He had seen snow before in the high mountains once during a late raid one season. He passed the snowball to the other warriors to examine and then told one to race with it to the city, promising a reward if the warrior could present the lump of snow to the caliph's grand vizier.
Rory mounted his camel and turned it toward the city with Swiftstalker close behind. The warriors fanned out around them, giving them a wide berth.
They reached the outskirts of the tent city and began to travel through a wide lane between two of the tribes. The warriors of the tribes gathered along the sides of the lane to watch as the caliph's men passed with two tall shining strangers in their midst. There was obvious tension between the warriors of the tribes and those of the caliph, and most of the men had their hands on the hilts of their scimitars.
When they rode into the Oasis of the Moon, they found the square in front of the caliph's plaza filled with rank upon rank of turbaned nomad warriors, each armed with a scimitar that hung from a broad gold sash. Their escort held back after pointing toward the central steps where three figures stood. The one in the center could be none other than the grand vizier. The other two were the largest men Rory had ever seen, both massively muscled, bared to the waist, with tremendous scimitars held across their chests.
"Here we go again,” muttered Swiftstalker.
"Look at the vizier's left hand,” replied Rory.
Swiftstalker looked. Bouncing in the palm of the man's hand was a small melting ball of ice.
Rory concentrated for a moment and made the two camels kneel in unison. Once they were down, Rory and Swiftstalker dismounted and stepped toward the vizier, who tossed the melting chunk of ice to Rory. “You claim to be djinn, yet you do not match the description of any in our legends."
"Then your legends speak only of the djinn of the desert. We are djinn of the northern forest.” As Rory spoke, he recreated the giant snowball and then converted it to a ball of flame.
"We are not impressed by simple conjuring tricks. A true djinn will be able to get by these two guards and through this door, but without harming them in the process. They, on the other hand, will do their best to take your heads from your shoulders."
The two walking mountains come down the steps, their huge scimitars sweeping the area in front of them in a synchronized manner.
"Any suggestions?” Swiftstalker asked.
"The first thing that comes to mind is avoiding getting hit by one of the swords."
"I never would have thought of that.” Swiftstalker drew his sword.
As Rory drew his twin swords, his sense of time expansion began. This time he reached out to the life force to increase its effects, permitting him to move even faster and slowing the two large warriors to a relative standstill. Rory moved over to the first one and eased the large scimitar from his grasp, substituting a freshly created palm frond. He then cut the cord holding up the giant's pants, and slid them to his ankles. He did the same thing to the other one. He moved back to his original spot and relaxed the control he held over time.
To everyone there, it seemed no time had elapsed. One second the two warriors were advancing with their scimitars and the next they were stumbling about, pants around their ankles and waving palm fronds. Their giant scimitars rested at the feet of the strange silver djinn. The situation had been suddenly transformed from a deadly confrontation to something very humorous, and the assembled warriors began to laugh in spite of themselves.
At that moment, Rory and Swiftstalker began one of their high-speed sparring matches; their swords a blur in the sunlight and the sound of the metal clashing almost a continuous ringing noise. There was no one in that square who doubted the djinn could have carved their way through them all if they had so desired. When Rory and Swiftstalker stopped, Rory gestured at the two scimitars as if inviting the two warriors to pick them up and try again. Both shook their heads and stepped back, still holding their pants up with one hand and grasping the palm fronds with the other.
The grand vizier stepped forward. “Surely you are djinn for never have we witnessed such a display of magic and swordsmanship. The caliph will be pleased to receive you."
The grand vizier escorted them inside the palace of the caliph. Rory admired the beauty of it, with its tiled hallways and graceful gardens, even potted palms strategically placed to add a touch of the outside to the richly appointed dwelling. They finally reached a large pair of double doors. “If I may be permitted to ask, what names shall I give to the caliph?” asked the grand vizier.
Swiftstalker said, “I am Lord Swiftstalker of the Great Forest and this is Lord Rorrick, son of Prince Brightblade of the Great Forest."
