Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2)

by Murano, Michael Joseph

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” asked Omead.

  “Amazing indeed,” replied Arfaad, impressed.

  “Remind me, how long have you been here?”

  “A week.”

  “Ah yes. I’ll be leaving tonight, so all of this will be yours to command. I have not briefed you on your duties, have I now?”

  Arfaad glanced at Omead, the commander he was replacing. Omead was tall, with a full head of white hair and a trimmed mustache. The Temple had picked him to lead the diplomatic mission to Tanniin, and he was well suited for his next assignment. A man who can govern Tirka can govern anything, thought Arfaad. “How many tents are there in Tirka?” he asked for no specific reason.

  Omead chuckled. “That was the first question I asked when I arrived here. I never could get a straight answer. You may as well ask how many waves, or how many dunes. As the locals say, ‘Tirkalanzibar barzibar toh barzibar Tirkalanzibar.’ Loosely translated, it means, Tirka is change, and change is Tirka. This is a city of caravaners; it has no equal. On any day, you’ll have over ten thousand tents, fifty thousand souls, another fifty thousand slaves, and five to ten thousand camels.”

  “How many caravans a day?”

  “Factual, I see. No worries, Tirka will wear that out of you the way a rope smooths an oak tree. Close to fifty caravans come into the city each day and about the same leave as well.”

  “How do they move in and out?”

  With his chin, Omead pointed toward eleven gates. “The central gate is reserved for the High Riders. The five gates to the right are for caravans moving in, and the other five are for caravans moving out.”

  “Security?”

  “Lax, I’m afraid. As long as a caravan pays its dues when it arrives, and as long as they keep the peace, we leave them alone. After all, no sense in disturbing the golden geese, now is there?”

  Arfaad caught the bitterness in Omead’s voice but chose to ignore it. A soldier’s wounds and shadows are his own, unless they interfere with his job. Arfaad thought about his own wounds and shuddered.

  “Anything else I should know?”

  Omead slid a bony finger down his collar, trying to ease the pressure of his trimmed uniform. “Oh, look there, that’s one of them.”

  A camel had escaped from one of the enclosures specially designed for the care of the animals. It ran gracefully, braying as it went, causing pandemonium. The camels nearby became agitated and brayed as well. Their voices were now deafening.

  “They should have called this city Arikinkaja’ar, for it is a braying city of camels,” shouted Omead over the din. Arfaad smiled briefly. Dust blocked his view and he could barely follow the action between the tents. “It’s a real maze down there.”

  “Which is why you do not enter the city without a significant show of force. Caravaners are not regular folks. They’re used to defending their own. Some are cutthroat assassins who have no regard for the law. This city teems with killer-for-hires, bodyguards, spies, wailing women for a wage, poison suppliers, and all the rest. There are even renegade priests from the Temple who sell their magic to the highest bidders. Caravaners seldom call on the Temple for justice. They have their own courts, and you would do well to leave them alone.”

  “It seems they have subdued the animal,” said Arfaad evenly. He was not certain if the last thing Omead had told him was friendly advice or a direct threat.

  Omead scoffed. “A camel is no slave to be subdued. These people have more respect for a camel than you and I have for a horse. See that large, colorful tent in the center with the bright oriflammes?” Arfaad nodded. “That’s your other trouble right there. That tent is Cahloon’s, and no one, I mean no one, will ever tell her what to do. Don’t even try.”

  “Who is Cahloon?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Listen,” he added with a tired voice, “this place can be a gold mine for your career. Set your pride aside, act as a good caretaker, and levy a bit more taxes than the Temple expects. Then, in about four to five years, you’ll be promoted. You’ll become emissary for the Temple. You will live the life of kings. But if you step inside that hellhole, if you let your curiosity get the better of you and you start to meddle with the Pit-spewed rubble and filth below, you will wish a Kerta priest had come to take you into the depths of the earth—”

  “Do not say that,” snapped Arfaad, livid.

