deposed and Lord Orgond is vying to take the throne. The Temple is hoping the new king will fully submit to Baal’s authority. If not, a war of conquest will follow.”
Monterre, a colonel in charge of several battalions of avant-guard light cavalry deployable to any theater at a moment’s notice, looked up from his plate. He was a handsome fifty-something with a trimmed mustache and a charming smile that enhanced the deep blue of his eyes. The dreaded forty-fourth battalion, trained to crush uncontainable civilian uprising, was directly under his command. He was ruthless and had a thing for public execution. “Darkness is over the southern kingdoms of Koriapur and Korridir,” he said with his soft-spoken, placid voice. “I’ve heard rumors of an all-out war between the hordes of the Annuna-Ki and the Maradite Army.”
“The Annuna-Ki, my friend, waging war against the giants?” Nebo asked, who could speak civilly when he wished. “Do you lend credence to such rumors?”
Monterre shrugged and examined his well-manicured nails. “Sharr is up to something. War is on the way. Soon, you’ll be able to spill as much blood as you’d like, Nebo. Patience, my friend, patience.”
“Nevertheless,” Loratio added, “I think we can dispatch one or two divisions to flush out the Black Robes from their hiding place and force them to surrender.”
Monterre looked at the colonel with pursed lips. “What would we gain from stirring the mud? The Black Robes are the priest’s cleaners. Why bother with the trash?”
“Because,” Loratio continued, his eyes burning with greed, “the Seer is hiding in their midst.”
“Pah,” Monterre spat, “fickle priests and mindless idiots believe in such nonsense.”
“True, true,” Loratio replied, urging the choleric colonel to calm. “No one in the military cares for such fables, but this purported seer happens to be the slave who maimed Nebo’s brother, and he is so important to Sharr that whoever catches him will have a strong bargaining position with the high priest.”
Taliana shook her head. “Sharr cannot be negotiated with. If we do his dirty work, he will wrest control of the slave and we will end up with a curt thank you. However, if the military is going after the slave, we’re going to need priestly backing.”
“Anyone in mind?” Nebo asked. This conversation had cooled his ardor for revenge. He believed that once a general, he would have had the authority to launch attacks. The slave dealt him a personal blow when he escaped from his clutches, and destroying a few kingdoms would soothe his lust for revenge. But now that he was meeting with the baalitarch and the council, he understood how frail his position really was.
“Sarand the Soloist,” Taliana said. “Of all the heads of priestly order, she is the most powerful. She dislikes Sharr as much as we do, and she would be open to talk to us.”
“But, my dear Taliana,” Monterre countered, “you know how dangerous it is to speak with an Adorant, let alone the Soloist.”
“Which is why we use special intermediaries,” she replied. “I’ve done it on numerous occasions when I needed to curry a favor from them.”
“Who would be foolhardy enough to speak to the Adorants on our behalf?” Monterre asked.
Taliana smiled again. “Monterre, you should spend some time with Angon Svynsk. He could teach you a trick or two.”
At the mention of that name, the three men looked at the female general with renewed respect and apprehension. Angon Svynsk was the colonel in charge of the Gray Ravens, the spies of the temple. Svynsk was almost as scary as a Kerta priest. Very few had met him, and those who did never saw his face. The thought that Taliana had spent time with him gave the three men the shivers.
“Lepers,” she said finally. “Lepers are immune to the Adorant’s charm. This is why Svynsk keeps a contingent of them around.”
“I’ve heard,” Loratio said, “that he employs two Shogols to keep a field of lepers for him in the Arayat.”
“I see,” said Nebo. “We negotiate with Sarand through the intermediaries of lepers. I like that.”
“Lepers do not come cheap,” Taliana pointed out. “You can’t just pick any leper off the street. They must be trained diplomats.”
Nebo waved his hand. “My dear Taliana, I am not so gullible to believe you agreed to attend this meeting because of my charm or because you care to catch this slave. You are here for a share of my wealth, and I am generous whe
n needed,” he said with a grin. “At least, you and I understand each other. Money is not a problem.”
Taliana picked up her untouched mug of ale and drank it in one long drought. She slammed the mug back on the table and got up. “Why don’t you gentlemen plan the military attack? You won’t need artificers. In the meantime, I’ll be back with the right leper. The whole matter should be settled before day’s end.”
