“Please, convey my gratitude to the princess and assure her I will not set foot on Empyrean soil without her consent.”
The officer smiled and nodded. Ahiram had answered in the correct way. All applauded. It was a strange spectacle of joy mixed with sorrow.
Subdued music hung over the camp as the evening went on in solemn celebration. Ahiram spent the evening with Banimelek, Jedarc, and Hiyam. He looked for Sheheluth but could not find her.
“We are sorrowfully sorry for your loss,” said Orwutt as he stepped out of the darkness and into full view.
“The sweet bitterness and the bitter sweetness of this bittersweet momentous moment is sweeter than honey and saltier than salted salt,” added Zurwott, so shaken that he lost his usual unblemished control over dwarfish grammar. “I am disheartened and …” unable to continue, he began to sob.
“Thank you,” replied Ahiram, visibly touched by the twins’ solicitude. “Noraldeen has touched the hearts of many.”
“Her victorious victory and victory most victorious,” said Orwutt, who when troubled or sad resorted to full dwarfish speech, “shall be memorably remembered and remembered most memorably in the Karangalatad, and a melodious melody shall be sung to her name.” He bowed before Ahiram, and he too, began to sob.
This was the highest homage dwarfs could show a stranger. Ahiram looked up and saw Amalseer, the northern star shining brightly. “A new hope is rising,” he said softly. “There will be wonders to be remembered in the Karangalatad, but none as momentous as Noraldeen’s death.”
He was yet to understand these words he had spoken as a Seer.
“O Silent, do not waver in your friendship, nor take what is given you in vain. Friends who are true are more precious than gold and the strength of a thousand warriors.”
–Book of Lamentation 3:9.
”Life is never ashamed to dance
Atop the tombs of the fallen.
And they, the gentle fallen,
Do not take umbrage
When we dance and clap without them.”
–Memoirs of Alkiniöm, the Traveler.
One week later, a small procession reached the port of Tan-Aneer located thirty miles south of Hardeen. Everywhere along the way, the devastation the urkuun had left behind was visible: destroyed villages, ashen trees, decaying rocks, and rotting wildlife. Nothing was spared. Surprisingly though, the port was in relatively good shape. Several vessels resumed the ferrying of passengers to and from Hopp, the port across the thirty-mile-wide channel separating Tanniin from the Kingdom of Mycene.
“Ahiram, are you sure you want to journey alone?” asked Tanios.
“Ahiram let us go with you,” pleaded Hiyam. “I know the Temple better than most, I can help reach Baher-Ghafé safely. I know the way.”
“No,” replied Ahiram firmly. “I cannot bear to lose any more of you.” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I cannot. Maybe you can join me later.”
“Take this with you,” said the commander handing him a new weapons belt. “Orwutt and Zurwott have looked personally after this one, and they have added a few surprises.”
“Thank you, Commander,” said Ahiram, grateful. “I have never thanked you properly for all that.”
The commander placed both hands on his shoulders and did something that took Ahiram by surprise. He hugged him.
Resuming his forceful stance, he looked at Ahiram and said, “When you find your father, Ahiram, I want you to return to Tanniin with him.”
“I will, Commander,” replied Ahiram.
As he approached the high priestess, he saw her look at him with such tenderness that he was confused and concerned. He gave her a shy quick look. “Thank you for your help and for the information about my sister,” he said hurriedly. He bowed before Master Habael who grabbed him in a hug, and then gave him a blessing.
“Remember, lad, never lose hope. Believe in what Noraldeen has given you. Believe in her choice.”
“I will, Master Habael. Thank you for everything.”
“When will you return?” asked Banimelek.
“I don’t know yet. It may be a while, but I am coming back.” Banimelek nodded. “Tell Sondra and the rest of the Silent that I will miss them and they should not slack off. When I’m back they’ll have to show me some great forms. I’m counting on it.”
Sheheluth surprised him, as usual. She gave him a quick hug and whispered. “Don’t act surprised when you see me next time. I haven’t finished training you yet.”