  Omead gazed at him and smiled sadly. “I should have known.” His voice was soft now, almost friendly. “Ah, a High Rider’s nightmares are his constant companions.” He sighed. “I’ll be leaving by the end of the day. I guess you and I won’t be seeing much of each other, and that’s a good thing.” He grabbed Arfaad’s arm and looked him in the eye, “Whatever you do,” he hissed, “do not go down there.”

  “Why?” snapped Arfaad? “What’s worse than the nightmares?”

  Omead laughed a soft bitter laugh. “The sweet sound of a lullaby that promises to take your nightmares away. Do you understand? Down there, Cahloon, she’ll take your nightmares—”

  “She will?”

  Omead shrugged. “I guess sooner or later you would have found out. The Nephral take it all! I hate this place, I can’t stand it anymore. I wish I could burn it all up. But we can’t touch the golden geese, now can we? Yes, we can. For a price.” He eyed Arfaad with the severity of a teacher. “You will lose your sanity, your sense of direction. You will reveal to her every secret of your heart, and she will take the nightmares away, sure enough, so you will keep coming back for more and more.” His voice was a quiver now. “And then, one day, you’ll wake up and realize the nightmares are gone but so is your soul. You’re a walking shadow, an empty smile, a shell.” He bowed his head and chuckled silently. “I miss them, you know?”

  “What?”

  “The nightmares. I miss the nightmares.”

  Arfaad closed his eyes. He could still see Baher-Ghafé burning in the early dawn. Six years ago, he did not think twice when he received the order to raze the town. He was a High Rider, a captain, and a good soldier. An order was given, an order was executed. The high priestess had praised his swift action and he had been promoted by the Temple, who sent him to Bragafâr, a beautiful city by the sea, indolent and as quiet as the breeze that quelled the heat. The two divisions he commanded had spent most of their days in training, for nothing ever happened in Bragafâr. Two years ago, the nightmares began. Rare at first, they became more and more frequent until they filled his nights. Baher-Ghafé was on fire, and he could hear the dirt crunch beneath his boots. The sound was loud and strident. He walked with his bloodied sword in his hand, unaffected by the smoke and flames. All around, villagers were killed by fleeting shadows of soldiers. One by one their voices were silenced, until at last, only the fire, the purifying fire, could be heard. Invariably, he would stop in the center of the burning town. There, in the middle of a high fiery wall, in the bright incandescent light of the flames, Hoda’s head would sprout from the tip of his sword. Only her head. She would look at him sweetly and whisper “Arfaad, will you marry me?”

  For two years now, this nightmare had filled his nights, turning his mat into a bed of torment, his rest into an exhausting wrestle with shadows. At first, he thought the nightmares were his punishment for lying to Bahiya. She had asked him if he had killed everyone in Baher-Ghafé and he had lied to her. Hoda’s home was empty, and so he knew they had escaped.

  While still in beautiful Bragafâr, the relentless onslaught of the nightmares took its toll on his mind. He started hearing voices and seeing the faces of his dead victims. Having seen these symptoms in other soldiers, he knew all too well where this path would lead: to despair, then, a muted loneliness enclosed in cold stone, then darkness filled with the howling screams of regret. Then the unfettered madness before the loss of all hope, the deepest form of despair, where the Kerta priests would find him. Hundreds of camels braying savagely brought him back to the present. He gripped the parapet, scrapping his fingers hard, trying to drown his
regret with pain. He wished with the intensity of a thousand stars that Hoda were still alive. How he wished she had survived, for then, he could find her, kill her, and perhaps his nightmare would end. He laughed bitterly for he knew this could not be. There were no survivors in Baher-Ghafé. They were all dead.

  Ahiram’s father, was bewildered and amazed as he overlooked the sea of travelers with their burden-laden camels. “Look at all this,” Jabbar whispered, “Incredible.”

  His wife, Hayat, who was seated on one of the camels, arched her neck to get a glimpse of the front of the caravan. She could see two High Riders in animated discussion with Kwadil’s master caravaner, a shrewd dwarf who knew his business. “I hope they won’t keep us waiting too long. I’m exhausted. Riding a camel is not as easy as I thought.”

