“Nasty gang, boss. Very nasty. I avoid them like the shadow of a Kerta priest. They’re into slave trafficking and other unsavory things like that.”
“Could they have been involved in the theft of the heirloom?”
Manassa grew pensive for a while. “Nice observation, boss. That’s possible. They dabble with dark stuff, ‘cause the way they turn their guys mute, it ain’t natural, I’ll say that much.”
“What do you mean?” Ahiram was beginning to think Manassa could be the right man to help him.
“Their guys weren’t mute some time ago. I knew some of them. Now they don’t even recognize me. Nasty stuff, that.”
“I see. I need you to find who’s behind this gang. I don’t want you to do anything dangerous, just inquire. Report back to me in a few days.”
“Alright,” said the thief, “but how will I find you, boss?”
Ahiram grinned broadly. “You’re a thief, Manassa, you know how to find anyone you want found. If you don’t find me, I will find you; I’m pretty good at it too, and you won’t like it if I have to look for you. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, boss, no problem, boss. I’ll find out who’s behind the gang, then I’ll find you and tell you what I found.”
“That’s good, and one more thing, Manassa.”
“Yes, boss?”
“No stealing from honest people. Do we understand each other?”
The thief glanced at the gold diegan.
“There’s going to be a lot of more of those if you stick by me. More than you can imagine.”
Something in Ahiram’s tone convinced the thief his new boss was not lying. “Sure, boss, no problem. No stealing from honest people.”
“Excellent. I’ll be expecting you soon, then.”
Four weeks came and went during which Balid and a delegation of merchants traveled daily to the gates, asking permission to enter Cordoban, only to be ignored by the guards. Fall had come and gone, and winter was at the door. The forest seemed desolate and sad. The situation in Little City was becoming intolerable. Many were threatening to kill Balid, and Ahiram had to step up security measures to keep the peace. No one could bear the thought of returning home empty-handed, neither could they bear the thought of staying in their gray prison, as they now called Little City.
Through it all, Foosh displayed remarkable qualities. She baked to soothe the caravaners’ pain and calm their anger. She urged them to be patient, promising that things would soon change, and somehow, they all started to believe her. She seemed so strong, so self-assured and never without a gentle smile. It helped to appease everyone’s anxious state.
Manassa proved to be a faithful collaborator. He managed to ingratiate himself with Hoark, the bald man, and had gained his confidence. Ahiram now knew that the band was working for someone that lived uptown. This struck him as odd, for how could a man live among the giants? The Silent had to bide his time and let Manassa worm his way into the organization.
Something else was worrying Ahiram. He had not found any trace of his parents. Everywhere he searched, he received the same answer: no one had seen them. They were not in Little City, nor were they in the other village where he had chased the thief. He began to wonder if they had ever made it to Cordoban in the first place.
One night, after finishing his daily patrol and heading back to Balid’s apartment, Ahiram saw a great crowd assembled in front of his building. As he drew closer, he saw Alfi point in his direction. Two giant guards trudged toward him and ordered him to follow them.
“What’s going on?” he replied.
“This,” yelled a third giant who was in charge, “you stole this!” He lifted up a dazzling tiara. “This is the royal tiara, and you stole it from the castle, no less.”
“I did no such thing.”
“How did we find it in your bag, then?”
“Someone put it there. I was set up. It could be anyone,” Ahiram replied calmly.
The captain laughed derisively. “It’s amazing how human thieves have no imagination. Every one of you say the same thing. Guards, take him away. We will let the Maradite court decide his fate.”
Ahiram chose not to resist and left with the guards.
“Well, that does it,” Derict said, satisfied.
“Not in a million years, not in a million years,” Alfi spat. “I want him to suffer, suffer and die. I’ll make sure of it.”
Derict placed a comforting hand on Alfi’s shoulder. “There, there, my friend, our plan is working nicely. I’m certain they’ll condemn him to the Wretched Race, and that will be that.”