Ahiram smiled. She was cryptic as usual. “Thank you, Sheheluth for everything. I would not have been able to do any of this without you.”
“I am not so certain,” she said, a frown creasing her forehead. “But never mind that. Watch that temper of yours; do not yield to anger.”
“I won’t, Sheheluth.”
“Hey, do you know what the chicken said to the—”
Ahiram did not let Jedarc finish. He grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him. Pulling back, he wiped his tears. “Don’t you do anything stupid, do you hear me, Jedarc?” he said threateningly. “Don’t get yourself killed. If you do, I will travel to the abode of the dead and pull you out so I can yell at you. It won’t be pleasant for you, for the dead, or for me. So don’t you ever, eve, die on me.”
“Don’t you worry, Ahiram,” answered Jedarc with his usual disarming charm. “I’m as sturdy as an oak.”
Ahiram looked away. “I swear Jedarc, I’ll prove you right.”
“Right? About what?”
“I’ll bring back a banana, even if I have to go to the ends of the earth, just to show them you’re right. I don’t know why they don’t believe you, but I do. I always have.”
Resolutely, Ahiram walked toward the Terion, a two-masted merchant vessel setting sail for Byblos. While slaves in the underbelly began to pull the vessel away from shore, Ahiram stood on the stern, starboard side, and waved to his friends until he could no longer see them. He turned around to the south, saw the immense open sea flowing without boundaries, and knew he was truly gone.
“Master, the Seer has left Tanniin.”
Sharr lifted his head and looked at his assistant, Kalibaal. “Very well. Have you alerted Sarand?”
“She knows. Her khoblyss are on their way.”
“How did he leave?”
“By ship. He is aboard the Terion, a Quibanxian merchant ship sailing straight to Byblos.”
“Surprising. I thought he would have taken greater precaution. Has his grief from the passing of the princess made him so careless?”
“Possibly. We have seen such careless behavior before, have we not?”
“Indeed, we have.”
“What do you bid me do?”
“Have a military vessel intercept the Terion. The captain will make this offer to the Seer: The Temple of Baal and all of its power is at his disposal. We will help him find his parents and are prepared to rebuild Baher-Ghafé. Whatever he needs, he can have, including the head of the high priestess who is responsible for the destruction of his village.”
“Is what I heard true?”
“It would seem so. She is the bearer of the Seer. From what I have been able to gather, the Seer is unaware of this fact; a weakness we can exploit. If he kills his mother with his own hands, his mind will snap and he will no longer be a threat to the Temple.”
“Is that why you agreed to Sarand’s plan?”
Sharr nodded. “If Sarand’s demons can catch him, all is well. We bring him in, fuel his hatred against the priestess and let him exact revenge.”
“If he manages to evade them?”
Sharr sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We will have to consider far more drastic measures. The béghôm and the urkuun were the least dangerous agents of the Spell World we could release. We are now confronted with the possibility of releasing the—”
“No,” whispered Kalibaal as he staggered back. “Not him.”
“What other choice do we have?”
&
nbsp; “I shall speak with Sarand. The khoblyss shall not fail.”
“Fine,” replied Sharr. “Do what you must.”
“How devious are the ways of the gods,” said Kalibaal. “To think that all along she hid in the Temple. Shall we exact judgment?”
Sharr shook his head. “How did she elude us so well, I wonder? Whoever helped her has used the highest form of magic to keep her from me. I need to know who this is. We will bring Bahiya for questioning. Leave this matter to me. Focus on the Seer. You have three months to subdue him.”
“Yes, Master.”
The high priest dismissed the priest of the Inner Circle. “Fools, they do not understand what is at stake,” he muttered. If the Seer manages to gather all the Letters of Power, he will open the Pit and release the eternal hatred locked within. An age of darkness such as man has never seen will blanket the earth. This can never be. No matter the cost, this must not be.
“You called for me, Master Galliöm?”
The head of the tajéruun turned and faced an older tajèr bearing a striking likeness to Ibromaliöm.
