The Warrior's Path (Tales of Gorania Book 1)

by Karim Soliman

  “Was it better at night?”

  “Not too much. Sometimes I felt that moonlight was as hot as sunlight.”

  She came closer with her horse when she heard a distant howl. He knew it was a wolf, but he didn’t wish to scare her.

  “What was that?” she asked nervously.

  “Do not worry, darling.” He held her hand as the two horses almost touched each other. “Fire keeps night wanderers away.”

  “Night wanderers?” She looked around her. “You’re not fooling me, are you?”

  “Can you imagine the thing that scared me the most in the Great Desert?”

  “To be eaten by night wanderers?”

  “No, Sania. It was silence.” He laughed. “I did not hear anything, even the whistling wind. I remember I was eager to hear a howling beast or a hissing snake.”

  “Am I supposed to feel grateful for the music I’m listening to now?”

  “Soon you are going to enjoy this music.”

  “Soon we are going to reach that Oasis, I hope.”

  “If we keep moving the whole night, we will be there by morning.”

  “The whole night! Don’t you ever sleep in your journeys?”

  “We can have some rest if you want.” He stared at her in the flame light. Even in such a critical moment, he could not help entertaining his eyes with her pretty face.

  “Listen, no foolish moves,” she warned. “You won’t get anything from me until we reach Kalensi and have our own roofed house. Nothing is going to happen in this bare desert.”

  “No rush.” Masolon laughed. “I will wait patiently.”

  “This is not all. We must announce our marriage in the presence of a cleric.”

  “A cleric?”

  “Yes, a cleric. That is the proper marriage ritual for any virtuous couple.”

  “In my homeland, we were not in need of a cleric. We used to gather and witness the marriage announcement, and that was all. I remember a few occasions when we celebrated with music and drums.”

  She chuckled. “Imagining you dancing makes me laugh.”

  “I never tried to dance. I guess the sight of me dancing will be funny indeed.”

  “Don’t you worry, serious Commander.” She gave him a charming smile. “I will handle this.”

  She was irresistible, but he remembered her warning about a roofed house and a cleric. That might not happen before a month or more. Too much waiting.

  “Let us have some rest,” he suggested when he spotted a copse of scattered palm trees. “We can tie our horses there.”

  “And how am I going to sleep? On the sand?”

  “I do not mind if you use my armor as a mattress.”

  “I don’t mind as well to use only the armor, you bastard!” she teased him. After they stopped their horses near a palm tree, she fluidly slid off her horse.

  “I told you I did not need your help. I can mount and dismount on my own.” She held the bridle of her horse.

  “If you insist.” Masolon swung down from his saddle. “I will be there, just in case you change your mind.” He pulled the reins of his stallion and handed Sania the torch. “Let me tie this horse for you, milady. Be careful, and do not burn yourself with that torch.” He held the reins of both horses, pulling them to the trunk. In a few minutes, he was done with the horses and turned to Sania, who was irked by the heat of the torch she carried. Masolon gestured to her to hand it to him and she stepped forward to give him the torch.

  And then she screeched.

  “Sania!” Masolon yelled when a dagger struck the left side of her torso. Before his very eyes his sweetheart fell on her face, the flaming torch rolling on the sandy terrain, blood pouring out of her.

  “Blast!” an angry familiar feminine voice came out of the dark desert.

  The voice of a snake.

  Masolon quickly put out the flame of the torch with his boot to hide Sania and himself in the darkness. The terrain was only lit by moonlight, and he could hardly see a slender shadow of the assaulter, who ran away toward her horse.

  “You, devil’s whore!” he bellowed. “Why? Why? Why?”

  “The target was you, but she moved!” Viola shrieked. “It’s destiny’s justice. You killed Ramel and I killed your girl!”

  Masolon heard the hooves of Viola’s horse galloping away. He wished he could chase her and slice her throat, but it was impossible for him to leave Sania in her blood. The dagger was still stuck in her body, but he didn’t dare to pull it out. Trying to stop the bleeding, he pushed on the wound with his hand.

