Dark Empress

by S. J. A. Turney

  Samir sighed.

  “Vengeance is hollow, brother. Survival is important. That is the lesson she taught us; the last lesson.”

  The two lapsed into silence for a moment. Something here felt wrong. It had been days since the horrors that had ended their mother’s life and any hope for a free M’Dahz. The dynamic between the brothers felt strained and odd. Their whole life there had been a third person. Oh there had been occasions when the two brothers had been alone, for certain, but not for a length of time, and never with important decisions to be made. Their father had been there, and then their mother, and uncle Faraj, and even Asima. But now they were utterly alone.

  “Do you think Asima will return?”

  Samir blinked at his brother’s question.

  “Would you?” He sighed. “No, Asima will not return to M’Dahz. The important question, and the one that we seem to continually dance around, is what we should do now.”

  Another uncomfortable silence followed as the brothers met each other’s gaze.

  Since the deaths, the boys had grieved in their own way, and subtle changes were now evident in Ghassan, who had become quieter and more serious than Samir had even known him and his eyes held an iron resolve that worried his brother. Samir swallowed nervously. This had to play out exactly right.

  “Whatever we do, we will need to do it soon, Samir. The supply of food is dwindling and we will not be able to afford to eat in a few days. I have no intention of surviving the invasion and the horrors of Ma’ahd’s reign just to die of starvation in a back alley.”

  Samir nodded.

  “Agreed, but the question is: what? There’s nothing in M’Dahz we can do, short of crime, and those folk who fled to Calphoris are probably as poor and hungry as we are. If Faraj was still alive…”

  Ghassan nodded in silence.

  “We have to leave M’Dahz though, Samir.” His eyes darkened. “We need to avenge mother, whatever you say.”

  “Survival, not vengeance, Ghassan.”

  “Both.” The taller brother straightened. “I’ll bet the Imperial army is still functioning in Calphoris. We can sign up with them and protect the rest of the Empire against Pelasia; possibly even drive Ma’ahd back out of M’Dahz in time.”

  Samir shook his head.

  “Even if the army is still in Calphoris, if we signed up, they’d send us to the other side of the world where the men are all pale with fair hair and it get so cold the water becomes solid. But Calphoris will have lost Imperial support by now, brother. The Empire is so far away and crumbling. Calphoris will be on its way to becoming what M’Dahz is now.”

  Ghassan shrugged.

  “Perhaps that would be better still. They will still have a militia and will be watching the satrap carefully. And their militia will be far larger and stronger than ours, as Calphoris is a big city. And if it’s the militia we can probably lie about our age easier.”

  Samir was still shaking his head.

  “That’s not the way, Ghassan. To sell ourselves into military service? It’s a waste of our talents. There will be other paths that will open to us.”

  The taller brother shrugged.

  “We have to leave M’Dahz. That is clear, Samir. South into the deep desert is unthinkable. Neither of us has the slightest idea how to survive there. West is Pelasia and, given our current situation, I do not think that would be an advisable choice. No ships that dock here travel across the sea to the north and, anyway, the north is cold and their water turns solid and chills the bones. That just leaves east to Calphoris. Whether you think the army or the militia are a bad idea or not, there is now simply nowhere else to go, my brother.”

  Samir sighed and nodded.

  “That much is true, yes, though I would rather try to make my fortune there than become a soldier and die in a border war for someone else’s good. We are clever and enterprising, Ghassan. We saved Asima’s father from poverty.”

  They lapsed once more into an uncomfortable silence. The subject of Asima’s father was a touchy one that neither brother felt comfortable dealing with at this point. They had become aware of Asima’s fate when those who had been under the governor’s protection found themselves suddenly without support. A few had disappeared without trace, presumably having fallen foul of the satrap for some reason, but the rest had been forcibly ejected from the complex into the town, their more valuable belongings impounded beforehand, to make their way as ordinary citizens.

  The boys had spoken to a group of survivors, eager for news of the friend of whom they had seen nothing in so many months. The fact that Asima and the other girls had been sent to Akkad for the God-King’s pleasure was something that neither brother had so far allowed themselves to ponder on. Still, this meant that she was safe, at least. Her father, however, had been found by the satrap’s vizier and had last been seen disappearing into Ma’ahd’s palace.

  “Very well.” Ghassan stretched. “We can agree that whatever we do next, we need to do it in Calphoris?”

  Samir frowned and bit his lip. The idea of abandoning everything and committing to the provincial capital for the future felt like a betrayal and, though Ghassan’s logic was unassailable, Samir had his plan. Finally he nodded.

  “We head east. Have you given any thought to how and when?”

  Ghassan shrugged.

  “As soon as possible. And on foot, I suppose. It’s not as though we can afford camels or horses.”

  Samir smiled and reached behind him, rummaging in his pack. A moment later, he withdrew a small hessian bag that was clearly heavy and which clinked when he dropped it to the table. Ghassan stared.