  Jabbar smiled. Ever since they left the refugee camp at Kirk and crossed the sixty miles down to Tirka, Jabbar’s mood had been steadily improving. They both felt like prisoners who had suddenly recovered their freedom. She was surprised by his desire to leave as soon as possible.

  “Don’t you want to say goodbye to Hoda?” she had asked him.

  “No. If we wait and see her again, I may not have the courage to leave,” he explained. “Besides, we don’t know when she will be back, and we’re just leaving on a mission.”

  Still, she wished she could have spoken with her daughter before leaving, but Ashod had prevailed.

  “Good, good. This is very good. He wants to go, and there is a caravan leaving in two days. Don’t worry, Hayat,” Ashod had assured her, “After you have spoken to Lord Lonthi, ask him to show you the surpassing beauty of the moon, and he will show you your daughter.”

  Hayat had not asked Ashod what he meant, for she knew he would not tell her. Still, his words gave her comfort. Ashod was often obscure and confusing, but he always meant what he said.

  I wouldn’t mind that, she thought with a slight quiver of anticipation, I wouldn’t mind seeing my daughter again.

  A long trumpet blast jolted her. “We’re going in,” said Jabbar with excitement. “What a city. What a city.”

  The master caravaner gave the signal and beasts and men began to move. Within a short moment Tirka swallowed the caravan like a hungry beast swallows a herd in one gulp.

  Standing by the door of his hut, Ashod enjoyed a moment of peace. The refugee camp was quieter than usual, a peaceful lull that crickets and toads had decided to respect. The quiet before the storm, thought the former priest of Baal. Eyes closed, he smiled as a westerly crisp, clean wind blew gently through the woods. His heart was in turmoil and his mind reeled from the difficult choice he had made earlier, but he would not let it steal away the peace and quiet of this scene. These moments are all I have these days. Everything else is sweat, toil, and pain.

  Earlier that day, he had received a summons from Sarand.

  “How is my favorite priest of Baal doing?” she had cooed. Even in the hazy reflection of the dark orb, Sarand’s charm was overwhelming. Early in his career, Ashod had discovered, quiet accidentally, that fasting was a powerful defense against the wiles of the Adorants, and he had stuck to a severe regimen. He looked at her and smiled. She blew him a pouty kiss and began to play negligently with her long necklace. He kept his eyes firmly locked on hers.

  “What can I do for Her Ladyship?” he asked. As a member of the Inner Circle, he was Sarand’s equal, but mollifying the Soloist was more important than his rank and honor.

  “Now, here is my Ashod,” she cooed like a tigress. “I have been protecting you from Sharr’s searching eyes. He has not managed to locate your camp, has he now?”

  He shook his head.“No, Your Ladyship. Thank you for your protection, it means much to me.”

  Her smile widened.“Anything for my favorite priest. You know how jealous I am of the Black Robes. They keep you away from me. When will you be visiting me in Babylon?” she implored. “I miss you,” she added seductively. “Come to me, Ashod. I want you by my side.” So powerful was the allure of her voice, it could lead men into lunacy and even kill one another for her sake. Ashod felt a powerful urge to get up and leave; to run to Babylon and throw himself into Sarand’s embrace.

  “I wish I could be by your side.” His voice cracked and his mouth became dry. “Unfortunately, it will have to wait a little longer.”

  “I do wonder what keeps you away from me,” she added. “One of these days, I will come to you disguised as a refugee. I shall want you to take care of me personally.”

  “But of course, Your Ladyship. This camp could—”

  “Now, Shoshod,” she cut in, “I need a small favor of you.”

  His face remained impassible even though he hated that nickname. “Yes, Your Ladyship, anything.”

  “You know the Seer is among us.”

  He decided to tell the truth. Properly lying to an Adorant required preparation, and he was tired.

  “As I understand it, he is in Tanniin.”

  “Yes, yes, I am not talking about him. I am asking you if you know that she is among us.”

  “Since the Seers come in pairs, I would say that I am not surprised. But no, I did not—”

  “She broke a curse. The curse of the urkuun.”

  “So it is true then,” he sighed. “Sharr did unleash the urkuun.”