  “I don’t want to die, Masolon,” Sania whimpered.

  “You will live, Sania. Just hang on to me.” He cradled her in his arms. “Stay with me, please.” He put her on his stallion, mounted his horse, and off he galloped. The only idea that came to his mind at once was taking her to Bumar. He would know what to do, Masolon hoped.

  ***

  It was not yet dawn when Masolon reached Bumar’s house. He dismounted and banged the door with his fist. “Bumar! It is me!” When Masolon heard footsteps coming from inside, he hurried back to his horse and returned with Sania in his arms.

  “Merciful Lord!” Bumar made way for Masolon to enter when he saw him carrying the passed out girl.

  “She has been stabbed, Bumar! I need your help!” Masolon begged as he stepped inside the house. Bumar hurried to a table and cleared its top, leaving room for Masolon to lay Sania on it. The healer checked the girl’s arm and cheeks that looked so pale.

  “Is she going to survive?” Masolon asked worriedly.

  “Pull yourself together, young man,” Bumar replied with his calm voice. “Your tension won’t change anything. If you really want to help, stay close in case I need you to hand me something.”

  “She has been bleeding for so long.” Masolon bit his lower lip.

  “What have I just said? Pull yourself together.”

  Masolon kept his mouth shut, ready to do anything to rescue his love.

  “The best thing you did was that you didn’t pull that dagger out,” said Bumar. “She could have bled to death if you had done that.”

  Bumar brought ten pieces of cloth and soaked each one in a cleansing solution with a pungent odor that reminded Masolon of his first night in Kahora. “I am going to pull it out now,” he said. “Be ready with the bandages.”

  Once Bumar yanked the dagger out, blood gushed out. The healer took one bandage from Masolon, and pushed on the open wound until the piece of cloth became soaked with Sania’s blood. “One more,” Bumar demanded. He kept pushing on the wound with bandages, one after the other, until the bleeding started to diminish.

  “The stitches, Masolon.”

  Masolon felt like pushing Bumar's hand away. Although he reminded himself that his friend was helping his Sania, he still couldn't watch a needle piercing her skin. Fidgeting, he turned his head away until the healer was done with his work.

  “How did you come together?” Bumar was placing one new bandage over the sutures. “It seems that I have missed a lot of your news.”

  “Tell me first, how is she?” Masolon asked eagerly.

  “She will be fine,” Bumar reassured Masolon. “The blade cut her flesh, but it didn’t reach any of her organs. She will need a few weeks until the flesh heals itself and restores its normal healthy state.”

  Masolon gazed at Sania, who was still unconscious. He put his ear near her mouth to make sure she was still breathing.

  “When will she wake up?” he asked.

  “At any moment,” said Bumar. “She has lost a lot of blood, but luckily not enough to kill her.”

  “Great.” Masolon sighed. “Can I take her now?”

  “No. The bleeding has not stopped completely. She needs some rest to replenish her strength.”

  “I do not have much time, Bumar.”

  “Much time for what, Masolon?” Bumar narrowed his eyes. “Are you running away with her?”

  Before Masolon could respond, they heard thu
ndering hooves approaching the house. “Blast!” The clopping stopped just in front of Bumar’s door.

  “I know you are inside, Masolon! Open that door!” an angry voice shouted from outside. Among all the men in Gorania, the lord of Arkan himself was standing at the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  MASOLON

  Now was not the time for reckless moves.

  Masolon regretted involving Bumar in his predicament. The first roof that had sheltered him in Gorania was that of the healer’s house. Only now did Masolon realize he had never paid Bumar back for his favors. No doubt that Antram, Ziyad and Frankil were his dearest companions from the gang, but they had earned some gold and recognition as captains.

  But Bumar? How had Masolon rewarded him so far? Except for the scrolls he had helped him write about his homeland, Bumar’s reward was nothing but a horde of memluks waiting outside his house to break in, led by a furious lord looking for his sister.