“That will be that,” Alfi agreed, “and after his death, we’ll take his body and hang it on a tree and let the crows do their business. There’s not going to be a burial for this murderer who killed your son and mine.”
Derict nodded in agreement. “He killed them in cold blood. Two of the best athletes of Baal to enter the Games of the Mines, and he murdered them with his evil darts. Murdered your son and my son. May he be killed in cold blood.”
“The Wretched Race enthralled the hearts of men, dwarfs, and giants with its promises of riches and the spectacle of blood being shed. Nowhere else is the crowd offered a chance to influence the outcome by purposefully killing the wretched that were forced to participate. Nowhere else is the cruelty of the crowd put on display, encouraged, and exploited. I do not know which is worse: a crowd attempting to assassinate a group of men condemned to death, or a kingdom willing to enrich itself on the dreams and hopes of those who bet all they possess against the uncertain outcome of the Race.”
–Diplomatic Notes of Uziguzi, first advisor to the Aylul Meïr Pen, Empress of the Empyreans.
The giants who arrested Ahiram threw him into a squalid cell with three other prisoners: a drunk giant who snored louder than a braying camel, and two dwarfs who spent their time whispering to one another. Four narrow slits near the roof cast a dim light and brought in a bit of fresh air. Ahiram waited. His plan was to try to get out of this predicament civilly and only resort to extraordinary measures should civility fail. Later in the day, he was surprised to hear he had a visitor.
“You allow visitors in your prisons?” he asked the guard who led him through stone-covered corridors to a large hall supported by three massive arches.
“We treat prisoners fairly,” the giant replied. “At least some of us do.”
Sunlight streamed through five large windows protected by iron bars. As he walked in, Ahiram surveyed his surroundings. To his right, a giant sat in front of a small table. He was holding the hands of a she-giant, who sobbed quietly. To his left, two men standing in a side alcove were caught up in an intense argument. Ahead of them, in another alcove, three dwarfs and two men sat, silently waiting for the arrival of their prisoners. The guard led him to a closed door and gave him a small hourglass. “Meet me here at the door when time’s up. Delay and you’ll be flogged.”
Ahiram nodded, wondering how the guard would know that his time was up. Probably habit, thought the Silent. He opened the door and walked into a small, well-lit room, and was, once more, surprised that day.
“Foosh, what are you doing here?” he asked rather gruffly as he sat the hourglass on a table. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“I know you can take care of yourself,” Foosh replied softly. “Balid tried to bail you out by bribing the judge, but the magistrate refused to see us.”
“Hum … perhaps an honest judge,” Ahiram observed.
“Or a judge in league with whoever framed you,” Foosh replied. “Someone wants you dead real bad, and that someone is powerful. You must be very careful.” Ahiram nodded. “Also, I have good news about your parents.”
Ahiram nearly jumped. “My parents? You know about them?”
“I’m in the same organization as your sister and your parents. Balid does not know this. I am as worried about Hayat and Jabbar as you must be. They went to the northern gate.”
“The north, you say?” That’s where Sheheluth went. I wonder what is happening up there? “Thank you, Foosh. I’ll join them as soon as I’m done here.” He gave her a sheepish smile.
“About that,” replied Foosh with a worried expression, “do you remember how Alfi and Derict argued over a bag of stones back while we were still in the city of Kapor?”
“While we were waiting for the caravan to form? Yes, I do, why?”
“It was a ploy. They tricked us. Everyone was laughing at their silliness during the crossing of the caravan. Do you remember when they came to our tent and talked to you before your fight with the sheik’s champion?”
“Something tells me I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me, Foosh. What have they done now?”
“Rather, it’s what have they have been doing. After the giants took you, everyone in Little City fell sick. It only lasted for a short time, but it was a telltale sign of a curse.”
“A curse?”
“Ashod confirmed it. He believes Alfi and Derict were weaving this curse while we were crossing the desert. That’s why they roamed from tent to tent.”
