Akiri: Sands Of Darkness

  Suddenly, the freedom of a life wandering the desert seemed very seductive. Akiri wanted to dismiss what Dar Gazal had just said as idle banter. Many claimed to see auras or to hear the voices of the gods. But this man was speaking the truth.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t trouble my mind about it,” said Dar Gazal, when Akiri gave no reply. “Regardless of our deeds, we all return to the sand eventually. All you can do is make the most of the time you have. Live free and die in glory. That’s the Suldan way.”

  “How can a man live free with the noose of the gods around his neck?”

  It was an instinctive response from Akiri. He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud until he heard Dar Gazal’s laughter.

  “If there is nothing you can do about it, why worry? Unless they plan to descend from heaven and cast out the Vizier for us, I do not intend to give them much thought.”

  Heaving a sigh, Akiri lay back on his blanket. Dar Gazal was right, of course. The man had said nothing that Akiri did not already know. But the voice of one’s own wisdom was often drowned out by the turmoil of a troubled mind.

  The day they were due to arrive dawned particularly hot and dry. Rashid was constantly shifting and squirming, and had drained his water skin well before the sun reached its apex.

  “We’re almost there now,” Dar Gazal responded, when Mahir mentioned his concern for the young lord. “Our tents will be cool, and there is plenty of water.”

  Akiri spotted the encampment an hour later as they rounded a low dune. Only his merkesh-enhanced vision allowed him to see it clearly – a hundred conical tents made from a material that blended almost perfectly with the surrounding desert. It wasn’t until they were less than a quarter of a mile away that Mahir saw them too.

  “Impressive,” remarked Akiri. “An enemy could pass right by and never know they were there.”

  “You'll find our camp is surprisingly comfortable too,” added Dar Gazal.

  A small group of Suldan ran up to greet them. They eyed the outsiders with suspicion, but did nothing to hinder their progress. Most of the camp’s inhabitants were dressed in white cotton full-length tunics similar to the one that Dar Gazal was wearing beneath his robes. Though many within the camp continued going about their daily chores, they all took particular notice of the new arrivals.

  Once dismounted, Dar Gazal led them through the camp to an empty tent. Akiri was immediately struck by how cool it was inside. The floor was covered by a soft rug, and several water skins were stacked at the entrance.

  “Wait here,” he told them. “I need to speak with my kin. Do not leave the tent.”

  Mahir opened a water skin and handed it to Rashid, who accepted it eagerly.

  “This is a bad idea, outlander,” Mahir said, after quenching his own thirst. “You don’t know these people. They are savages who place no value on human life.”

  “They are your only hope,” Akiri countered. “And from what I can see, they are anything but savages. Brutal, perhaps; but when you live in an unforgiving land, that has to be expected.”

  “And if they decide it’s better to simply kill us and vanish into the desert?”

  “If that happens, then I will make them regret their choice.”

  He could sense that Kyra was making her way back from a densely forested region far to the south. Very little was known in the west about the people of this area, only that the forest dwellers lived simple lives and had a tribal culture; barbarians, by all accounts. Beyond their habitat, there was reputed to be nothing but a vast, dark expanse of jungle. As far as Akiri knew, this was totally unexplored. Perhaps he would be the first to see what was out there? The thought excited the scholar within him.

  “Dar Gazal will keep his promise,” said Rashid, interrupting his thoughts.

  “And how do you know that?” asked Mahir.

  The boy shrugged. “I just know. They want to live in their desert, I suppose. And they don’t think the Vizier will leave them in peace.”

  “An astute observation,” Akiri remarked. “But Mahir is right. You shouldn’t give your trust so easily in the future. Not if you are to rule a kingdom. Dar Gazal and the Suldan will always look to their own interests above all others. For now, their interests align with your own. But be mindful. That might not always be the case.”

  “I understand,” he replied.

  When Dar Gazal returned, he was looking none too pleased. Akiri knew the reason for this even before the Suldan spoke.

  “I take it vengeance is being called for?”

