by David Wise
Lorel struggled to pull free of me, frightened by the grotesque noises coming from my throat, and her cry of agony tore at my heart. Oh, my dear! I thought. Look at me! Look at me with those eyes of azure! Just one look, and you will know that it is I, your beloved. Look at me!
With one arm I roughly pinned her against the window so that she could not escape. Beyond her shoulders, outside, I saw the sun crest the hill, and I knew that dawn was at hand. With my free hand I brushed aside that gilt curtain behind which she was hiding —
Lorel screamed…and I gazed in horror at. . at the bloodied, sightless sockets that marred my lovely Lorel's face.
The Judgment of abd-al-Mamat
Eh? Visitors? I should have known my fire would have other effects than merely warding off the chill air. Come closer, friends, for no man or beast should be denied comfort on this night. Yes, my skin is duskier than yours, but it is better to be too dark than too pale, eh? Have no fear, my friend, for no ghul or ancient elder am I, but only a simple traveler, carrying his life on his back. Come closer.
A thousand pardons. You seem taken aback by my hand, or rather the stump where my hand should be. Alas, I wish I had a stirring tale to explain this malformation, but such is not the case. I was a simple thief, and for my thievery I was judged guilty and punished by the lopping off of my thieving appendage — a lesson to me and a warning to others. Such is the harsh justice of my home.
Perhaps I do have a story, then. Not of my personal judgment, but of judgment nonetheless. I come from the land of al-Kathos, a harsh land of hard judgments. I call upon the listener to turn a good ear to this tale, upon the scribe for a firm and learned hand, and upon Fate herself to guide my words as I tell them to you.
Al-Kathos is a land of sweeping arid wastes and burning sands. It is ruled by the powerful and evil Malbus, a ram-horned abomination who dwells in his Burning Citadel, commanding legions of hellish minions and dining on the flesh of those mortals he captures. However, it is not his tale that I now tell, and he must wait for another evening.
My homeland is also the land of the Sand Singers, luscious wraiths who lure the damned to their dooms with soft scents and honeyed tongues. But though they tempt, theirs is not the tale I tell now. And al-Kathos is the home of the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods, yet even their story must stand aside for the moment.
For this is a tale of judgment.
In the land of al-Kathos there lived a great and powerful man, fair of face and strong of manner. His eyes glistened with a brilliance akin to the desert stars, and his name was abd-al-Mamat. He was thoughtful and wise, even in his youth, and spoke only when he had first thought what he meant to say, cutting to the heart of the matter and discerning truth from fiction.
Yet his role in life was determined not by what he was but by what he was not: for he was not born into high station. This abd-al-Mamat was the son of a slave, and though himself a free man, was considered of low birth and little worth. Were he the son of a sheikh, what you might call a clan leader here, all that followed might have been avoided. But alas, not a dram of noble blood flowed in his veins, and the luxuries of the nobility were denied him.
Yet his talent and his wisdom were recognized, first by his equals, and then by his betters, then by the tribal elders. Many came to seek his advice, and he thought carefully of each request, regardless of the seeker. He never said a word that he did not mean, for, as you know, braying is the mark of all asses. The word spread among his tribe that this low-born orphan, this son of a slave, was a font of wisdom and sound advice.
And at last, when the sheikh sought out a new counselor, which is called in al-Kathos a vizier, he came to abd-al-Mamat. The young man was honored and readily agreed to serve the sheikh with a glad heart. As the sheikh's advisor, he would sit near him at the head of the feast, at the side of his master, and offer counsel in all the sheikh's actions.
And that was enough, at first. As the young abd-alMamat grew to his maturity, he advised well and often. Yet the excitement of his advancement, near the head of the feast, wore thin as abd-al-Mamat grew older.
Abd-al-Mamat could sit near the head of the feast, but not at the head of the feast; he could counsel, but he could not decide; he could advise, but not rule. Even the most foolish of the sheikh's brothers had more claim to tribal rulership than he, and should something happen to the sheikh, they would command, not he. And the sheikh himself would often have this thoughts muddled by wine or other pleasures and not heed his words, obvious and truthful though they be.