“What happened?”
“A nasty bald man visited us a few days ago.”
“What did he want?”
“He said that if you refused to run in the Wretched Race, they would set off the curse that Alfi and Derict initiated.” Foosh winced. “It’s a flesh-eating curse. Extremely powerful. Whomever they’re in league with is very dangerous.”
“And if I run in the Race, who’s to say they wouldn’t trigger the curse? Why should we trust them?”
“I don’t. Ashod is working on a charm.”
“A charm?”
“A curse that attacks another curse. It will take time. I’m certain they know we’ll manage to break their curse, but in the meantime …”
“I see, in the meantime, if I don’t run that race, they’ll trigger the curse.” Ahiram sighed. “You think the judge is also in league with them?”
“Most definitely, which tells me that the mastermind behind all this is well connected in Cordoban. Be very careful.”
Ahiram glanced at the hourglass. Time was almost up. “Change of plans, then,” he told Foosh. “Can you manage to relay a message to the innkeeper of the Graceful Willow?”
“Yes,” replied Foosh. “That’s easy for me to do.”
“Tell him to come visit the boss in jail. He’ll know what to do.”
“It will be done,” she said. Still, worry creased her forehead. “The Wretched Race, Ahiram, it’s …”
Ahiram smiled. “Don’t worry, Foosh. I know how to take care of myself.” He picked up the hourglass and left.
The next day, Ahiram was led before the judge. The old, emaciated giant barely heard any arguments and was all too happy to send him to the Wretched Race. He did not bother hearing Ahiram’s defense.
“As far as I’m concerned,” he said in twangy voice, which was more suited to a short man than to a giant, “the royal tiara was in your bag, quarubeen, and that is guilt enough for me to send you to the Race.”
“But I didn’t put it there.” Wait, what am I doing? He has to send to me to the Race or else the curse will be triggered over Little City.
“It was in your bag, wasn’t it? Then you’re guilty. Ship him off first thing tomorrow morning. My judgment stands. You’re allowed to take weapons of your choosing with you, but if you try to use them before the race, you’ll be put to death. It’s that simple.”
It was still dark the following morning when a military convoy brought Ahiram, chained and shackled, to a barren promontory outside of Cordoban. A miserable cold drizzle soaked the air and dark clouds rumbled overhead. The ridge overlooked a three-thousand-foot-deep canyon from which rose a narrow mountain, whose peak was level with the promontory. Ahiram could see a large stone structure surrounded by dark vegetation on the flat mountaintop.
“That’s the holding prison for all the prisoners who will participate in the Wretched Race,” the head of the military convoy said. “You’ll stay there until we come and take you to the arena.”
The narrow mountain consisted of a massive jagged rock vaguely resembling a lightning flash whose edges had been smoothed over time by the frequent beating of the rain and the constant howling of the wind. The drizzle turned suddenly into sleet that the unforgiving gust flogged, as if the valley was a crazed monster whipping the skies with its mane.
Four giants, hunched over two iron wheels at the edge of the chasm, gripped frozen rusted handles with their bare hands and forced the wheels to turn in a screech that seemed to rise from the depth of the Pit itself. A footbridge tied to the lonesome mountain and laying along its side rose as the recalcitrant wheels reeled in two thick iron chains. The giants locked the chains and nodded. The lead military commander jutted his chin forward. “You cross now. You’re welcome to slip and kill yourself if you’d like,” he added mirthfully, “there’d be one less obstacle for Huska the Fat to win the Race.”
“So you release the chains once I’m on the bridge, isn’t that so?” Ahiram asked.
The soldier raised both hands. “No can do, no way. You’re expensive merchandise. If you break on your own, well that’s one thing, but we can’t touch the merchandise.” He grinned dangerously. “Not until you’re in the race, that is.”