“Ah yes, Dariöm, thank for joining me in the vault in person. I know how much you dislike the Arayatian crossing, but this conversation needed to be face-to-face. Please follow me.”
The two men left the Hall of Medallions and went into an adjoining small office where they sat facing each other across a small jade desk with twelve small drawers on each side.
“Here,” said Galliöm glancing at the door which closed silently on its hinges. “Now, I believe you are Ibromaliöm’s cousin, are you not?”
“Indeed, on our mothers’ side.”
“Have you been informed of the latest news?”
Dariöm nodded. “Ibromaliöm has the Ithyl Shimea. The Assassins you sent after him are dead, and Silvaniöm’s whereabouts are unknown. The mission was a failure.”
“What do you know of the Ithyl Shimea, and what do you suppose Ibromaliöm will do next?”
Galliöm respected Dariöm, and more importantly, considered him inoffensive, for he thought the older man was more enamored with knowledge and lore than he was with money.
“What little we know is that a weapon was meant to open up a rift between this world and the Spell World. Whosoever falls in its snares will lose all sense of reality and become obsessed with serving that darkness.”
“Didn’t Sureï curse it?” asked Galliöm.
“Yes, indeed he has.”
“So how can anyone use the Ithyl Shimea without feeling the effects of the curse?”
“By transferring the curse to unsuspecting victims, thereby allowing one to peek into its content for short periods of time.”
“I suspected as much,” said Galliöm wincing. “This explains the bloodied trail Ibromaliöm has left behind. If he continues, he will put the entire order in jeopardy. This cannot be. Tell me, Dariöm, if you were in Ibromaliöm’s shoes, what would you do next?”
“I would do everything in my power to acquire the Cup of Eleeje. The Annals of Amrafel states that whoever drinks the water of Eleeje will never fall under the curse of the Ithyl Shimea.”
“Indeed,” said Galliöm smiling. “So we must acquire the Cup before he does.”
“This is not possible, Master,” said Dariöm calmly. “We have often tried, and so has Baal. None of us can see the Cup, much less obtain it. Only the Seer has this ability.”
“Then we are safe,” said Galliöm, “for neither will Ibromaliöm be able to see it.”
“Not so. If he continues to read the Ithyl Shimea—”
“How can he do this, I wonder?” interrupted Galliöm. “Isn’t the Ithyl Shimea written with the Letters of Power? How can he read it?”
“We do not know, but such high magic must have its own dark ways. Now, if he has figured out that Tanios’ slave is the Seer, he might want to acquire the Cup and—”
“Get the Seer to read the book for him.”
“Yes indeed,” confirmed Dariöm. “I would have never thought we would be living in such times.”
“That may be so, but face it we must. The Temple will hunt the Seer down. Ibromaliöm will try to grab him as well. Others, no doubt, will want his capture as well. Anyone sufficiently versed in magic knows that when the Seer masters the Letters, there will be no one strong enough to oppose him. We catch him now or we are done for.”
“What do you propose, then?”
Galliöm sighed. “Our immediate target is Ibromaliöm. We must convince the Seer to quest for the Cup, before Ibromaliöm manages to get his hands on it. We must do so with the greatest of care.”
“Well, there is a simple way, Master,” said Dariöm imperturbably. “The Candelabrum.”
“Give him the Candelabrum you say?” replied Galliöm raising an eyebrow. “How clever, my dear Dariöm, we know the Candelabrum and the Cup are mysteriously connected. One will lead to the other. We give him the Candelabrum, and send him after the Cup. Once he finds it, we recover the Candelabrum, and acquire the Cup. Very well, Dariöm. Take six massrifuun, the Arayatian guardians of the central Tajéruun vault. and guide the Seer to the Cup, then use these.” Galliöm opened the sixth drawer in front of him, took three medallions as thin as a serpent’s skin, and slid them across the table.
“Vanishing medallions. You wish to send him to the Vanishing Land?”
“In case he proves to be recalcitrant,” Galliöm explained.
“But his mind may not survive.”