  “Let me handle this, my friend. I do not want to involve you any further in my troubles.” Masolon stood from his seat, gesturing to Bumar to stay in place. He opened the door to face the angry brother.

  “Where is my sister, Masolon?” Feras growled.

  “She has been taken care of,” Masolon replied curtly.

  Feras shoved Masolon and went inside to find Bumar standing by the table upon which Sania lay.

  “What have both of you done to her?” Feras bellowed.

  “No need to shout, milord,” said Masolon. “The healer did his job and saved her. You cannot blame him for that.”

  “Don’t dare to tell me whom to blame!” Feras jabbed his forefinger at Masolon’s chest.

  “Yes, I dare. You cannot blame the one who saved your sister’s life!”

  For an instant, Feras looked surprised by Masolon’s tone, but what was he expecting from someone who had lost everything he had?

  “What about the man who betrayed me after I had granted him my trust?” Feras grunted.

  “I never betrayed you.”

  “Yes, you did! You were supposed to guard my sister, not beguile her!”

  “I did not beguile her. She chose me, as I chose her.”

  “She chose you? She chose you?” Feras huffed. “Then she deserves to be punished for the disgrace she brought to the name of her house!”

  “Disgrace?” Masolon echoed, the word hurting him. It reminded him of his last journey to Durberg. It reminded him of the ugly truth.

  The norm of life.

  “You are not much different from the others.” Masolon smirked, shaking his head. “All lords in Gorania are the same after all.”

  “You don’t know anything about the lords of Gorania,” Feras snarled. “If I were really like them I would kill you at once, without bothering myself bandying words with you.”

  Should Masolon be grateful? Should he thank his master for sparing his life despite his horrendous “sin”?

  Sania groaned.

  “She’s waking up,” said Bumar.

  Masolon hurried to her. “Sania!” He held her hand.

  “Where am I?” she asked in a faint voice, groaning again.

  “You will be fine, milady,” Bumar reassured her. “I will give you something to alleviate your pain.” He hurried to one of his rooms.

  “I am sorry, Sania.” Masolon squeezed her hand. “All the pain you suffer is because of me. I cannot forgive myself.”

  “Oh please, Masolon.” She tried to smile. “Don’t be harsh on yourself.”

  “Sania!” Feras snapped.

  Sania was startled when she heard her brother’s voice. Obviously, she hadn’t noticed his presence. “Feras?” She turned her terrified eyes toward Masolon.

  “Yes, it’s me,” her brother said. “I’m here to end your reckless ride.”

  “I have always known you as a fair lord. Please, brother, no need to harm him. Just let him go,” she pleaded.

  “I will not go alone,” Masolon insisted. Not after he had reached this far. They could kill him if they wanted, but he wouldn’t leave without her.

  “Then you leave me no choice,” Feras stated.

  “Please, Masolon.” Sania held his hand. “Let it go.”

  Masolon stared at her with stunned eyes.

  “It is over,” she said sadly.

  At a loss for words, all he could do was shake his head. What Sania said didn’t make any sense.

  “She’s right,” said Feras. “It’s over.”

  With hollow eyes, Masolon looked at Feras then turned again to Sania. “No,” he muttered. They were all wrong. He would slay all those Murasens in Bumar’s house, including Feras himself, then sneak out with Sania, find a horse and…

  “Please, Masolon!” Sania was almost weeping. She turned to her brother. “Feras, you have already banished him. Let him go! If saving my life twice doesn’t mean anything to you, let it be for the sake of saving your king’s life!”

  Feras chewed on his lip. “I hope I won’t regret this one day, because the next time you are seen on any Murasen soil, you will be hunted. And not by my men, by royal memluks. Royal memluks of a concerned husband!”

  Had Masolon heard that right? A concerned husband? There was only one man in the Murasen kingdom who had royal memluks.

  “Sania will soon be wed to King Rasheed.” Feras glanced at Sania, then back to Masolon. “And I don’t think the king will be happy to know that we let you go, especially when he knows what you tried to do.”