The other giants snickered and laughed as they stood watching. He ignored them and stepped on the bridge. The wind slapped him in the face and an icy-rain drenched him thoroughly. The bridge was long, longer than he had estimated; nearly two miles long. By the time he reached the opposite end, he was frozen to the bones.
Gingerly, Ahiram stepped off of the bridge and followed a dirt path to the structure he had seen from the promontory. It was a stone building with a single door. He knocked and a giant opened.
“Welcome, racer, I’m the warden of this lovely prison,” he said as he moved sideways to let him in. The giant was nine feet tall with a wide girth and a thick black beard. “As you’ll see, there are no cells and no shackles here. We serve food three times a day, and I’ll add it’s pretty good food, what you get. We want to keep you fit and prim for the race.” He laughed heartily. “Here’s the requested leather bag, your sword, and your belt. There’s no restrictions on weaponry. The more, the merrier. Now come along, I’d like to introduce you to your victims … or your killers.”
“Can I change first?” Ahiram asked, shivering.
“Of course, of course,” the warden replied diffidently, “where are my manners? There’s a bath right this way. There’s steaming hot water and dry towels. You can change and dry yourself in that room over there. Be quick about it, please. I don’t have all day.”
A while later, Ahiram walked out, dry and clean, though he disliked the ginger-based soap the giants used. The warden led him to a large barn that had been transformed into a training and dining room. “Greetings everyone,” said the giant, “here’s the latest race contestant. Now the crew is complete. I’d suggest you get acquainted. After all, it’s rare you get to share a meal with those you’re about to fight to death.”
Ahiram looked at the prisoners and recognized them by the description Manassa had given him. The thief had dropped by his cell the day before and had provided Ahiram with a detailed description of the other racers. After formulating a plan, Ahiram gave Manassa detailed instructions.
“Work with Balid,” he had told him. “He will supply you with all the gold and all the resources you will need to build what I need.”
“We’ll need more gold to bribe the organizers,” Manassa said.
“Balid will give you what you need.”
“That’s a pretty bold plan, boss,” Manassa observed.
Ahiram had smiled. “Like I said, Manassa, stick by me and you won’t need to steal from anyone anymore. I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest imagination.”
Lightning flashed over the remote jail and the other racers formed a semi-circle around the Sile
nt. “I don’t know you,” he lied, “and you don’t know me, but if you’ll hear me out, I can tell you how to turn the Wretched Race on its head so all of us survive.” The others did not move but observed him closely. Good, at least they are paying attention. “This race is completely rigged. Previous races had at least twenty participants, sometimes more. This time, we’re only eight: the seven of you and me.”
“Rare,” Sweet Gondolaz countered, “but not unheard of.”
“True enough,” Ahiram conceded. “Here’s what I know: someone framed me for a crime I did not commit and threatened the lives of an entire caravan to force me into the race. What about you?” he added, even though he knew the answer from Manassa.
“Why do you ask?” Krom said.
“Were you all brought here individually or together?”
They exchanged glances, wondering how to answer.
“Together,” Huska said.
“And would you say that your arrest was justified?”
“He’s got a point,” Mango Karthal observed. “It was abhorrent.” The others glared at him. “What? A man is allowed a few genteel words here and there.”
“What’s da point?” Huska the Fat asked brusquely. His attitude was hostile and Ahiram could tell he was nervous.
“What are the odds that eight racers were all captured in suspicious conditions and ended up being the only forced contestants of the Wretched Race? Why are we the only ones?”
“I’ll admit I haven’t thought about it,” Slippery Slued said, “but what does it matter?”
“More importantly,” Ahiram countered, “what does it exclude? It excludes our survival. In a normal race, the number of contestants makes it easier to dodge the attacks and reach the finish line. It isn’t until you reach the third mile that the numbers dwindle down below ten. This time around, we’re going to be eight at the starting line. Eight! Whoever caught you and me doesn’t want us to survive. Why? I can’t say, but the odds are clearly stacked against us beyond the risks of a normal race.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 59