The Warrior's Path

by Karim Soliman

  “But what?” she would yell at him if it were not for her sleeping mother.

  “I don't like to be a bad news bearer until I…emm…make sure…”

  “What bad news?” Sania asked, alarmed. “Speak up.”

  “Don't get me wrong, milady. It's the pulse. I believe it's…emm…a bit slow.”

  “A bit slow,” she echoed, not knowing whether she should fret because it was slow, or feel relieved it was a bit.

  “It's slower than it was one hour ago.”

  “So?” She waited for him to elaborate. “Sleep slows pulse, right?”

  “She's not sleeping.” He lowered his eyes.

  “What? But the medicine you gave her—”

  “Alleviates the cough…emm…but doesn't induce sleep.”

  “Then do something!” She glared at him. “You still can do something for her pulse!” Blast! Where are you now, Bumar?

  “I will try more potions.” The healer rose to his feet and checked the metallic box he had put on the table. He took out a flacon containing a red liquid and a flask with a brown one. “It can't be worse,” he muttered.

  Fadwa pushed the door open. Before Sania rebuked her for entering without a permission as if she was stepping into a barn, Fadwa started, “I'm so sorry, milady. But the king has given his orders to sneak all the women out of the palace.”

  “What happened? Did the nomads break into the palace?”

  “Not yet.” Fadwa shook her head. “But everyone believes it's only a matter of time. They say the royal guards here are not enough to hold those wild masses off. I also heard them mention something about a catapult.”

  “I don't think it's safe to leave the palace at this time.”

  “Those savages will slaughter everyone in this palace.”

  It would be better if those nomads just killed them. Worse things could happen to Sania if she fell into their filthy hands.

  “How can we even leave the palace if we want to?” Sania asked. “Those dogs are right at our gates.”

  “Through a secret passage that takes us outside the city five miles away from the western wall, milady. Her Majesty has left already.”

  Sania glanced at her sick mother. “Lady Ramia can't go anywhere, as you see.”

  “I will look for two guards to put Lady Ramia on a sedan chair.” Surprisingly, Fadwa was resourceful now. Danger must have awakened her thick mind. Still, Sania wasn't sure about the idea. Running away in the desert didn't sound less dangerous than staying in the besieged palace.

  “You must decide now, milady.” Fadwa was nervous, and who could blame her? “Soon we might not find an available guard in this palace. His Majesty has already mustered most of his soldiers at the front gate.”

  Last time it was her brother's decision, and he was wrong. She must make the right decision this time. “Go.” Sania motioned her maid to go and find the guards. Part of her heart didn't feel well though.

  Turning to the healer, she found him petrified. “What were you doing?” she asked. “Watching me? You should have given her the medicine already.”

  “Forgive me, milady. The news has just…emm…overwhelmed my mind.” The healer put one drop from the red potion into an empty pot, and then he poured a little from the brown potion. “Lady Ramia will need me to…ahem…take care of her health in her escape, right?”

  He was looking for a place among the women to save himself. “What about taking care of her health now?” Sania snapped.

  The healer gave her a faint smile and resumed his work. The bowl almost slipped from his hands when they heard the BOOM coming from outside.

  “Merciful Lord! What could that be?” Sania gasped.

  “I'm afraid that's the catapult she was talking about.” His eyes grew large in terror. “Nothing can prevent those barbarians from smashing the gate of the palace.”

  Now Sania knew what she wanted to do: get out of here. “Keep working!” she commanded.

  The healer looked nervous as he stirred the mixture he had just prepared. Using a narrow glass tube he sucked the liquid up, but before it reached his lips, he placed his finger over the tube mouth. He carefully placed the tube in her sleeping mother's nose and blew through the tube to push the liquid through.

  Sania grimaced. “What was that?”

  “An attempt to refresh her lungs and heart,” the healer said, then repeated the same process with the other nostril.

  Fadwa arrived at last, the two guards following her with the sedan. The two men gently laid her mother on the wooden board. Lifting the sedan from both sides, the two guards went outside the chamber.