Nebo, Monterre, and Loratio detailed the attack on the Black Robe’s camp. Although all three would have preferred to deploy the forty-fourth battalion, it was currently stationed in the port of Dade along the coast of Londo-Libra, a kingdom several thousand miles southwest from the kingdom of Mitani, where the Black Robes’ camp was located.
“General Munambeh has asked me to clean up Dade from miscreants and malcontents who grumble against the Temple,” Monterre explained. “Moving the forty-fourth without his consent would create ill feelings between us and he would most likely alert Baalitarch Kyrilianne.”
In the end, they had to abandon that idea, and instead, rely on one division of light cavalry from the sixth battalion, complemented by a division of short-bow footmen from the thirty-fourth battalion. Both were under Nebo’s direct order and were currently stationed in the garrisons of Baalbek, outside the Temple’s precinct.
“That’s close to six thousand soldiers,” Monterre observed. “That’s a lot of soldiers. You won’t be able to hide this from the Temple.”
“I’ve already moved five light guards of the cavalry into the foothills of Kesrwan when the slave escaped,” Nebo noted.
“That’s half of your division right there,” Loratio said. “I’ve got another three light-guards stationed near Sarg, in Uratu. We can use them. You’d end up with two light-guards short of a full division, but that should do quite nicely. After all, it’s the Black Robes we’re talking about; they’re not military grade.”
“The Black Robes and one slave,” Nebo observed.
The two other men chuckled.
“Fine. We’ll dispatch three light guards of the cavalry to Mitani,” Nebo decided. “We’ll leave the rest where they are. Another light guard of bow fielders should do well. If we encounter a stiff resistance, then we’ll have every reason to muster a greater force, and the priests will not be able to refuse our request.”
“You can easily move two light guards of short-bow archers from Baalbek to the mountain-tops under the pretense of greater security for Byblos,” Monterre observed. “No one will object.”
“It’s within your prerogatives as a general,” Loratio added.
“In that case,” Nebo asked, “do we still need Sarand’s support?”
The three men exchanged glances.
“Not if you can get the local populace to accuse the Black Robes of fomenting trouble,” Monterre observed. “You’d be justified to restore peace and in the process, you’d come across the slave. Even if Sharr suspects foul play, he won’t be able to pin it on you.”
“What do we do with Taliana’s offer then?”
“I say we play her. Listen to what she has to offer and pretend to go along, then reveal the whole thing to Sharr when you present the slave to him and we gain his favor.”
“I like the way you think, Monterre,” Nebo said, grinning. “After all, since when do we let women tell us what to do?”
The three men cheered, and in the clanging of the mugs, one could already hear the clamor of war and the death of innocents.
Two weeks later, on a bright crisp day, Karadon took Pyram and Dunal fishing, and Hoda walked to the meadow where she knew Ahiram would be with little Noraldeen. She found him sitting under a cluster of pine trees, gently rocking Nora in his arms while singing a lullaby.
Three little lambs hopped by a stream.
The first found an apple and a crust of bread.
The second wished for sweet cakes and cream.
The third saw you smile, and played with you instead.
Three beautiful birds landed on their heads.
The first picked at the apple and the crust of bread.
The second thought of the lamb as the best of beds.
The third saw you smile, and sang to you instead.
Three butterflies came fluttering up the stream.
The first landed on the apple and the piece of bread.
The second asked the birds for cakes and cream.
The third saw you smile and danced with you instead.
I’m not like the lambs, the butterflies, or the birdies.
I don’t care much for apples, sweet cakes, and cream.
I don’t need a pretty white bed laced with frillies.
All I need is your smile, as you fall into sweet dreams.
“Morning of Lilies,” Hoda said as she walked into the meadow. “That was a beautiful lullaby. You should teach it to me sometime.”
“Morning of Peace,” Ahiram replied with a grin. “I’ve learned in Tanniin from an older slave-woman. Nora fell asleep. Isn’t she cute?”
“You can stop rocking her. She won’t wake up.”
“Are you sure? I heard it’s really bad if you interrupt a baby’s nap. She can end up with pimples when she’s older.”
