“This is unnatural, no horse can move this fast,” Derict muttered.
“Indeed,” Alfi said, “this horse is moving faster than his shadow.”
Derict nodded. “That must be Lyloj, Baal’s heavenly messenger.”
“More like an apple addict,” Ahiram grumbled. Inwardly, he was elated to see his horse come back to him.
The black stallion galloped to where they were standing and slowed to a trot, eventually stopping before Ahiram. He tapped the ground impatiently with his left hoof and looked at the Silent intently.
Ahiram placed a pail full of fresh water before the steed, who drank it all. The Silent grabbed the bucket from the saddle, dropped cut pieces of apples in it and held it in front of the horse. “They’re fresh, but don’t complain that your bucket isn’t full, Your Highness. We’re short on apples. But there’s going to be a lot more for you once we’re in the Kingdom of the Marada.”
The horse sniffed the fruit and delicately grabbed one and began munching hungrily. Ahiram patted him on the forehead.
“Aren’t you going to ride him?” Balid asked.
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “I will when I’ll feel like it.” He moved away. “Khawand,” he muttered, “let this be a foretaste of what will happen to you the next time we meet.” He was convinced he had failed the sacrificed children. His throat constricted, and he preferred not to think about their ordeal. Foosh showed up and announced dinner was ready. Grateful for the distraction, Ahiram accepted the invitation. Mentally, Ahiram added the sheik to the list of his enemies. Whether Khawand knew it or not, he was now a target. Bind your time, Ahiram, the Silent thought to himself as he walked inside the tent. The time will come when you’ll master the Letters of Power, and when you do, you’ll make Khawand and his followers atone for all the children they have so joyfully sacrificed.
“The long-standing relationship that the giants have with Eleeje covers a period of three thousand years and goes as far back as King Marada III. Early on during the first dynasty, he planted the forest of Mar Aden Bar as a gift to the Lady. If we consider the records of Salem, covering the period of history preceding Mar Aden Bar, we see unfolding before our eyes the great Battle of Durandhil, where the Sons of El fought side by side with the Malikuun against the Lords of the Pit. Years later, the Nephilim launched the Battle of Darkness against the small Alliance of Shem and its captain, Nouh, Prince of Light. In the course of this vast conflict, the Hordes of the Nephral, the Fiery Anvil, destroyed Silbarâd and then the Great Flood overtook this lost generation, save for a small group of survivors.”
–Annals of the Marada, by Lord Aron Keril, Counselor to the Malekian House, the 3rd Dynasty of the Marada.
Balid opened his arms as if to embrace the entire caravan. “Listen to me, O travelers about to cross the Hidden Gate of the Marada. Give ear and heed my words, for I am about to reveal to you the rules of life and death in the land of the giants. These words are true, for my eyes have seen and my ears have heard what was spoken by those who rule the great Maradite Kingdom.”
Ahiram looked up and surveyed the ridge of the monumental wall that extended before them as far as the eye could see. At sixty feet high, it was built at the close of the Wars of Fire after the urkuun and the other creatures that served him destroyed the forest that once stood where the desert presently lay. Since the end of that war, the chief purpose of the Great Wall was to act as a first line of defense and to protect the Land of the Marada from incursion by marauders. It was King Marada V—known as Marada the Great—who ordered the wall built some thirty-three hundred years ago. He reformed the kingdom, strengthened it on all sides, and established what became a long-standing separation between giants and men. After the wall was built, hundreds of years went by during which humankind was not seen among the Marada, and they, in turn, did not venture outside their fortification. Three hundred and fifty years ago, Queen Vuwinelle III, of the current Hardatist dynasty, reformed and modernized the Maradite kingdom. She opened their doors to trading caravans, which began to trickle in during the last ten years of her reign. Her son and successor, King Hujaïm IV, followed in her footsteps and overhauled the southwestern road system to facilitate the movement of wagons and chariots, which steadily increased the flow of human and dwarfish merchants to the capital.