  “That’s money?”

  Samir nodded.

  “From where?”

  “It belonged to Asima’s father. I doubt it will do him any good right now wherever he is.”

  “You stole from Asima’s father?”

  Outrage pushed Ghassan’s voice up a notch and the question ended in almost a squeak.

  “After a fashion. They had already gone to the palace when I found this. Their house had been turned upside down by Pelasian soldiers, and I can assure you that they took everything he had that was of any real value.”

  “So how did you find that?”

  Samir gave a cheeky grin.

  “I’ve known where he kept his emergency fund for a long time, Ghassan.” He straightened. “And this is an emergency.”

  Removing two pouches from a nearby cupboard, he neatly divided what looked to Ghassan like a small fortune, dropping half into each container. With a nod, he slid one pouch across the table to his brother and tied the thongs of the other to his belt, tucking the pouch down into his pocket for added security.

  Ghassan frowned.

  “Why are you splitting it now?”

  For a moment, Samir flinched slightly. Then he smiled. “Just in case. One man carrying too much money is asking for an unfortunate accident.”

  He straightened once more.

  “We will need to leave tonight, while it is dark. In fact, if we wait until the early morning, we can leave when the moon passes to the underworld. That should give us almost two hours at this time of year to get past the walls and out along the coast before sunrise.”

  “That seems sensible” Ghassan agreed. “We should leave as far from a gate as we can. The port is out of the question, though, as I’ve heard Ma’ahd is having shipping watched and searched now.”

  Samir nodded.

  “There’s a place not too far from the eastern end of the port where the walls are very close to a number of warehouses. We can get into the warehouses before the moon rises fully and wait out the night there. We’ll need some rope to get down the other side of the walls, but then we can be half a dozen miles away from M’Dahz before the sun comes up.”

  “About ten miles along the coast is a village with an animal market. Asima’s father used to trade with them. I’ve never been there, clearly, but I suspect his name will carry some weight there.” He picke
d up the pouch in front of him and tied it to his belt. “And now we can afford a horse.”

  Samir answered with a grin, his heart racing now. This was the time.

  “There is one more thing, though.”

  Ghassan shrugged.

  “Yes?”

  “I have something else to do before we go and it could be dangerous…”

  The taller boy frowned.

  “What?”

  Samir winked and touched the side of his nose.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you yet, Ghassan, but I will reveal all later.”

  “How am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what you’re doing?”

  “You’re not supposed to help,” Samir countered. “Sorry, Ghassan, but I’m doing this alone. Go to the warehouses in the Street of Running Dogs as soon as the sun sets. There are three buildings in a row. The central one was a grain warehouse and has the best access to the wall. There’s only a jump of about four feet. We can do that in our sleep, and there should be a lot of rope in there for us to use.”

  Ghassan held up his hands to object, but Samir pushed them out of the way.

  “This is not a negotiation, Ghassan. I will meet you at the warehouse before the moon sets and we will run for Calphoris. But… and this is important… if anything happens and I cannot get there, you cannot afford to wait. If the moon sinks and I am not there, you must go. If I can, I will find you in Calphoris later.”

  The taller boy was still shaking his head and objecting vehemently.

  “Ghassan,” Samir said quietly, “you must do this, as must I. Do not panic. I will in all likelihood be there.”

  Ghassan continued his refusal.

  “How in the name of the seven faces of Ha’Rish would you find me in Calphoris? There are more people there than anywhere else on this continent!”

  “You know me, brother. I could find a single rock in all of the deep desert if I set my mind to it. Now promise me: wait for me, but only as long as you can. When there is full darkness, whether I am there or not, you will run for Calphoris.”

  Ghassan remained silent, his eyes locked on his brother.

  “Ghassan!”

  “Alright. But you had better be there, or I shall curse your name to the Gods.”

  Samir grinned.

  “Tonight we end the curse, Ghassan. From tonight, we will be blessed. Changes. Things will be better, remember?”

  Ghassan took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Then I will run to my errand and I will see you by moonlight in the grain warehouse on ‘Running Dogs’ yes?”

  Ghassan nodded once again and the pair clasped hands.

  With a smile, Samir hoisted his pack over his shoulder, cast one last look at his brother, and then walked slowly to the front door and left the house.

  In which we look to the future

  Samir strode down the empty, dark street a hundred yards from the house without looking back. At the corner, where the Street of Dancing Fools ran back up the hill toward the gate that faced Akkad and Pelasia, he crouched and withdrew a bag, a cloak, and a sheathed sword from behind a stack of boxes.

  He took one last, sad look back up the street.

  It was sad, for certain, but Ghassan would never understand or approve. Life in M’Dahz would change sooner or later and Samir knew with certainty that he was one of very few souls who could survive this and prosper. He would find a way to live in the town and eventually to turn things around.