  “I’m afraid so. The brother of Ur Badal claims you killed without cause, and that your deception gives him the right to vengeance.”

  Mahir sprang to his feet. “What is this? You swore to our safety.”

  Akiri placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Dar Gazal did not deceive me. I was aware that this might happen.”

  “You and Lord Rashid are under our protection,” added Dar Gazal. “This matter only concerns Akiri.”

  “You’re going to fight?” asked Rashid.

  Akiri nodded.

  “Can I watch?”

  “This is not something you should see,” Mahir cut in quickly.

  “I’m old enough,” he insisted.

  “If he were a Suldan child, I would say let him attend,” Dar Gazal opined, stroking his chin. “But the desert demands that we raise our young to be…stronger.”

  “I am strong,” he said, poking out his chest. “And I will watch Akiri fight.”

  Mahir looked to Akiri pleadingly. “Do you object?”

  “I see no reason to. The boy has already witnessed blood being spilled. And sheltering him will not make him a better ruler. Let him watch, if that’s what he wants.”

  Mahir glared. “Watching men die does not make a leader strong.”

  “No,” Akiri agreed. “But it makes them understand the consequences of their choices.”

  “You are free to rest for the night beforehand, if you need,” said Dar Gazal. “As I told you….it will be a fair fight.”

  “No. Let’s get this over with,” replied Akiri. “We need to look to the task ahead.”

  He followed Dar Gazal from the tent. After a few steps, he felt Rashid’s tiny hand grabbing hold of his.

  “Are you scared?” the boy asked.

  Akiri smiled involuntarily. “No. I have faced many foes. The worst thing that could happen is I die.”

  “Are you not afraid to die?”

  “Why should I be? No one is so mighty as to escape death. We all have our time. If this is mine, I am prepared.”

  “I don’t want you to die.”

  “You shouldn’t worry, Rashid. I do not intend to meet my end today.”

  “I’m not worried. You are the greatest warrior in the world. No one can defeat you.”

  Akiri smiled down at the boy. “If only that were so.”

  “Do not underestimate Momuud,” warned Dar Gazal. “He is considered fierce among my people, and for good reason.”

  Akiri did not need to be told. He never underestimated an enemy. Particularly one fighting on their home ground.

  The camp was quiet. Unusually so, considering what was about to take place. Just beyond the tents, Akiri could see a gathering of Suldan. It appeared the entire camp was there, waiting. They had formed a large circle and were standing silently with eyes focused on a lone figure standing in the center. He was stripped down to a pair of thigh-length white trousers and was clutching a long dagger in each hand. His head was shaved, and his rugged features bore a multitude of deep scars. From the look of his sinewy build, he was strong, though not overly muscled. That suggested he was probably very quick.

  Akiri surveyed the area for any sign of a leader, but the men and women were all dressed in almost identical garb that bore no sign of status or position. As the circle opened to allow him to pass, Dar Gazal gestured for Mahir and Rashid not to follow.

  Akiri’s opponent sneered. “Is this the outlander who killed my broth
er?”

  “This is Akiri,” affirmed Dar Gazal. “And I urge you to reconsider, Momuud.”

  “This man and his beast killed my brother and slaughtered his men. And you would have me ignore this? Have you no honor?”

  “Your brother knew the risks. Akiri is not at fault.”

  Momuud’s faced reddened. “Are you saying Ur Badal was?”

  “I am saying that no one was at fault.”

  Momuud’s eyes fell on Akiri. “And what have you to say? Do you deny your part in the death of my brother?”

  “No. I killed him. And several other Suldan as well.”

  Momuud’s attention returned to Dar Gazal. “And this is the man you defend?”

  “Akiri came here in full knowledge that you might seek vengeance. I gave him my word that should it happen, he would be given a fair chance.”

  “I gave him no such word.” Momuud nodded over his shoulder and three more men stepped forward from the circle.

  Dar Gazal’s hand fell to the hilt of his blade. “I will not allow this.”

  “Step aside…or die with him.”