Six days after leaving the desert, Balid’s caravan had finally reached the middle gate. The southern gate stood near the border of Korridir, twelve hundred miles southeast. The northern gate lay some five hundred and fifty miles north, just below the city of Dergoh, located inside the Blight, a murky area of the Great Desert that reminded Ahiram of Metranos.
The middle gate was a massive iron door, fifty feet high and thirty feet wide. Its double-panels formed an elegant arch, and two giants in full military attire were etched on its surface. The faces of the carved giants were hidden beneath their conical helmets that carried steel horns above the forehead. The slits for their eyes were shaped like flying bats. Two hollow fangs hung on each side of the helmet near the ears, and a second pair of fangs protruded from the helmet, close to the mouth. The giant on the left panel held a mace and stood behind a stone-shield. The giant on the right panel, clearly a female, extended a welcoming hand, while carrying a sword in the other.
The head of a lion and an eagle were carved in the stone to the left of the gate, while a serpent and an owl graced the right side. Over the pinnacle of the gate, the caravaners could distinguish a delicately carved vine surrounding a beautiful cup.
“This gate is holy ground to the giants,” Balid explained slowly and solemnly. “The original panels were destroyed by Anaki, the great dragon of the underworld, when the Marada came to the aid of Princess Halia of the Desert Legions. In thanksgiving, the princess offered the Marada this magnificent gate. Others say that it was the dwarf Ekor who carved the gate to seal the friendship between the dwarfs and the giants after they defeated the armies of the Annuna-Kal, who had laid waste to the realm of the dwarfs.”
Balid stood in front of his audience, clearly enjoying his role of orator. “Friends, you will now have the privilege to cross this gate, a privilege for the few who are courageous enough to knock at the door of the mighty Marada. The giants demand you abide by three rules.
“First, your stay cannot exceed a full year. Most of you will depart after several months, having sold your wares. But some of you, mostly metal workers, stone merchants, and glass merchants, as well as cloth and fabric merchants, might choose to stay longer to study the amazing workmanship of the giants. Second, you will confine yourselves to the area of Cordoban that the giants have designated for our use and will not leave it without a permit. And third, you are not allowed to enter the dwelling of a giant unless expressly invited. Violate any of these regulations and you will be summarily ejected back into the desert.”
He stopped his pacing and looked intently at his listeners. He waited for his words to sink in.
Alfi waved a hand. “Surely, these good giants would not send us back to perish in the desert if we violate any of these laws by mistake?”
Derict nodded in agreement. “Laws must be practical, if not just.”
“It’s easier than you think,” replied one of the merchants. “I’ve been in Cordoban before. You can’t enter the home of a giant by mistake; it takes a significant effort for non-giants to do so. Once we reach Cordoban, all of this will make sense.”
“The giants are gracious, kind, and generous,” Balid said, beaming a smile. “Obey these rules and conduct your business with tact and respect, and you will be very well rewarded.”
At these words, the excitement rose. This was what the merchants were hoping for after a long and tiring journey.
Balid knew he would sell all of his carpets, and more importantly, he would be able to purchase silk at a ridiculously cheap price, for silk was plentiful in the Kingdom of the Marada.
“Remember then,” he continued, “these three rules of conduct. At all times and in any ci
rcumstances, be polite, discrete, and considerate. And above all, stay away from the Wretched Race. This evil thing disfigures Cordoban, the beautiful capital of the Land of the Marada. If you follow my advice, you shall prosper and do well, but those who do not follow these rules shall have only themselves to blame, for a long, agonizing death in the desert shall surely be their lot.”
“But what about us, Master Balid?” asked Alfi. “I teach stoicism and Derict teaches philosophy.”
“Your lot is different. You will have an audience with King Onomel, and if he finds you capable and well learned, he will appoint pupils to you. You will live in special quarters at the royal palace and must take great care to restrict yourselves to the designated areas that are assigned to you. Do this and you will prosper. But if you ignore my advice, you will face the dire consequences of your actions.”
Just as Balid finished talking, a gong was heard behind the wall. Silence fell on the caravan as they waited with anticipation. The gong was heard repeatedly. It sounded twelve times. They waited quietly and at last, the panels pivoted in perfect silence.