  “They know the way,” Fadwa reassured her. “Let's go.”

  Sania nodded to the healer to join them, a smile of relief slipping over his face. The guards swiftly went upstairs as if they were carrying an empty sedan.

  “Be careful! Watch your pace!” Sania cried behind them, and then asked Fadwa, “Have you readied a howdah for us?”

  “It will be difficult to do so in the current circumstances, milady,” replied the maid.

  “The howdah is not a good idea,” the healer pointed out. “Camels are too slow. We'll be easily spotted.”

  “We're not just going to put her on a horse, are we?” Sania asked disapprovingly.

  “I'm afraid we have no other option…”

  The hallway, as well as all the chambers they passed upstairs, were abandoned. Except for those two carrying her mother, Sania hadn't caught a glimpse of a guard's shadow since she left her chamber. Fadwa wasn't exaggerating about the situation at the gate then. It could even be worse than she described.

  “Who is that genius who constructed an escape passage upstairs?” Sania asked impatiently.

  Fadwa kept her eyes on the guards ahead. “It is built as such to be close to the royal wing.”

  Sania was too hurried to entertain her eyes with the sight of the crystal chandeliers and the chiseled columns of the hall they passed through. Only now did she realize she was in the royal wing. It was clear that the residents of this wing had fled already.

  Fadwa picked a torch from the wall as they entered a dark, windowless bedchamber, the air inside packed with dust.

  “Mother won't stand that,” Sania mumbled, her eyes on the frames of those hasty guards. “Watch your step!” She was worried they might stumble over something in this darkness. No one seemed to be paying heed to her complaints as they moved toward a huge fake fireplace, which acted like a slightly open door for a dark passage behind it.

  The downward incline of the passage helped them move faster with less effort. Having Fadwa's torch as the only source of light in this darkness, Sania didn't stop asking the guards to watch their steps. But after many sharp turns to the right and to the left, she didn't bother reminding them as she felt dizzy, the dusty air filling her chest.

  They took a while until they reached the straight part of the passage; no inclination, no turns.

  “We didn't shut the passage entrance,” Sania suddenly remembered. “Those savages might follow us if they find that dusty room.”

  “There are others who still need to flee, milady” said Fadwa. “The king himself is still behind us in the palace.”

  Sania was surprised. “I thought he had escaped already with his…”

  She thought she had heard a faint womanly scream, and obviously she wasn't the only one who did. Fadwa, the healer, and the two guards all stopped without saying a word, even holding their breaths to make sure of what they heard. A few moments later, another faint feminine scream broke the silence.

  “Merciful Lord! Where are these screams coming from?”

  In Sania's best wishes those shrieks were coming from inside the palace through the thin passage walls. Although none of her companions answered, she got an answer anyway. That answer was a horrifying cry echoing in the narrow passage.

  A cry of a nomad at the end of the passage.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ZIYAD

  Revenge wo
uld never bring the gone loved ones back, his uncle had told him once. He was probably just worried the idea was consuming his restless nephew.

  The first gift his uncle had given him was a saber, so heavy that the young Ziyad couldn’t lift it from the ground with his child’s arms. The child had become a violent, reckless lad, and the uncle regretted what he had sown. That was why the second and the last gift was a harp. It was true, the harp hadn’t avenged his father, but it had taken the reckless lad into an overwhelming new world. A world of music, laughter, and festive nights. The harp had let him set foot in fancy palaces and boisterous taverns, blabber with noble ladies and wenches.

  But nights were not festive any longer with the shortness of coin. Playing the harp was not paying off well, and that was when he thought of the other thing he was skillful at, wielding a sword. He had heard he could earn some silver just for wielding a wooden sword. Becoming a Contest fighter was his next move, but that man from nowhere called Masolon had brought him back to what he was destined to do; avenge his dead father.

  “They say your memories flash in your mind before you die,” Ziyad muttered, smiling to Frankil, but it appeared the grim-faced Bermanian captain wasn’t ready to die now.

