“What do you mean?” Alfi asked.
“Well, this city is oversized for us. Everything is bigger than what you’re used to, so mundane tasks take longer to accomplish. Things like crossing a street or climbing stairs or visiting a friend take considerably longer here. You’ll want to speed up, and you’ll end up exhausting yourself. That’s why we don’t spend too much time in Cordoban proper. The Council of the Elders that govern the civic activities was eventually persuaded to build a city in a secluded corner for our use. The Little City is built for us. It’s one of men’s greatest achievements in this land.”
Ahiram smiled. No doubt, Balid must have had something to do with this achievement. The Silent was thoroughly engrossed by the architecture. The multi-storied buildings were well proportioned, built with stone and marble trims. The slanted tiled rooftops lent each structure elegance and beauty. Iron wrought railings protected their balconies, and even these railings were richly etched and decorated. The window shutters were cut in red oak that was a shade darker than the tiles and contrasted nicely with the white marble trims. Statues displaying the Marada in various settings stood in the center of spacious plazas. But what struck the caravaners most was the fact that Cordoban was lit at night. Scores of giants holding long wicker sticks lit street lamps that hung from tall copper posts.
What a magnificent city, Ahiram thought. He was glad he had made the journey. I wonder if my parents are still here? Maybe they’re in that little city Balid spoke of?
Balid called out, his voice suddenly tense. “Beware of the youth mobs.”
“Youth mobs?” Ahiram asked distractedly.
“They’re bands of young giants who make a sport out of scaring the little ones—that’s us—by shaking our wagons or jumping over them. The Council of Elders punishes them with a good flogging, but unfortunately, this law is not enforced when Prince Arkel leads the pack.”
“Who is he?” Ahiram asked.
“He is the younger son of King Onomel, and he does as he pleases. I hope he has grown in wisdom and stopped his pranks.”
“Why do you keep coming back, then?” Sheheluth asked.
“Well, those pranks have their good side. Lady Alianelle, the queen, compensates us handsomely for the humiliation. Selling carpets is dangerous business, but it can be rewarding.”
The two giants escorting them walked in front of the caravan. They would take a few steps forward and wait for the caravaners to catch up. Engaged in an animated conversation, they paid little attention to their guests. After an hour or so, the caravan entered a wooded area.
“This is Central Park”, Balid explained, “Little City is built in the middle of it.” After a short walk through what seemed like a major avenue, their guides stopped and Balid bowed down in a gesture of thanks. The two giants bowed and smiled. The caravan bifurcated to the right and suddenly, everything seemed the right size again.
Tall trees and lush greenery led some to wonder if the desert did indeed stand behind the huge wall. In the breezy night of Cordoban, the great desert seemed like a far-away dream.
The road ended when they reached the plaza. Everything was built to human proportions and was lovely to behold. Multiple streets radiated from the square, where colored buildings offered spacious apartments for the tired travelers. A fountain occupied the center, and a small temple stood to the side. The shops were all on ground level, with living quarters on the second and third floors.
“The giants are superb architects,” a merchant observed. “I didn’t think they could build such a beautiful town.”
“It wasn’t built by them,” Ahiram corrected.
“Aha,” Balid exclaimed. “Who built it, then?”
Ahiram looked at Balid. “This is the handiwork of dwarfs.”
“Have you been in the company of dwarfs?” Foosh asked. She smiled gently. “You must have interesting stories to tell.”
Ahiram bit his tongue before answering, “I was taught to recognize their handiwork.”
“You must have had a good teacher,” Foosh said with a sigh. “I have always wanted to learn more about dwarfs.”
“We can discuss all these lofty matters later. Young man,” Balid added, “help me unpack. The quicker we unpack, the quicker we can sell.”
Ahiram eased out of his leather bag and was about to enter Balid’s apartment when a commotion erupted behind them.
“What’s going on back there?” the carpet merchant asked as he waded through the crowd. Ahiram and Sheheluth followed him.
Two men were holding each other by the throat and stood panting. One was Alfi, the professor of stoicism, and the other was Derict, the teacher of philosophy.
“What’s the matter?” Balid asked, as though scolding children.
“Give me that bag,” Alfi yelled, ignoring Balid, “give it to me.”
“I don’t have it,” growled Derict. “You had it and you bragged so much about it in Kirk that it was stolen.” He was a short stocky guy with black eyes and a thick mustache. He shook his opponent violently by the neck as if trying to restore some sense into him.