“Better a fool in the Vanishing Land than a free Seer in full possession of the Letters.”
“We have never allowed the massrifuun outside of the vault before.”
“How else do you propose to capture an Urkuun Slayer?”
“Consider it done.”
Captain Zédrigue was already regretting his decision to take the tall man aboard his ship, the Élégantine. Fifty golden diegans are hard to resist, he reflected. The normal fare from Marsala in Togofalk, to Gilgal of Zemor, was five silver ferrovians, a fraction of a gold diegan.
They had left port only the day before, and already three of his men were dead. The rest of the crew threatened mutiny if he did not lock the mysterious passenger in the ship’s jail. Reluctantly, the captain agreed, thinking he may have to return the money back to the traveler. Zédrigue shivered. When the men shackled Ibromaliöm and led him to the jail, the captive gazed at the captain with the eyes of a murderous madman. As he passed him he whispered, “The taste of blood is so sweet and I will have yours and that of your fleet.” He chortled a bloodcurdling laugh and began to sing in a chilling tone:
“To the Kingdom of Marada, to a wonderful Cup,
A Cup of great delight to feast and sup,
A Cup to ease the pain of my gnarly bones,
To turn the heart of men to sand and stones.
The heart of greedy men who steel my gold,
And leave me to rot in a prison dark and cold,
The heart of men who do not know they are fodders
Soon to lie dead and rotting over their rudders.
O sweet, sweet book of my delight,
Together we shall soon take flight
To the Kingdom of Marada to a wonderful Cup.”
The captain shivered. The sooner we reach Gilgal the better. He felt the fifty gold diegans nestled in his breast pocket and pressed them against his quickly beating heart.
Captain Dostron of the Baal Malaage, a fast tri-masted military vessel, slammed his cabin door in frustration.
“What is wrong with these priests?” he boomed. “Getting a massive ship such as the Baal Malaage out of port in under two hours is not simple. It cost me the lives of five slaves. I’ve had to flog twenty of my High Riders for arriving late and now I have to deal with these malcontents. They can’t make fools of us like this. I can’t wait until Nebo takes control of the Temple and trains some discipline into them.”
He paced in angry frustration. This proud Mycenaean could not stomach the humiliation he had just endu
red. He had intercepted the Terion, a commercial ship slower than a drunken slug, and caused its captain to hyperventilate. The High Riders searched the vessel but did not find the Silent they were supposed to lure.
“Inconceivable,” eructed Dostron. “I protest!”
“So, the princess has died then?”
“Yes, boss,” replied Perit. “Noraldeen died during the Battle of the Urkuun. She tried to stop the monster and he killed her.”
Ashod heaved a deep, sad sigh. Perit could see how distressed the former priest was as he peered into the large orb.
“What are your orders, boss?”
“Are you on your way to Byblos?”
“As we speak. We are aboard the Terion. Good ship, good food, though I had a bit of a scare this morning. A fast High Rider’s sail accosted us. They were searching for you know who, and the captain was outraged when he didn’t find him. Anyway, we will reach Byblos long before you know who shows up.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, the kid has got a thing to say.”
“I’m not a kid,” snapped Sheheluth. Perit moved away from the orb. “He knows Hoda is alive,” she added.
“Does he now?”
“Yes. The priestess’ daughter told him.”
“And you think they should meet?”
“Imperative,” replied Sheheluth. “He won’t make it otherwise.”
“I see,” replied Ashod. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Two things. First, someone helped him during the fight.”
Ashod tensed. “Are you certain?”
“He is sooo inexperienced, it’s painful to watch.” she chided. “You were right when you asked me to shadow him. I thought he knew what he was doing, but he has no experience whatsoever in the magical realm. He didn’t know how to use the golden tile. Someone helped him to release the energy he needed to defeat his enemy. I dare not say anymore, but I thought you should know.”
“This is helpful. What is the second point?”
“I’ll continue to shadow him.” She locked eyes with Ashod, waiting for him to object or refuse.
Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2) Page 60