  No, no, no. How was everything collapsing so fast? Masolon felt firm hands holding his shoulders, the healer's hands.

  “I don’t want to mourn you, young man,” Bumar said in a low voice. “You still have the chance to restart your path somewhere else in Gorania. Pull yourself together, use your mind, and don’t let your emotions drive you.”

  Path? What path? Curse that path! Sania was his path now! That was the only path he had to fight for. Although he knew he was on his own, he would fight.

  His hand reached for the hilt of his sword, but Bumar held his hand tight, shooting him a warning look. “No, Masolon. You won’t do this,” Bumar whispered. “You’ll kill yourself, you fool.”

  “They have killed me already.”

  Bumar glared at him. “You don’t want her to watch you slaughtered.”

  Masolon glanced at Sania’s pale face. He pulled his hand away from the hilt and moved past Bumar to touch Sania’s soft hand one last time, but Feras stood in his way.

  “I am running out of patience,” the young lord grumbled.

  A head gesture from Bumar was the last plea from a true friend for Masolon to give up fighting. Masolon dragged his heavy legs and went ahead of Feras to the door, his heart tearing with every step taking him away from Sania. When he reached the doorstep, he thought of giving her one last look, but he didn’t dare, the wheezing of her chest making him ashamed of his weakness. His sweetheart, his Murasen paradise; he was leaving her without a fight.

  He took a deep breath and stepped out of the house in front of the guards ready with their weapons. Ignoring them, Masolon went past them and mounted his stallion. Not like this, he thought as the Murasen horsemen surrounded his horse, commanding him to follow them to the northwest borders. Silently he complied, recalling a whole year of events as if he was watching them right now. Sometimes he wondered why it was destined for him to survive that deadly passage one year ago. If there was one answer to his question, it would be Sania. If there was one meaning of his journey to Gorania, it would be Sania.

  I should have died in the Great Desert.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  ZIYAD

  Ziyad was the first one in the camp to wake up after quite a disturbing night. He doubted if Masolon's shocking egress had troubled his brothers' sleep like it had done to him. Frankil, who was only concerned about his duties, would get up as he did every day and assume his responsibilities as a leader of the gang. Be it the last time or not, Frankil wouldn't bother that much, if at all. Main
taining the gang's mission was always his top priority.

  Though Antram seemed a bit touched last night, Ziyad was quite sure that the first pouch of golden coins would heal his grief. Ziyad was neither judging him nor claiming he was less greedy than his bald friend. Ziyad had joined the gang to quench his revenge, but even after achieving that, he couldn't stop the music of gold from playing in his pockets.

  Ziyad was still hesitant if he should consider Blanich a brother. Indeed the Rusakian had been fighting alongside them for a while, but Ziyad knew that the day of Blanich's return to his country was coming sooner or later.

  What about Ziyad himself? Knowing that Masolon was not coming back for good, Ziyad felt unsure about the point of sticking to this brotherhood of warriors. His uncertainty didn't make any sense, he knew, but it was a feeling he couldn't overcome. Perhaps he was just feeling gloomy because of the way Masolon had seen them off. On the previous two occasions, Masolon had temporarily left them by his own choice. But last night, he was running away like an outlaw. Getting into trouble with the wrong people, Masolon had said. The statement had kept Ziyad awake as he let his imagination go wild pondering what Masolon could have done to obliterate his glory with his own hands. Was it a stupid slip of the tongue while talking to Lord Feras? Or worse, King Rasheed? Had he quarreled with one of the royal memluks, and eventually His Majesty had considered it an insult to his dignified person? Had he been caught sneaking into the ladies' wing? Masolon had a weakness for women, Ziyad was sure of it. Well, all men had the same weakness except for clerics and eunuchs. Even the pious Frankil. His stern face must have smiled once to some wench.

  Ziyad stood upon the edge of the hill to enjoy the dustless breeze of this morning. A few minutes later he heard the steps of someone else coming to join him. Antram had woken up earlier than usual this morning.

  “Seeing you up makes me worried about the captain.” Ziyad chuckled.