The grand vizier nodded and opened the two doors, leading the pair into the caliph's receiving hall. There were groups of nomad chieftains as well as functionaries of the caliph's court on either side of the aisle that lead to the central dais. Upon that dais, seated upon a large floor pillow, was the Caliph of the Desert, ruler of the nomad tribes.
"Oh, Grand and Glorious Caliph, I bring you two djinn who have come to you from the Great Forest far to the north. This is Lord Swiftstalker of the Forest, and this is Lord Rorrick, son of Prince Brightblade of the Forest."
The caliph was the oldest man Rory had ever seen, with a long white beard that fell past his ample waistline. Dressed all in gold, from his tasseled slippers to his large turban, with gold silk pants and jacket, each festooned with precious gems that sparkled in the sunlight entering the room through the windows that pierced the walls, he had the piercing gaze of a hawk, however. His eyes showed that while the body may have been old, the mind was clear and sharp as the blade of the jeweled scimitar that rested on his knees.
"It is not often the djinn come to visit in peace. Never in the memory of the Oasis of the Moon have we received anyone from the Forest djinn.” The caliph's voice was steady and assured. “I have been told of the feats of magic you have performed, as well as the swordsmanship that surpasses mortal men, demonstrated both here in front of the grand vizier and outside the city in front of my patrol. I must ask myself what would bring two djinn such as you to call upon me at this particular time. Could it be linked, I wonder, to the news I have received of the death of that odious viper called the Duke of Solange, along with his vile sorcerer?"
Lord Swiftstalker replied, “The caliph is well informed about things that happened beyond the Great Desert. Yes, the deaths of these men have a bearing on the reason for our visit to you. We have come on both a personal mission, as well as a political one."
The caliph pursed his lips as he thought about Swiftstalker's reply. “Does your political mission or even your private one require a private meeting, or can we discuss them openly for all to judge?"
Rory said, “We invite all to hear our words, Great Caliph of the Desert. There are those, for reasons of their own, who seek to embroil the peoples of the desert in a great war against the djinn of the Great Forest. By doing so, they seek to bring the warriors of the djinn against those of the desert so the great tribes will be decimated for, as brave and as numerous as they may be, they could not stand against us."
The tribal leaders all muttered as they heard this. The caliph held up his hand to still them. “How would they create this conflict between us? Our warriors do not go near the Great Forest in the north."
Swiftstalker said, “The son of our prince has been engaged to marry a woman from the court of Aluria. She has been stolen away by those behind this plot, and given to one of the great tribes to be brought here, where she will be presented to you as a gift. The plotters believe that Lord Rorrick, with his great love for this woman, would stop at nothing to bring her back to the Great Forest, and if she had been harmed or violated by those who held her, Lord Rorrick would exact a terrible price. The Great Caliph, who would not have known of this, would be the target of Lord Rorrick's rage."
Rory spoke up once more. “The details of the plot have been established. The Duke of Solange admitted his part,
bringing my betrothed to Solange as an accommodation to those behind the plot. For that, and his treason to his liege lord, the King of Aluria, he has paid a very heavy price."
The caliph grinned sadistically. “No price that vermin could pay would ever be high enough. He sold out this land to a foreign king and was then false to that alliance as well. What I have heard of the King of Aluria and his goals, I admire and would learn more. This so-called Duke of Solange had no right or authority over the peoples of the desert, yet he bartered away our freedom as well. We had long been considering taking some recompense for his actions, but you have done that for us. Did you really flay his skin from his hands and feet?"
"And more, Great Caliph, would have been done but he was in a great hurry to tell us everything he thought we wanted to know and a great deal we had no interest in. Although the location of a hidden mine of gold might be of interest to you and your people since it apparently lies within the Great Desert,” Lord Swiftstalker said.
"And what of that black-hearted sorcerer who performed perverse rites in the tallest minaret?"