“I don-don-don’t be-be-lieve you,” Alfi shouted, stuttering as he shook, “You’re ly-ly-lying!”
“Calm down now,” Balid intervened. “Why don’t you let go of one another so we can discuss this issue civilly?” Reluctantly, the two men obtemperated.
Suddenly, someone came running from behind. A man pushed Balid aside, causing the expansive man to fall on all fours, snatched Ahiram’s bag from the Silent’s hand while he was still distracted by Alfi and Derict, and sprinted away. Ahiram instantly sprang into motion. The thief was fast. He had already left the plaza and was running along the dirt road. Ahiram loaded a stunt dart into his cross-bow and shot. The dart zipped along and its short tip lodged itself in the man’s right thigh. The runner tumbled down, got up, and tried to continue, but the burning sensation that started in his leg soon became unbearable. He fell back down and let go of the bag to grab his wounded leg. Ahiram caught up with him.
The Silent grabbed the thief’s leg and pulled the dart out. It was thin and short. “This dart has a benign irritant in it. Stop moving and the pain will eventually go away.” He retrieved his bag. “Now, tell me, why did you steal my bag?”
The thief looked at him with a blank stare and tried to get up, but he was pinned to ground by an iron grip. “I won’t hurt you if you answer one question,” growled the Silent. He eased his grip on the man. “Why did you steal my bag?”
The thief grunted several times, and Ahiram understood he was unable to speak. “Fine,” he said, “follow me.” Ahiram forced the thief to walk back toward the central plaza. The dumb man limped along as best as he could.
“What happened?” Balid asked.
“He stole my leather bag.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
“There’s a cellar in that building over there,” Balid said. “You can lock him inside until we finish unpacking.” Ahiram nodded, led his prisoner to the cellar, and locked the door behind him. He spent the rest of the evening helping Balid unpack. After taking care of the animals and unpacking, the exhausted travelers were happy to retire into their appointed dwellings and to real beds. Soon, all noise ceased and the small village quieted down.
Ahiram paid a visit to Alfi and Derict and, as he expected, they denied any collusion with the thief. They were shocked and mortified that he would think them connected or even remotely related to the thief. Ahiram was not convinced but decided that it was not the time to press his case. He took a tour around the little city and dropped by the improvised prison located in the basement of the bakery. The dumb thief had seemingly fallen asleep with his back against the wall. Satisfied, Ahiram retired to his room.
Deep into the night, the sound of a key sliding inside the lock jolted the thief in the makeshift prison. He heard a rattle and saw the door open ever so slightly, letting in a ray of moonlight. Cautiously, he arose,
went to the door, and peeked through the barred window. Seeing no one, he pushed the door open and followed a deserted corridor to a short flight of stairs, quickly reaching the cellar’s door, which was also open. He peered into the darkness outside. Seeing no one, the thief fled the city. Crouched on the rooftop, Ahiram smirked. The rat is out of his hole. Let’s see where the trail ends.
The thief crossed the woods and climbed up the gently inclined side of a ravine that led him to a cluster of trees overlooking a street of Cordoban in an elegant neighborhood forbidden to humans. He waited behind a thick bush until the street was deserted, then darted down the green slope and bounded across the roadway to vanish between two tall buildings. Ahiram followed at a safe distance. The thief selected the streets carefully, staying away from crowded plazas and busy thoroughfares. He kept the pace, venturing deeper into the giants’ capital, then started to draw closer to the outer wall by zigzagging through a maze of streets that by giant’s standards, were narrow, but to Ahiram, were large avenues. The roads were nearly deserted and the Silent easily escaped the notice of the few giants he came across. He saw his target reach the city wall and crawl through a small hole. The Silent followed. The thief sprinted down a gently sloped hill toward a large amphitheater, ran along a large, looming structure, and disappeared behind it. Ahiram ran after him, but when he took the turn, he was shocked to find another human village spread before him.
The thief had vanished.
The village seemed larger than the one he had come from. He could hear echoes of rowdy singing and what sounded like a brawl. The street he was standing in was dirty with a rancid smell and detritus spewed all over. The outer walls of the buildings were smeared with brown splotches and many of the windows were missing one or both panels. Two men and a dwarf rounded the opposite corner. They were walking arms over shoulders, singing at the top of their lungs. The two men were so drunk they did not realize they were carrying the dwarf, who wiggled his legs contentedly. Up above, a woman yelled. Across the way, a dwarf spoke with a wheezing voice that kept coming in and out. Bits of “menacing menace”, “axing axe” and other less reassuring words filtered through. A woman came walking briskly behind him, then, seeing him, crossed to other side. A tall human or a small giant— he could not say—came running after her, crying, “I didn’t know, I swear by Azor and Cordob.”