Late into the evening abd-al-Mamat would pace his tent and curse Fate for his lot. At first he would feel shame for cursing so, in that he thought himself a good man, and good men accept their Fate. Later he felt shame in that others might spy him cursing Fate, and so think less of him. And later still he would feel no shame at all, and wondered at the foolishness of his master.
And after that time he declined even to sit at the sheikh's flank, unless he was so commanded.
As a result, abd-al-Mamat was not present at the feast that was disturbed by the arrival of an exhausted horseman. The rider bolted into the sheikh's pavilion, still mounted, his horse foaming at the bit. Sitting pillows, tribesmen, and wine goblets flew in all directions as the rider spun in place near the center of the revelry.
The rider spoke in gasps, as if he and not his horse had made the long gallop. A merchant caravan from the Burning Citadel had been spotted not far away, he said. It had been in some battle, for it had a fraction of its legion of guards, and the survivors looked worn and bloodied. Should some further harm befall this weakened party, said the rider, then the treasures they carried would be free for the taking.
The celebration was electrified by the news, and the sheikh's brothers soon began arguing among themselves as how to split this as-yet-ungained treasure. The sheikh's eye lit with greed as well, but he summoned abd-al-Mamat. The vizier stamped his way to the sheikh's flank near the head of the feast.
The sheikh said," A weakened party of merchants from Malbus is in our lands, oh vizier — wounded, weakened, and bloodied. What say you to this?"
Abd-al-Mamat scowled at the thought of the ramheaded abomination's wrath and of what the sheikh said, and he asked no further questions. Instead, he nodded and said," Go to them. The rewards will be great."
The vizier's fellow tribesmen gave a hearty shout, and as one, they tore from the pavilion to mount up and pursue the merchants. A large mob of them, touched by wine and dreaming of great treasure, set off at once, the sheikh and his brothers at the head of the van.
Abd-al-Mamat, standing among the remains of the revelry, watched with a puzzled look on his face as they departed. He watched the sheikh's party until they were mere dots on the horizon, and he shook his head. One of the sheikh's other servants stepped forward and asked why he looked so troubled.
Abd-al-Mamat said," It is strange that there would be so much excitement for a simple mission to rescue some merchants'caravan."
The servant looked at abd-al-Mamat agog, and said," They do not intend to rescue them, but to rob them. That was what the sheikh was asking."
Abd-al-Mamat's eyes widened, and he said in an icecold voice," That is not what he asked. . I have sent our master into great peril! We must send a rider at once to stop them."
A rider was sent, but arrived too late to save the sheikh. He and his brothers and the flower of the tribe's warriors swept down upon the caravan, and the merchants in fear called upon the protection of their fiendish master. Malbus answered their call, for a tower of flame erupted from the desert floor. Of the fifty warriors who attacked, only the rider lived to tell the tale, and he only because he fled before the fire.
At the rider's return, there was a great lamentation among the tribesmen, and none cried louder than abdal-Mamat. He publicly cursed himself for a fool for misunderstanding his master's words, and tore his garments in his grief. And yet still, surprisingly, he kept his wits about him and demanded everyone wo
rk at once to tear down the camp and abandon that which could not be carried easily. For, he said in a grim voice, the minions of the Burning Citadel might choose to slay not only those who attacked, but those who shared the blood of those who attacked.
And abd-al-Mamat's words were proved correct, for the minions of Malbus did pursue them. For seven nights and a night they traveled hard and fast, across the most desolate of the wastes, with the minions in pursuit. And those who faltered or who were left behind were slain by these minions, and their screams carried on the desert winds to drive the survivors onward. And throughout their flight abd-al-Mamat chose the correct and safest path. And if he felt anger or rage or any other emotion about the death of his foolish master, he did not show it.