  “Brothers of the gang! Chaaaargggeee!”

  The sonorous voice came from behind them. The man from nowhere was here, in Kahora, in this very street. And the best part was, he was not alone. Looking over his shoulder, Ziyad saw Masolon leading a horde of more than two hundred horsemen through the main street of Kahora.

  “You heard him!” Frankil raised his sword, addressing his band of men. “Charge!”

  More than a thousand hooves thundered in the street as the two big hordes of horses were ready to clash. With an iron grip, Ziyad held the reins the moment his horse raised its forelimbs. The nomad's horse galloping in the opposite direction did the same before they collided. Ziyad's sword reached the nomad's horse first, the rider falling. The second strike chopped the nomad's neck. The third slashed another nomad's abdomen. The fourth and fifth struck two more horses. The neighs of dead and wounded horses were higher than men's roars and shrieks. In such a narrow battlefield, it was easier to hit those poor horses either deliberately or by accident than their riders. It was so narrow that Frankil and his knights wouldn't be able to attack in their wedge formation. Today there were no formations, only a mass of horsemen pushing their way through another mass.

  Ziyad recognized the roars of Frankil, Antram, Danis, and Bergum, the vanguard of this army. He heard no more from Masolon since his entrance. He could be still behind them thanks to that narrow battlefield. Or maybe Ziyad had pushed his way too far forward. He wouldn't look back until the end of the battle. He could see nothing but the next nomad he was going to slay or the swung blade that was going to kill him.

  “Chaaarge!”

  Masolon was back. But he wasn't behind Ziyad this time; his voice rang from behind the nomads' lines.

  “The sly bastard!” Excited, Ziyad listened to the sweetest thunder ever. The thunder of Masolon's horsemen charging at the Ghosts from their arses. If the Ghosts had arses.

  Gaps appeared in the faltering nomads' lines. “Punch them hard, brothers!” Ziyad urged his horse forward through the gaps. Masolon howled from the other side, his voice louder and closer. Ziyad couldn't wait to shake hands with him.

  “Yield!” Masolon bellowed at the last dozen nomads, pointing his greatsword at them. As they found themselves between a rock and a hard place, the desert dogs dropped their weapons and raised their hands.

  “I don't think I could be happier to see you, brother!” Ziyad nodded toward Masolon.

  “I hope I am not too late,” said Masolon.

  Frankil nodded as well. “Just in time, brave warrior.”

  Masolon gazed at the street, the columns of his army cramming it. “I heard there were more nomads than that.”

  “Those we have defeated are barely one-third of their men,” Blanich said, coming forward.

  Masolon looked surprised when he saw the Rusakian, a smile sliding over his face. “The nobleman himself is here. I never thought I would cross paths with him again.”

  “This time could be the last if we don't leave this city now,” said Blanich.

  “Not with those nomads still here,” Ziyad insisted.

  “Remember, brothers,” said Antram. “We only want their catapult, and we have it now.”

  “That was before Masolon's arrival with reinforcements,” said Frankil.

  “Still, we are outnumbered three to one,” Blanich reminded them.

  “Sounds like a fair ratio to me.” Masolon shrugged. “Especially, if we can work that thing.” He nodded toward the catapult standing at the end of the street.

  “Danis can,” said Frankil, looking a bit confused. “But what do you want to do with a catapult? Do you think we might need to storm the palace if it falls to them?”

  “That thing throws stones from a long range, right?” said Masolon. “While we hold them at the front, Danis shall throw stones on their middle and rearguard.”

  “Flaming stones, brother,” Ziyad added, liking the idea. “We can persuade our friend from Shezar to help Danis.”

  “Moving that catapult is going to take some time,” Frankil said. And if the nomads broke into the palace, the catapult would be useless.

  “Then we hold those bastards until you arrive,” Masolon told Danis. “How many men do you need?”

  Danis thought for a moment then said, “Twenty.”