Hoda had to control herself from laughing. “And who told you that?”
“Two women from Wrok-Atul. That’s what they said.”
“I see. Who else is advising you?”
“I’ve asked every woman in camp. You can never be sure. I mean, how do you know you’re doing the right thing for little Nora? Aren’t you afraid of messing up? If while I’m training, I throw a dart and I mess up, well that only affects me, but if you mess up with a baby, I mean, who knows how many people you affect down the line, right? It takes an impossible amount of courage to have a child, don’t you think? I don’t know how you do it to stay calm and recollected, Hoda. When I think about all the things that can go wrong, it’s staggering.”
Hoda leaned over and took Nora from Ahiram’s arm. She unfolded a lamb’s skin, laid it on the grass, and placed Nora face down on it. The baby stretched and fussed a little, then went back to sleep. Hoda covered her with a light cotton sheet.
“Hum … Hoda, there are at least sixty-two varieties of insects in this meadow—just the ones I’ve seen with my own eyes. Many crawl on the grass, then there are birds of prey who can dive at incredible speed, and that’s without counting the flying bugs. Why don’t you give her back to me and I’ll make sure nothing happens to her?”
“Ahiram, I want you to listen to me now, and I want you to listen carefully. Did you walk around our camp?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And what did you see?”
“Well, it’s severely exposed and could be easily overtaken in at least seven ways. I’ve been working to shore-up its defenses, and I can’t imagine how little Nora could live here if I were not by her side. I mean, just the swamps—”
“Ahiram,” Hoda interrupted gently. “Did you get a chance to talk to the people who live here?”
“What do you mean?”
“There isn’t one person in this camp who has not lost a loved one. Everyone here is a survivor. Did you talk to Pyram?”
“I haven’t. Why?”
“Pyram and Dunal lost their parents, their three older siblings, and the rest of their family. But yesterday, Pyram was squealing with joy because Karadon gave her a kite to fly.”
“Hoda, I’m not following—”
Hoda laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s back and stroked it. “The point, I’m trying to get across, dear brother, is that if something happens to this baby or me, you’ll go on living. You’ll find joy and happiness in this world, and you’ll eventually start your own family.”
Ahiram fell silent. “I don’t think so, Hoda,” he said at last. He looked at her and she could see how serious he was. “I’m not strong like you, Hoda, or like Noraldeen. I mean Lord Orgond’s daughter, not my niece. There’s one thing I didn’t tell you before.”
&
nbsp; She drew near her brother and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “What, Ahiram? You can tell me anything.”
“After Noraldeen died, I tried to kill myself.” Her hand, which was gently rubbing his shoulder, stopped. He looked at her. “I bet the thought of killing yourself never crossed your mind, even after you lost me. No, Hoda, I can’t bear the thought of losing you or little Nora.”
“What would you do if we died?”
“It’s strange,” he said after a moment. His voice was a quiet whisper. “Left to my own devices, I’d burn down the whole world, I guess.” She looked at him and he did not avert his eyes. “I’m still the same, Hoda, the same kid with the same burning rage who wants to consume everything on his path.”
“But...” she said tentatively.
“But,” he continued in a dry chuckle, “I’m bound by a promise I made, a promise I can’t break. So, if the two of you die, I’d go on looking for ways to fulfill my promise, but I’d be an empty shell, a vacant shadow trying to project a bright light around me. What irony, I tell you. I thought I became free when I killed the urkuun, but the truth is that I voluntarily became the slave to a promise I made from my whole heart. Ha, how sneaky and cruel you were, Noraldeen, that you managed to steal my heart and bury it with you.”
Hoda’s heart constricted in her chest. She wished she could take her brother’s pain away. “What would you have done if Princess Noraldeen had not died? Would have asked for her hand? You were raised to the dignity of a Prince of Tanniin because you slew the urkuun, and I don’t think her father would have objected. All the impediments would have been lifted for you two to be married. Would you have done it?”
Ahiram stood up, stretched, and placed his hands behind his back then gazed into the distance.
“Would you like my opinion?” Hoda ventured. Relieved, he nodded silently. “I don’t know if you would have asked her to marry you, but what I do know is that if you did marry her, she would have hated you.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 47