When at last they reached safety and ascertained that the hellish minions of Malbus had abandoned their chase, the people gathered together to determine their own fate. The best warriors and leaders were dead, save for the sheikh's youngest son, who was not yet of his majority. Faced with such a blow to their very heart, many other tribes would merely have ceased to be, their families and clans wandering apart.
Some of the tribe felt they should disband and wander apart. Then abd-al-Mamat stepped forward, and, tears in his eyes, declared his failure, for his advice had cost them their sheikh and their bravest warriors.
And the people replied that he was not to blame for their sheikh's folly, and it was only through his wisdom that they did not all perish. Abd-al-Mamat bent his head in thanks, then, and swore to keep the tribe together, and to serve as regent until the young sheikh came to his majority, then step aside. And the people acclaimed that decision as the correct and just one.
And the decision was correct and just, for the tribe prospered. Abd-al-Mamat arranged the marriages of several beauties to the sons of other sheikhs, and strengthened alliances and trade. He mollified the agents of the Burning Citadel, such that the minions of Malbus no longer hunted them. And at last the tribe settled at the foot of the last spur of the Lost Mountains. The tribe so profited from abd-al-Mamat's decisions that few, young or old, pursued any course of import in love or war or money without the counsel of abd-al-Mamat, vizier and teacher to the next sheikh.
And abd-al-Mamat could be seen trying to impart his wisdom on the young sheikh, a task that met with mixed results. The young sheikh was the image of his father in many ways, including an impulsive nature and love for rich finery, great feasts, and the attention of young women. The young sheikh also carried within him a savage temper, and on more than one occasion argued with his regent, winning his point only by reminding abd-al-Mamat of his place: the vizier was the son of a slave, and the youth the son of a sheikh. Abd-al-Mamat nodded in agreement and showed no ire, but instead served the young master as he had his old. The people flourished, and the youth depended on his regent to maintain and enforce the harsh laws of their people.
And it was at this time that abd-al-Mamat began to fully study all the old legends, both for the wisdom of their laws and the powerful magics that they described. And he received emissaries from Malbus, and some said from the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods. Servants and slaves were sent to the far corners of the land, to return with musty tomes and ancient legends. Some did not return at all, and some returned silent, with their eyes purged from their skulls. Some said that this was a clear sign that the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods had been involved. Those who said this said it very quietly.
And so it was: abd-al-Mamat sought further wisdom and tried to impart it on the young sheikh until only a few weeks before the young sheikh's majority.
At that time, the encampment was awakened by shouts and screams, though no one remembered afterward who sounded the alarm first. The daughter of an esteemed and wealthy elder of the tribe was missing from her tent, and could not be found anywhere in camp. The vizier was roused and organized a search, and in the search several noted that the young sheikh was not present.
They found the young sheikh, and what remained of the girl, in the young sheikh's quarters, and even abd-alMamat was struck pale by what he saw within those cloth walls.
The young sheikh was brought before abd-al-Mamat and said he knew nothing of what had occurred, though his robes and hands and face were smeared with her blood. He talked of being drunk on wine, of not remembering returning to his tent. He then gathered himself and proclaimed his innocence in a loud and proud voice. He claimed foul sorcery was responsible for this crime, and it should be remembered that he was the son of the sheikh.
Abd-al-Mamat heard the case, as he heard all such cases, and said nothing at first, his face solemn and pale, as if turned to gray stone. Then he rose and said he must consult, for as all know, a hasty decision is invariably wrong. And the people agreed and held the youth, waiting for the judgment of abd-al-Mamat.
The vizier spent seven nights and a night searching through his dusty tomes of legend and law and the ancient books brought to him by his blinded servants. He spoke with all who knew the young sheikh and the dead girl, talked to elders of other tribes, communed with the portents, publicly called on Fate to guide him. In the end, however, he returned to the sheikh's pavilion, his face wet with tears. There could be no doubt, he said. Abd-al-Mamat had to find the youth guilty of his horrid crime.