Definitely dwarfish handiwork, thought Ahiram. His horse snorted and nuzzled him. “Don’t be impatient, Your Highness,” he grumbled. “I told you you’ll get plenty of apples once we’re inside. At least, while we’re in Cordoban, no giant will want to steal you. They have no use for horses.” He heard Sheheluth chuckle behind him.
If giants were the ones to open the gates, they were nowhere to be seen. As the caravan passed through the gate, Ahiram was struck by its thickness. Amazing, he thought. These walls are at least thirty feet thick. He searched for a sign of the giants’ presence but found none.
Outside the walls, the landscape was a semi-arid, shrubbed land with clumps of yellowish grass and meager clusters of eight-foot tall perennials. But past the gate, poplar trees covered the escarpment to the left of the road, and to the right, luxuriant flowers ran wildly down the gently sloped hillside. Down below, a lush forest flourished in a wide valley. Oaks, maples, and ferns grew side by side with a species of tree unknown to Ahiram. Its giant, smooth, and shiny leaves formed a spherical clump atop its prickly trunk.
They stood in hushed silence, admiring the scenery. Balid, one of the few to have been in the Land of the Marada before, was no less taken by the serene beauty of the Maradite countryside. He allowed the caravaners to linger a little longer before giving the signal to move on. The caravan lurched slowly forward, as though the travelers were reluctant to leave this haven.
Ahiram leaned forward and sighed contentedly. His horse, the one he had been calling Your Highness, snorted and tapped the soft grassy ground with his hoof.
“I know, I know,” Ahiram said while patting the horse’s side. He grabbed a few apples from the bucket, quartered them, and threw the pieces on the ground for the horse. “You’ve got to admit, Your Highness, that this spot … I mean all of this is just so … incredibly incredible.”
Ahiram was at a loss of words to adequately describe the landscape sprawled before his stallion’s feet. They were standing on a flat ridge that slopped gently to a wide plain cast in a semi-circle of lush hilltops. It extended as far as the eye could see. A lazy river snaked its way through the open, flat space and the rest of the plain was covered with fields of tulips. Thousands upon thousands of tulips in bloom.
As far as the eye could see.
The flowers swayed under a gentle breeze as they stood in rows of bright yellow, orange, and crimson red. Their combined mass lit up the earth as if the sun had come down for a quick splash and decided to stay, or as if a goddess had walked by and turned dust into living gold. It surpassed in its majestic beauty the carved statues of Tanniin in Taniir-the-Strong Castle.
Ahiram sighed again. “I would have crossed the desert just for this field,” he said. “This is amazing.”
Your Highness snorted impatiently, and at last Ahiram relented. He straightened his posture, which was the only signal the horse required. He leaped in the air and as soon as his hoofs touched the face of the ridge, he bolted like a flash of black light. So fast was his run that Ahiram thought his horse was climbing down the near vertical wall. They reached the wide open plain and the Entalor neighed as if he was issuing a challenge to the wind. His hoofs pounded the ground and Ahiram’s field of vision narrowed until it became a luminous blur of vivid colors. Ahiram leaned forward and the Entalor neighed again and redoubled his effort. The Silent wanted to shout at the top of his lungs from sheer exhilaration. Despite his speed, the horse kept his rider balanced and comfortable. How he did it, Ahiram could not tell. He even wondered if he could beat the horse’s speed by flying with El-Windiir's artifact.
The Entalor’s hoofs devoured the miles like a windstorm and, still, the horse willed to run. They approached the edge of the river. Ahiram blinked and when he opened his eyes, the horse had jumped over it, crossing the wide distance as if it was a mere few feet. He landed softly on the other side, and with a renewed energy, stampeded through the remaining portion of the plain until he reached the caravan lumbering slowly along the paved road. Without prodding, the horse fell into a cantor, then a trot as they reached Balid’s wagon. The carpet merchant was walking at the head of the convoy, and was explaining to Sheheluth the finer details of carpet manufacturing. Hearing the horse’s neigh, they looked back just as Ahiram slid down the saddle and walked over.