  “Wait!” called a female voice.

  A tall woman with dark eyes and copper skin approached from Akiri’s left. She walked with determined strides, and her posture was one of confidence and authority.

  “This is not your affair, Shelia,” snapped Momuud.

  The woman paused to face him. “Are you challenging me?” Her tone was dark and threatening.

  He lowered his eyes while replying through gritted teeth. “No. Forgive me.”

  “Outlander,” she said, turning to Akiri. “I would know why you killed my people. Dar Gazal has told us. But I need to hear it from your own mouth.”

  Akiri recounted the events in detail, holding nothing back. When he had finished, he added no apology or excuse. He simply folded his arms and locked eyes with the woman.

  “I see,” mused Shelia. “And this dragon of yours…where is it now?”

  “You needn’t worry about Kyra,” he told her. “She is not a threat.”

  “And you care for this beast? You did not take her simply to sell her yourself?”

  “I care for Kyra as if she were my kin,” he replied. “I did nothing that I would not do again. Your people held her, and I freed her. There is nothing more to say.”

  Shelia locked eyes with him for several seconds and then turned back to Momuud. “Seek your vengeance, but seek it alone. Your cousins may not assist.”

  Momuud glared, but did not object. The three men at his back turned to leave.

  Akiri's voice stopped them. “They may fight too if that is what they wish.”

  Murmurs of astonishment came from all around.

  “Are you insane, outlander?” said Dar Gazal.

  “These men are to come with us to Rath? Am I right?”

  Dar Gazal nodded.

  “I do not want men at my back who carry revenge in their hearts. Better to end it now.”

  There was a long pause before Shelia said: “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  “So be it.”

  Momuud’s expression turned from surprise to a malicious grin. “Your arrogance has sealed your fate, outlander.”

  Akiri drew both his sword and dagger, the steel ringing out its deadly song. His face was emotionless and his focus absolute. “Perhaps.”

  Though looking less certain of themselves now, the three cousins stepped forward, each drawing a pair of daggers similar to the ones Momuud carried.

  As Dar Gazal and Shelia retreated to the edge of the circle, Akiri glanced over to where Rashid and Mahir were standing. Mahir’s face was awash with fear and anxiety. Rashid, on the other hand, bore a knowing smile – clearly unshaken by the odds and utterly confident in Akiri’s victory.

  The four men spread out and began to surround Akiri, their steps measured and practiced. The soft sand would have unbalanced most men, but not these. For them, a life in the desert meant they were as comfortable fighting on sand as Akiri had been on the firm surface of the clay practice yards he had trained in as a boy.

  He reckoned they would expect him to defend and counter. He would not. With a rapid flick of his wrist, he sent his dagger flying, burying it deep into the neck of the foe to his left. Rather than follow this up with a charge to the right, he stepped back and spun hard, bringing the pommel of his sword crashing into the temple of the second foe. A satisfying crunch of bone said that no more would be needed.

  Barely had he dealt with his second opponent when movement to his right had Akiri shifting and twisting his torso once again. This time, the sting of steel shot through his shoulder. Momuud was even faster than he had thought. The Suldan’s second blade was already plunging down at his heart when, in a life-saving action, he reached up and seized Momuud’s forearm. As he did so, the remaining cousin, sensing an easy opportunity to attack from the rear, closed in, only to have the heel of Akiri’s boot jerk sharply backwards into his groin. With a loud screech of agony, he staggered back the way he had come.

  Despite being initially thwarted, the grin on Momuud’s face had not vanished. With expert skill, he flipped the dagger in his free hand to change the grip, allowing him to strike in a straight thrust. Akiri was forced to release his hold and bring his sword up defensively. It was enough to save himself from a wound to the chest, but not enough to halt the advance of Momuud, who, in a sudden change of tactics, dropped low on his haunches and swept a vicious kick at Akiri’s ankle with his heel.