Rory said, “His evil smell annoyed me."
"Truly, you are great djinn for we have tried many times to end that one's existence. All we have sent have died in agony in that tower.” The caliph looked pleased. “We thank you for eliminating those enemies of the Desert People and we are interested greatly in the location of this mine.” Turning his attention to Rory, the caliph said, “So the Duke of Solange said he shipped the girl here. The duke was a notorious liar with little acquaintance with the truth. Can you be sure she is here?"
Rory looked at the caliph, his eyes quite cold. “She has been here for three days and is being kept in a building near the edge of your city. She bears an enchanted pendant I gave her and I know where she is and how she has been treated. One man who mistreated her and tried to take her pendant was immediately burned to death by an unquenchable fire. She is here and I will know if anything happens to her."
The caliph nodded his head. “What would you have me do, mighty djinn?"
"I do not hold the tribe responsible for her abduction for they have merely sought to follow your customs and were duped by those who would sow discord between us. I do, however, hold them accountable for their treatment of her since she is of noble birth and spirit. Her safe return to me, unharmed, will satisfy that account."
The caliph nodded his head. “Will you trust me in getting this set right, mighty one? The presentation of the Gifts will be this afternoon. It would dishonor the tribe if I were to remove their gift before they have had a chance to present it. Until then, would you accept our hospitality and join us in food and drink?"
"It would be our honor to be your guests, Great Caliph of the Desert People."
* * * *
Before they could dine, Rory and Swiftstalker were taken to the caliph's personal baths and allowed to refresh themselves. The chance to wash away weeks of sweat, dirt, and sand lifted their spirits greatly, although the presence of body slaves disturbed them. The caliph's master of the baths, a short, fat eunuch named Sasha, oversaw their treatment, and was in despair over the condition of their clothes. “Mighty djinn, what would you have me do? These rags are not fit to wear to eat with the caliph."
Rory looked at the sad pile of clothes. Concentrating very hard, he said, “Assistance, please."
Before Sasha's startled eyes, a small desert sprite appeared. “How may I help you, Lord Rorrick and Lord Swiftstalker of the Forest?"
"We find ourselves in need of suitable clothing to dine with the Great Caliph. While we wish to do him honor, we would prefer something more natural to the Fair Folk of the Great Forest. Would this be possible?"
"It shall be our pleasure, Lord Rorrick.” The sprite vanished and seconds later, two piles of clothing replaced the sad remnants of the fighting leathers they had worn since leaving Aluria weeks before.
"Before you dress, great ones, would you permit us to trim your beards and care for your nails?” Sasha asked.
As they let the body slaves trim and style their beards into elegance, Rory said, “Sasha, this does not seem like much of a job for a man to do."
Sasha said, “I do not just care for this bath. I am responsible for all the baths in the Oasis of the Moon, and there are over three hundred. Most of the time, only a few require my direct attention, but during this time of year, I also oversee those used for preparing the Gifts."
Rory went very still. “Then you must have seen one of them with hair like spun copper and eyes like the forest pines."
Sasha rolled his eyes. “Oh, that one. She was a lot of trouble, that one was. She certainly didn't like the clothes she was given and they had to beat her to make her submit."
"What did you just say?” Rory's voice was very hard and even.
"Oh, not seriously. Just enough to make their point that a slave must obey. Of course, the beating left no marks that might detract from her value to the caliph, which is good since she has such beautiful skin. Since then, she has been pampered.” Sasha then prattled on about some of the other Gifts and Rory stopped listening.
When the slave had finished trimming his beard and then arranged his long black hair into a single braid down his back, Rory dressed in the clothes provided by the sprite. First he put his mithrail shirt back on, then the flowing silk trousers commonly found in the Veil. Dark forest green in color, they had a wide silver band about each cuff. Above that band, a pack of tiny silver wolves seemed to be running. The accompanying silk shirt was silver in base color, with a motif of dark green pine boughs and the wolf's head crest of Westfell upon the left breast. A dark green sash of silk wrapped around his waist and held his dagger. He swiftly placed his scabbards over his shoulder and fastened the straps in place across his chest. He then placed a glamour over the swords so none would see them until drawn. When Swiftstalker was finished dressing, Rory repeated the glamour over his weapons as well.