  But the way ahead of him was, for the foreseeable future, a life of running and hiding, of consorting with thieves and murderers and living on the very edge of the law until the laws were once more worth abiding by.

  Ghassan was too noble in thought for that. He was too straight and would never even think of what Samir was proposing to do. His brother would be safer in Calphoris with his precious militia, wearing a uniform and living to a code of duty.

  One day, when everything was put right and the wounds that had been torn in their home had been healed, he would find Ghassan and they would return to the house of their mother. After all, they were family.

  With a sigh, he hefted the sword and tore his eyes from the house where his brother waited before making his way down the street toward the port.

  * * *

  The last rays of the sun had left the streets of M’Dahz almost an hour ago.

  Ghassan crouched in the rafters of the grain warehouse, peering out through the hole in the roof at the city’s defences and leaning on his pack for support. The Pelasian soldiers patrolling the wall passed every ten minutes or so and there would be plenty of time for him to sling over a rope and drop to safety. If he placed it right, the rope would remain unnoticed at least until sunrise.

  It saddened him a little that the walls of his hometown were patrolled like a prison, the watchful guards directing their gaze inward more often than out, preventing their captive populace from fleeing the clutches of the twisted satrap Ma’ahd.

  He sighed and fought back the panic once more.

  He knew with cold certainty that Samir would not come. Whatever his brother was planning it was clear to Ghassan that he had no intention of meeting at the warehouse. The dividing of the purses; the enforced promises; most of all, the look on the smaller boy’s face as they had clasped hands that last time. Samir would not come.

  But Ghassan knew with equal sureness that he had to go. He had to do this, even if he never saw Samir again. Someone had to find a way to bring the hand of Imperial justice at Calphoris against this Pelasian butcher who had destroyed everything and murdered everyone that they had loved.

  Ma’ahd would pay for his crimes.

  * * *

  The desert nomads have a saying.

  “When something is broken it should never be discarded. So long as the pieces remain, the whole can be remade.“

  The moon set slowly over M’Dahz and a new day dawned.

  Part Two: Making Ends Meet

  In which Samir’s plans are changed

  Samir shook his head to free it of the fuzziness and regular pounding. Stupid really. He should be more careful. He’d end up in trouble one of these days.

  Six months had passed since he and Ghassan had gone their separate ways and Samir would have to admit to himself eventually that he had squandered and wasted most of the time. The first few nights he had frequented some of the less reputable areas of the port district, hoping to make contacts or even friends among the criminal classes.

  At the age of twelve, Samir was still small for his age, though the events of the preceding years had given him a slightly drawn and haunted look that advanced his years somewhat. In addition, dark facial hair had begun to manifest recently, surprising Samir somewhat. It had taken some work, regardless of these developments, to gain and maintain access to the drinking and gambling pits of the port. Even with the Pelasian control and a seriously diminished population, these establishments managed to survive. In fact, given the level of misery in M’Dahz, their patronage had actually increased rather than falling off.

  At first, Samir had been content to sit and take in the general atmosphere, trying to work out the associations and connections between the various unsavoury patrons he had selected as likely contacts and listening intently to any snippets of conversation he could catch.

  Soon, however, he came to realise that someone such as he stood out in these establishments, and not because he was small or young; given the state of M’Dahz these days there were many waifs and strays that made their way here looking for work or a handout. No, what made him stand out was the way he always sat on his own, never drank and was seen to be paying too close attention to things that did not concern him.

  The issue had become clear to him after he was dragged from one bar and beaten repeatedly in an alleyway. He had not returned to that establishment, turning his attention to alternative locations. And in what he thought of as ‘phase two’, several weeks after Ghassan had left, he began to throw himself into the part,
learning some of the games that went on in the gaming pits and trying several of the drinks on offer until he discovered what was palatable and what was not. And, as he had gradually become accustomed to the drink and the games, and experienced a little success in the gambling dens, he had finally begun to fit in. Two months into his new life, he had at last reached the point where people paid no attention when he entered or left a bar.

  Soon he found he was being offered work by some of the other occupants; just small things to begin with; the running of an errand; delivery of parcels or messages. He began to carry his sword with him where he could and a sharp knife everywhere else. Gradually, he became indistinguishable from those other young men who performed small tasks for the underworld of the district.

  But what had begun as an attempt to ingratiate himself into the habitat of the criminal classes had quickly grown beyond his control. As the weeks passed, Samir found that he was so busy running dubious errands, making money and maintaining his persona as a small time crook that he had no time to apply what he was learning to any of his grand plans for the future of the town. There was simply not enough time to try nudging these people toward his goal: guerrilla activity against the Pelasian masters.

  And yet, with this new life came a certain respect, albeit from the lowest orders of the town. And money and influence, of course. Only two months down the line, Samir had already reached such a stage in his career where he now had three boys running errands for him; he had unquestioned access to most places in the port district and the ear of some of the most dangerous men in the town.