  Executed so swiftly and adroitly, this was clearly a much-favored move of Momuud’s. Had he been fighting against any other opponent, it would have almost certainly toppled them. As it was, Akiri was able to jump back just far enough to avoid the strike and then bring his sword down in a tight arc. Momuud dove hard left to save himself. Though Akiri’s blade missed its target, it gave him the time he needed to deal with his other remaining opponent, who by now was closing in for a second try. Knowing he had only a split second before Momuud would be back on his feet, he met the final cousin head on. With the man obviously in pain and still struggling to walk properly, it was never going to be much of a contest. With a single blinding thrust, Akiri pierced his chest and then, snatching him by the arm, tossed him directly at the advancing Momuud.

  Roaring with fury, Momuud shoved his kin’s body aside. But no matter how great his rage, it was far from unbalancing him. He struck out again and again with an intensity and precision that would have impressed even a Dul’Buhar. Akiri parried and dodged, all the time circling to the right and waiting. Then the moment presented itself. Unable to find Akiri’s flesh with his current style of attack, Momuud took a gamble and struck with both daggers simultaneously. The tip of one managed to make a small wound in Akiri’s arm, but it also left Momuud extended and open.

  Akiri’s left fist crushed against the Suldan’s jaw and was rapidly followed by a sword strike to the man’s left thigh. Dazed and bleeding heavily, Momuud staggered back, flailing wildly, a total contrast to his earlier discipline. It was over. Ducking under these chaotic slashes, Akiri took his opponent’s head with a single blow.

  There was total silence as the body crumbled to the sands. Rashid was looking on, still smiling. Akiri had always found it remarkable how children could adapt. Rashid had lost his father, survived assassination attempts, been abducted, and was hiding in the desert while people died to make him their ruler. All these troubles and pressures put upon one small boy, and yet not a hint of it was showing on his face.

  He cleaned his blade on a fallen foe’s shirt just as Dar Gazal and Shelia started to approach. Shelia knelt beside the man whom Akiri had struck with his pommel. Though he was still breathing, Akiri knew from experience that he would soon be dead. Shelia obviously knew this too. Drawing a dagger from her belt, she sank it into the man’s heart.

  “Well done, outlander,” said Dar Gazal, but with no joy in his tone.

  “Does this end the matter?”

 
Dar Gazal nodded. “No one will harm you. They would be exiled and their kin forced to pay restitution should they try.”

  With head bowed, Shelia whispered a prayer to Mishna to receive the spirits of her people. When she was finished, she simply gave Akiri an expressionless look and left the circle.

  “Come,” said Dar Gazal. “You need food and rest. We leave for Rath in the morning.”

  Akiri followed him back to their tent. Mahir was quiet along the way, but Rashid peppered him with questions – mostly to do with how he had learned to fight. He ignored most of them, eventually telling him that, for the moment at least, he preferred not to talk.

  With Mahir too squeamish to be of any help, Akiri was left to clean and dress his own wounds as best he could. A short time later, they were brought a meal consisting of an unfamiliar stew and a bland flatbread. Though Mahir looked at this with disapproval, when Rashid saw Akiri eating without complaint, he devoured the meal as if it had come from the finest kitchens in Rath.

  Before departing, Dar Gazal had suggested that they remain in the tent until after sundown. The bodies of the men killed by Akiri were being prepared to be taken into the desert.

  “Though not burdened with much ceremony, it is a very personal and private affair,” he explained. “Far better that you stay here.”

  Mahir unpacked a small flask from his belongings. A moment later, the tent was filled with the scent of whiskey. “Are you sure we’ll be safe?” he asked after taking a long drink.

  “As safe as you can be,” Akiri replied. “At least until the battle is decided.”

  “With you fighting on our side, we cannot lose,” Rashid chipped in confidently.

  Something inside Akiri seemed to snap. “I am not invincible,” he told the boy sharply. “Nor am I a hero, or some legendary warrior from a fable. I am a man, no different from those who died today. And I can die just as easily. You need to get these fantasies out of your head, Rashid. There are no heroes, and legends are not real. What is real is the fact that men die. And the ones who try to be heroes usually die much quicker.”