Looks like a city of bandits. They’re so drunk or so busy with themselves, they won’t notice me, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. Ahiram quickly climbed up the rooftop of an abandoned structure and looked around. He must have entered one of these buildings, but which one? He heard a faint voice beneath him. Silently, he climbed back down until he reached the window of the second story from where the voice seemed to come.
“Didn’t I tell you to not come back without the bag? Haven’t I made myself clear that if you did, you would be sent to the Wretched Race?”
Silently, Ahiram slipped through an open window into a dark room and went to the door. Slowly, he cracked it open and made out a large bald man standing in the middle of a poorly lit room. The thief had his back against the wall with an expression of terror on his face.
“Yes, that race,” yelled the large man. “That will teach you not to disobey me.” He laughed loudly, holding his belly with his hands. “Take him, you two, and don’t let him run away.” Two men standing outside of Ahiram’s vision grabbed the thief and took him away.
The bald man paced back and forth, muttering unintelligible words. Suddenly, the Silent became aware of a presence behind him. In the blink of an eye, he whirled around and faced a man about to thrust a dagger in his back. Ahiram blocked the assault, grabbed his opponent by the wrist, and twisted it. Moaning in pain, the assailant dropped his knife and Ahiram slammed an open palm into his jaw so forcefully that the man passed out. The Silent slid the limp body to the floor. When he turned around, the bald man was facing him, ready to strike with a small ax.
“I’d put the ax down if I were you,” the Silent said.
The man’s arm jerked under a nervous spasm. “Why?” he asked while gripping the ax’s handle with all his might.
“Because before you can bring your ax down, the poisonous dart that I am going to throw at you will reach your lungs and you might not like the outcome.”
“Who are you?” the man asked as he took two steps backward.
“A Silent from the Kingdom of Tanniin and the owner of this bag.” Ahiram raised the shoulder bag. In a blink of an eye, the aggressor brought the axe down as quickly as he could. Ahiram was ready; he evaded the move and delivered a double blow. The man fell back, moaning in pain. Ahiram pushed the ax away and knelt next to his opponent’s face, pointing the dart at him. “Now that we are more relaxed, you’ll tell me who hired you and why they want my bag.”
“I don’t know. He told me to get him the sack. That’s all I know.”
Suddenly, the man grabbed a cord hanging close by and yanked it violently. A gong was heard deep in the building. Ahiram knocked the man unconscious, but it was too late. He placed his ear to the ground. “At least twelve men. They’ll be here soon.”
Ahiram grabbed the man and began to haul him toward the window. He planned to do to him what he had done to Dariöm and learn firsthand who this gang was working for. Wait, he thought, you’re in the middle of a city. You can’t be seen in this part of Cordoban. Gritting his teeth, he dropped the man and vanished through the window.
By the time the goons reached the room, they found their leader lying unconscious. Outside, the breeze blew gently.
“I believe that the Cup of Eleeje and the Wretched Race have always been interrelated. While this may be a mystery to the uninitiated, to those conversant in the ways of the gods it is a simple matter of a bait and a trap: The cup is the bait and the Race is the trap.”
–Teachings of Oreg, a High Priest of Baal.
“Good morning,” Sheheluth said as Ahiram stepped into the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?” She spoke softly and had a peaceful air about her, which made Ahiram wonder if she was back to her gentle persona.
“Like a baby,” Ahiram replied lightly. “What smells so good?” He went over to Foosh and looked over her shoulder and inside the cooking pot.
“Karash,” she said. “A recipe some traveler from Salem taught me.” She served him a hearty portion.
“From where?” Ahiram asked as he carefully grabbed the bowl from her hands and sat at the kitchen table.
“Salem,” Foosh repeated. “It’s an island across the tip of Korridir, the Kingdom south of the Maradite borders.”
“What’s there?” Ahiram gulped down his food quickly, a bad habit he had formed when he was a slave in Tanniin.
“Not much. The traveler I met told me that his wife and he were childless. He wanted to see the Ancient of Days, hoping that after this encounter his wife would be with child.