  “You do not have to worry about Sharr, my love. My coalition is growing. Soon he will be howling in the Arayat next to a field of curses I have prepared just for him.”

  Ashod shuddered. “How may I help Your Ladyship?”

  “Her name. Her name, Ashod. You are the greatest seeker the Temple has ever known, perhaps even greater than Sureï.” Sarand’s voice was implacable. “I need you to find me her name.”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship, I am at your—”

  “Now, Ashod. Right now. She defeated a spell from the urkuun. We cannot wait. Now. Do it now!”

  Ashod smiled a slow, gentle, reassuring smile.

  “Your Ladyship need not worry, I was about to say I am at your service. I believe I know who she is.”

  Sarand furrowed her brow and gazed at him with murderous eyes. “Do you mean to tell me you knew all along?”

  Ashod chuckled and gave Sarand his most dazzling smile.

  “Why would I do such a thing, Your Ladyship? I am your humble servant. Based on the information you have provided me, I arrived at a conclusion. May I share my thoughts with Her Ladyship?”

  “Proceed.” Her tone was calmer but still on edge.

  “The Seers come in pairs, always. In the Teaching of Oreg, it is said that the male and female seers are destined to find each other and fall in love. We know where the male is, and you just told me the female has fought the urkuun, so—”

  “She is in Tanniin then.”

  “Precisely. And,” he added with a confident smile, “my sources tell me that Lord Orgond’s daughter is in love with the Seer.”

  “Lord Orgond? Who is he?”

  “He governs the northern realm of Tanniin, and his wife was an Empyrean who died while giving birth to their only child.”

  He watched as Sarand’s expression went from gloom to elation. “And Sureï asserted that the female Seer will always be of Empyrean lineage. Are you certain she is in love with him?”

  “This is a well-known fact. She has been in love with him for the past five years.”

  “Five years. It fits. It all fits together. Her name?”

  “Noraldeen.”

  “What a pretty name,” cooed Sarand. “Very well, Shoshod, you have earned the peace of your Black Robes for another year.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for Your Ladyship?”

  “You have helped me well enough, Shoshod. Once I dispose of the girl, the male Seer will fall into despair. You will bring him to me and get rid of that Black Robe trash you have been using as your cover.” She purred mischievously, “I can hardly wait to have you by my side.” Sarand blew him a sulfurous kiss before dropping from sight.

 
The wind raged stronger than before. Eyes closed, Ashod stood in the wind, savoring the moment. How did Corintus’ daughter cross paths with the urkuun, I wonder. To protect her, I have condemned an innocent young woman to death.

  He pondered the situation a little longer. Did I do the right thing? My master believes that if Ahiram and Noraldeen are in love, her death will certainly leave him hopeless, and we cannot have that. Immediately, a plan formed in his mind. He must find out that his sister is alive. This will give him hope and will bring him to me. I will see to it.

  Ashod sighed. Must we always toy with people’s lives like children with their dolls? He tightened his jaw. I have promised I will keep the two Seers safe and I will keep my promise, no matter the cost.

  He pulled a hood over his head, and with his hands behind his back, disappeared into the woods. He walked like a man hunched under a heavy burden; the burden of a choice he had just made.

  Night fell. Hoda, with her heart in turmoil, could not sleep. She kept pacing back and forth while Karadon slept peacefully. At least the carpet is thick enough to muffle my footsteps. One of us is getting some sleep tonight. She found it difficult to concentrate on any one idea, instead she bounced back and forth between bits of sentences she had heard today: “Doda”, “She has a fever”, and “Her fever is gone”.

  Hoda felt queasy yet hopeful. And that sense of hope angered her. She felt betrayed by Ashod who had given away her brother’s medallion without asking. She felt she had betrayed Ahiram again by allowing this to happen. Still, the way Aquilina said “Doda” led Hoda to believe that Ahiram was still alive. Aquilina may know where he is and may be able to reach him. She stopped in her tracks. Careful, Hoda, careful. You will lose your sanity if you think this way. She looked out the window as if the night were about to part and reveal her brother to her. Perhaps, she countered, but I cannot believe these are mere coincidences.