“You’re grinning from ear-to-ear,” Balid said. “Enjoying our travel?”
Ahiram nodded. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful here.”
Balid gazed at the horse with dreamy eyes. “I suppose that this stallion’s gallop doesn’t disappoint, right?”
Ahiram laughed. “Not one bit. Not one bit at all. He’s amazing.” The horse neighed. Ahiram scowled, “He doesn’t know how to ask politely.”
Sheheluth smiled. “I’ll take care of feeding him,” she said quietly. “You won’t have to do it this time.”
Hal, Sheheluth the Kind is back, he thought. “Thanks, sister,” he said. “Hey, Balid, when do we reach Cordoban?”
“We’re almost there. It usually takes twelve days of travel from the gate to Cordoban, but we’ve had great weather and these new roads are shorter. We should be in the capital by evening. Once we go over that bend, you’ll be able to glimpse that city’s majestic cupolas. I tell you, It’s a sight to behold.”
The rest of the day was as quiet and pleasant as the nine prior days had been. Just as Balid had told him, they came out of the long bend that hugged a large hill and reached a stone bridge. There, the paved road, turned into a white and pink marble-slab walkway. Ten-foot walls stood on either side and were covered with repeating etchings of flowers and vines, framed images of lions, eagles, serpents, and owls. Forty-foot tall statues of giants in military attire followed at a regular interval, and their sheer height caused the caravan to slow down as they passed them. The subdued caravaners walked in stunned silence; even though everyone had heard about the Marada, they never imagined such beauty and grandeur, such perfect integration with the surrounding nature. Not a few travelers were secretly ashamed of their preconceived notions that the Marada were clumsy and raffish. Some merchants even began to wonder if their ware would be sufficiently refined in the eyes of the giants.
After some time, they crossed a second bridge over a large river. To the right of the bridge were majestic waterfalls that tumbled down a wide moss-covered, semi-circular stone face. Ahead, they glimpsed the glittering high towers of Cordoban, the capital of the kingdom. Like an eagle taking flight, the royal castle sprung from the midst of these towers. Their excitement rose again and did not let up until they reached the gates of Cordoban just as the sun was setting. Under the deep crimson rays, the rooftops of the city shone like an illuminated house of glass, and the travelers, forgetting the tiring long journey, stood in awe.
The walls of the city were more imposing than the first wall they had crossed. At least eighty feet, Ahiram figured. Once more, there was no one
to be seen on top of the structure or around it. Is this city deserted? the Silent wondered. Where is everybody?
They stood in front of another impressive gate that boasted a huge carved cup. A rope hung next to the door, and Balid yanked it, producing three faint rings. A short while later, the gate unlocked, pivoting inwardly, and the travelers stepped back; three giants in military gear appeared before them. Two were twelve feet tall and the third reached fifteen feet. He took a step forward, bent down, and looked at them the way a grown-up human might look at toddlers. He smiled when he recognized Balid.
“Master Balid, you’re back.”
The giant’s voice was not what Ahiram had imagined. It was pleasant, although somewhat guttural.
“Indeed, Sir Gwinthor, I did not wish to stay away too long from Cordoban-the-beautiful. And this time, I brought my wife with me.”
Balid motioned to his wife to come forward. Foosh joined her husband and bowed down. “Pleased to meet you, Sir Gwinthor.”
“Welcome to Cordoban,” the giant replied standing back up. “I welcome you all to the fair city of the Marada. My assistants will escort you to your quarters, and tomorrow, you will meet our good king, Sir Onomel, and his queen, Lady Alianelle.” Sir Gwinthor then spoke to the other two giants in their chanting language. They nodded and struck their right shoulder with the open palm of their left hand as a military salute. The soldiers waited for Sir Gwinthor to depart before signaling to the travelers to follow them. The caravan entered Cordoban and headed southeast toward the Little City, an area of the capital reserved for the quarubeen, that is, the little ones, as dwarfs and humans were called among the giants.
“It will take you a month to get over giant-fatigue,” Balid explained.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 56