  “So be it. To the palace, brothers!” Masolon waved to all warriors of the gang, as well as the horsemen he had brought with him. Their small army was surely outnumbered, but Ziyad believed in their chances to save this city. With Masolon's return to lead them, they were fearless no matter the odds. Today they were the real ghosts.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  SANIA

  Sania tried to forget her heavy legs as she hurriedly ascended the inclined passage on her way back to the palace. Fadwa and the healer were right ahead of her, the guards carrying her mother behind her by some distance.

  The cries of their chasers never stopped. They are terrorizing us, Sania thought. Those bastards know we are here.

  They were closing in on them, their shouts getting louder.

  “Are we there yet, Fadwa?” Sania asked breathlessly. “Where is the bloody door?”

  Fadwa didn't bother answering, probably saving her breath for something more worthy. Sania had better do the same.

  “Here they are!” the healer yelled, looking over his shoulder.

  “Keep moving! Don't look back!” Sania was scared her feet would fail her if she saw those nomads from a close range.

  Fadwa and the healer made it to the door, Sania joining them a few moments later. The First Maid held the torch to illuminate the way for the two guards. At the end of the flickering light of Fadwa's torch, Sania spied those shadows right behind the guards.

  “Faster! Faster!” she cried, making way for the guards to pass through. The moment they stepped into the room with the sedan, she urged the healer and Fadwa, “Push! Push! Push!” The three of them gave the heavy door—the fake fireplace—their best. Before they closed the door completely, the intruders pushed from the other side. “Help here!” Sania cried. The two guards put the sedan on the ground and hurried to help them. Ten arms were pushing the door now, but the arms on the other side seemed to be more and stronger. The nomads were gradually forcing the door open.

  “Take the sick lady out of here! We will slow them!” one of the guards urged Sania.

  She wasn't sure what she should say to the brave guard. All she did was nod silently to him then she turned to Fadwa and the healer. “Quickly, follow me.”

  The healer picked the sedan up from the front side, Sania and Fadwa lifting from the back. “Move, move, move!” she urged the healer, who was taking the lead as they exited the dusty bedchamber. “To the stairs, to the stairs!”


  Not far away from the bloody room they had just left, she heard the cries of the two valiant guards. Nothing would hinder those savages now from catching them. Neither she, Fadwa, nor the healer could outrun those beasts. Their doom was inevitable.

  “Hold this.” Sania grabbed her maid's arm and made her grasp the handle Sania was holding. “I will distract them. You two, hide in any of these chambers and barricade it well.”

  The terrified maid stared at her. “Go! Now!” Sania hissed.

  The healer and her maidservant hurried with the sedan toward the nearest chamber to them. After making sure that the nomads hadn't seen them hiding, Sania sprinted across the hall, hitting the floor hard with her feet to make those dogs hear her. She could tell her reckless move was working when she heard their footsteps following her.

  She reached the stairs and hurried to the first floor. Unsure of her direction, she was taking rights and lefts without knowing where they would take her to. The only thing on her mind was running as fast as she could. Being caught by such barbarians would be a horrible fate for her. Her heart pounded vigorously out of exhaustion and fear, the echo of her followers' footsteps getting closer. Her legs started to fail her and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep the same pace for long.

  Dashing downstairs, she pushed a door that led to the front courtyard. With her swirling mind, she couldn't decide which direction she should take in that vast area. The menacing voices of her pursuers were getting clearer and she had to act quickly. Having not enough time to consider any better options, she went up the nearest stone stairs adjacent to the palace wall.

  It was too late when she realized how difficult it was to run on such broken stone steps. Turning back was not an option as her pursuers were right downstairs. She stumbled a couple of times, and the gap that separated her from her tireless followers was closing. One of the two nomads dove and caught her foot, falling with her on the stone steps. Lying on her back, Sania screamed in horror and shove the attacker with both legs. The unbalanced nomad tried desperately to cling to the steps but fell to the ground, landing on his head.