“Really? So he hoped that just by talking to this Ancient of Days, his wife would become pregnant? Why not make an offering at a Temple instead? It’s cheaper, safer, and quicker.”
“Is that what you would do?” Sheheluth asked.
Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what I would do, but I know what I wouldn’t do: go talk to some supposed wise man up some mountain. There are enough crooks back home that I don’t need to be swindled out of my money by a crook in a far-away land.” The two women glanced at one another. “What?” Ahiram asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Foosh replied. “Nothing is the matter. Would you like some more?”
“This is delicious.” Ahiram served himself a second bowl.
“What about you, Sheheluth?” Foosh asked, “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’ve eaten already.”
“I don’t see you eating much,” Foosh observed. “You’re thin as a stick. I will have to keep an eye on you.”
Another aroma rose from a second pot simmering over a low fire. “Oh, my zkasti,” Foosh said, just as Bal
id walked in. He looked visibly perturbed.
“What’s the matter?” Ahiram asked.
“The thief is gone. Someone let him out.”
“Gone? Impossible,” Ahiram feigned being upset and jumped to his feet. “I’ll go out and look into it.” He left the room and stepped outside, barely able to contain a chuckle. Balid’s face was too comical.
He went on his daily patrol, inspecting the Little City and checking that all was well with everyone. Alfi and Derict shook his hand, congratulated him once more on the return of his horse, and waved goodbye with cheery smiles. But as Ahiram walked away, the men’s expressions changed drastically, and the eyes that bore into his back were filled with murderous intent.
“Dhat man looking at us, I no like his head.”
“I know, I know, Huska,” Slued said, “But our contact said to meet him here, in this quiet balcony of the Magnificent Tiara. Now sip your drink, enjoy your hookah, and stop glaring at the man.”
Quiet Surata and her team had followed Sheik Khawand’s directions and reached Anat safely. Slippery Slued could not shake the feeling that the Temple was constantly observing them and aware of their every move, even though he was certain no one was trailing them. To avoid being caught, they had split into two teams, with Slued, Huska the Fat, and Sweet Gondolaz traveling by boat from Sarugan, while Quiet Surata, Bow, Krom the Hunter, and Mango Karthal boarded a ship departing from Anzelig. They did not regroup until they had all reached the Inn of the Magnificent Tiara in Anat. Once there, they continued to treat the members of the other group as strangers. From where he was sitting, Slued could see Quiet Surata, Bow, and Krom seated at a large table on the balcony across the main stairs of the inn. Mango Karthal was sitting with them as well. He was facing Surata, but the stone wall of the balcony hid him from view.
The Magnificent Tiara was an elegant three-story inn whose main facade sported two long balconies held up by stone arches. Large decorative flowerpots of jasmine and amaryllis hung from the trellis overhead alongside silver pyramidal lanterns. Discreet oil lamps set inside earthen jars along the edge of the balcony and the surrounding garden imbued the inn with a feeling of serenity as if it were no longer a mere inn, but a haven of peace and tranquility. Slippery Slued sipped from his cup slowly, his eyes constantly moving, observing the comings and the goings, registering who was present and who had left. He rose and went back inside for a refill. The cool air flowing from a deep ventilation pit was a welcome relief from the heatwave that was presently oppressing Anat. The marble floor and the mahogany-laced walls offered a refined ensemble that matched the sophisticated dress code of the select clientele frequenting the inn. Instead of the common hieroglyphs covering the walls of most inns in Anat, the Magnificent Tiara had fine patterns of tiaras chiseled into the stones or on tapestries overhanging from the balcony above. A covered patio garlanded with luxuriant greenery completed the decor. Slippery Slued smiled gratefully to the bartender for his refill and stepped outside. He was drinking shiraz, a cocktail consisting of one third red wine, one third cooked shanti, and one third nejem, over shaved ice, with a sprinkle of roasted pine nuts. The shanti was a mix of berries brought to boil with imported date syrup and dipped into ice to cool immediately, turning it into a crystalline crunchy mix. The nejem was an aged liquor and a digestive, distilled from fermented carob and pomegranate. Slippery Slued asked the bartender for an extra pinch of roasted pine nuts, took a sip, and clicked his tongue with great satisfaction. Nothing like the shiraz of Anat, he thought. Huska the Fat was drinking ale from a kesek, an earthen mug the size of a helmet. Anethtee's carnival, which had just ended, was renowned for its drinking ale competitions that rocked the normally quaint town. Keseks were still popular in private parties where drinking competitions took place.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 57