Under the laws of the people, one's punishment was as befits one's crime. A thief loses a hand, as you have clearly seen. A spy has his eyes gouged out so he may witness no more, and a horse-thief has his tendons cut, so that he may never ride a horse again. It is a harsh law, yes, but remember, al-Kathos is a harsh land.
So it was that the punishment for bloody and painful murder was to be tortured and killed, the process lasting several days. Abd-al-Mamat could have called upon another to oversee this lingering death, but shook his head and took the responsibility himself, blaming himself in the hearing of all for not teaching the youth better.
And the people saw the vizier overseeing the death of his young charge, tears in his eyes as he flayed his flesh and cut him into small pieces. And after the last breath left the shattered body of the young sheikh, abd-alMamat gathered the people together.
Abd-al-Mamat said to them," We have no sheikh, no leader. We must disband the tribe and seek out other tribes with true leaders to follow."
And the people said: We have a leader, and his name is abd-al-Mamat. And abd-al-Mamat said," I cannot be sheikh. I am not noble."
And the people said: You are wise and just and stern and have chosen well when our sheikhs had failed. You have chosen the law over your own loyalties. You may not be a sheikh, but you are our leader.
And so it was that abd-al-Mamat became the leader of his tribe. He kept the title of vizier, serving only to counsel his people, but was sheikh in all but name. He sat at the head of the feast, and his advice was considered as law.
And if he was glad in his heart for the events of Fate, or felt guilt for his own role in those events, he never revealed it to his people. He kept his heart shrouded by duty and his secret face shielded by a stern and fair visage. It would be an easy matter to say that when the people left abd-al-Mamat alone in the pavilion of the sheikh, now his own, that a smile would crack the vizier's stony demeanor, that he would begin to laugh. But none could have witnessed this, and more remains to the tale.
The tribesmen became wealthier still under abd-alMamat's firm hand. The encampment at the base of the last spire of the Lost Mountains became first a village of tents, then a walled town of mud brick, then at last a city of stone. The pavilion of the sheikh became a beautiful granite Hall of Judgment, and in its central court the vizier sat on a throne of tortoise shell and agate and chalcedony, and advised and counseled, and decided for his people.
And the tribe did prosper in matters of wealth and prestige, for the robes of their lowest castes were sumptuous and bedecked in rare gems and rarer pearls. Yet inwardly, they grew cold and remote from one another, always choosing to follow the wise advice of their vizier, careful n
ot to violate his commandments.
And there were many commandments, for the vizier still paced his quarters, though they now be bound by finished stone instead of cloth and their floor covered with rich rugs instead of dirt. Again he cursed his Fate. He had made himself the servant of the people, as he had earlier made himself the servant of the sheikh, and as before, he found those he served to be unworthy. They had come to rely on him too much, such that they could not decide anything without his direct order. They were petty and quarrelsome and greedy and spiteful, and deserved nothing less than a stern hand of judgment to keep them from destroying all he had built for them.
One morning a man and two women appeared before him for his advice. The man had told each woman that he would make that woman his wife and take no other. The man could not choose between the two, for both were fair of face and heart, and each woman demanded he make good his proposal. The vizier listened with a stony glare, and wondered how it came to be that he, who had loved nothing but judgment, was called upon to settle such matters of the heart.
The vizier shook his head and said," If the man cannot decide, then he will be split between the two women, hoping that such a sentence would force the man to decide, or one of the women to save the man's life by abandoning her claim. Instead, all three nodded at the wisdom of the vizier, and when the man could still not decide, he was split down the middle, vertically, and each half stuffed and presented to each woman. And each woman spoke of the wisdom of abd-al-Mamat.
For his part, the vizier cursed the stupidity of his people, and his Fate that put him at the forefront of such fools. He wondered if the old sheikh, in the last moments of his life at the head of the deadly charge, realized he was among such fools, and could do nothing to change their direction. He, abd-al-Mamat, was no fool, and if his people called upon him to judge them, and approved of his iron-hard rulings, he would do so. He would counsel no longer, only order and demand. And judge.