Catching a glimpse of themselves in the polished metal wall inside the dressing room of the caliph's personal bath, Rory realized they looked every inch the Lords of the Great Forest they were. Wouldn't Bethany be surprised!
Chapter 25
Bethany had just finished her second bath of the day and her hair was once again combed out. Whoever thought the luxury of having such a bath would become boring and tiresome? All she had done for three days was bathe, have her hair brushed, and eat. Frankly, she was sick of it all. It had taken the better part of the three days for the soles of her feet to stop hurting whenever she walked anywhere. She had expected to find a mass of bruises or a welt across her feet when she'd looked, but they were unmarked. That was an effective punishment in the hands of someone who knew how to swing a switch!
For all her boredom, she knew this afternoon would be very different. Today was the presentation of the gifts, and in a short while, she would be taken to the palace. What do I hope for? Do I want to be acceptable to the caliph and live a pampered, pointless existence in the palace, and perhaps have to submit to the lusts of the most powerful man in the desert? Do I wish to be found unacceptable, and live the rest of my life as a miserable slave either in the palace or with one of the tribes? To be honest, she wished she would be struck dead than live either way. She clung to life by virtue of the small wolf pendant that hung around her neck; the last link she had to her former life and Rory. Why hasn't he come for me?
Ilara came in carrying the new outfit she was to wear. Bethany realized the colors had been chosen to bring emphasis to her hair and eyes, but they also brought tears. They were the dark green of Westfell. Small traces of silver shot trough the fabric around the edges of the vest and waistband of the sheer overtrousers. This color would make her eyes even greener and her hair shine like the sunset in a forest. One of the slave girls had painted the nails of her toes and fingers a shiny silver, too.
As she reached for the garments, Bethany realized one very vital item was missing. “Ilara, a part is missing."
&n
bsp; "No, child, it is not. Today you shall be veiled by only these garments so the Caliph can appreciate the beauty of his Gift.” Ilara looked at her sternly. “Do not make me beat you again, child. It will do you no good to fight against this and in the end, you will have to submit, even as I did when I was presented to the Caliph."
Bethany knew Ilara was right. Rebellion would just bring more pain and possibly make her unacceptable to the caliph. She slowly drew on the gossamer pants, realizing the cloth did nothing to conceal anything. The vest was made from the same material and lacked a tie to hold the vest closed. As she moved, it would part, providing a clear view of what the vest hardly concealed. As if the garments were not humiliating enough, Ilara took a small brush and painted Bethany's lips and nipples with a ruby stain to make them stand out under the filmy garment. Finally, a veil of the same gauzy material was pinned into her hair covering her face from the tip of her nose to just below her chin.
How can I walk through the halls of the palace dressed like this? Even as she wondered, Ilara draped the familiar black robe of a slave around her, carefully covering Bethany's hair and clothes to preclude any damage or imperfection. Her face veiled, Bethany was led from the baths, her home for the last few days, to an uncertain future.
As they walked toward the palace hall, they were joined by other women leading the other tribes’ gifts. At the doorway to the caliph's chamber, the gifts were admonished. “Remain silent and keep your gaze to the floor at all times. You must never look into the caliph's face unless he tells you to do so. Obey all commands instantly."
The doors were opened and for a brief moment, Bethany saw into the room. It was filled with hundreds of men, all looking toward the doorway. All she could see of the caliph was a figure dressed in gold before a prod from Ilara made her look at the floor as she had been told. One by one, the Gifts were led into the room. When they reached the front rank, their heavy robe was removed to reveal the frightened girl underneath. Each was then led before the caliph and judged whether she was acceptable.
The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1] Page 24