In the Shadow of Swords

by Val Gunn

  White Palm, a badawh people, had rescued him. They’d found him and brought him back to Waha al-Ribat where they’d nursed him back to health.

  The White Palm took solace in elaborate rituals, praying to Ala’i for recognition and comfort. Their words flowed like poetry, weaving an intricate pattern as they spoke.

  They’d found the books. In the weeks of his recuperation, Nasir learned that they not only understood the language of the text, they were descendants of the people who had written the words.

  They told him a little of Waed an-Citab, the Books of Promise. This involved the blood of Ala’i, called Azza, used in lamps, among other things, across the lands of Mir’aj for over nine hundred years.

  As the son of the Sultan of Qatana, Nasir was well versed in the kingdom’s stance on the burning of Azza—it kept the Jnoun, the evil spirits that dwelt in the unseen realm, from breaching the veil that divided them from Mir’aj.

  These books were a contract between the tribes of Jnoun and the Sultans of Siwal.

  After much discussion with the badawh, Nasir had suggested that if the Books of Promise were turned over to a trusted sufi, perhaps the truth would be revealed. Nasir was in no condition to make the journey to Havar, and asked therefore that the manuscripts be sent to Tariq Alyalah.

  His wish was granted. Meanwhile Nasir remained in Waha al-Ribat, learning the beliefs and customs of his badawh guardians and regaining his strength. His goal was to meet with his trusted sufi friend, learn more about the ancient texts, and find the missing fifth book.

  Nasir sighed. The twin suns shone bright in the western sky. Footsteps sounded behind him, and a moment later a weathered hand gripped his shoulder. Nasir smiled. It was Pavanan Munif.

  “We are close?” Munif asked.

  “Yes. Tomorrow, I think, if the wind and weather hold,” Nasir replied.

  “Fajeer is somewhere on the island. This I know.”

  Nasir turned to Munif.

  “And we must find him.”

  6

  THEY CHOSE a place near the river to rest.

  After they landed on Tammós the night before, the Prince and Munif had made camp in the hills above Dorré. Nasir had told Munif little about his time in exile, but Nasir was clearly uncomfortable among so many people, and Munif had his own reasons for staying clear from contact. By silent agreement they avoided the city.

  The following morning they set off, traveling hard throughout the day, stopping only to eat modest rations or to drink their fill of water. There was little time to sleep, and they held only the briefest of conversations.

  Finally, at dusk, and Nasir moved them off the road. “We’re close now,” he told Munif. “It’s time to rest before tomorrow.”

  They came to a stand of chestnut trees within sight of the great stone bridge that spanned the Culnn River. The river waswide and fast, with tremendous boulders thrusting above the raging water. The road on its opposite bank led to the city of Aley.

  Munif didn’t know why they were traveling to Aley, or for that matter why they’d sailed to Darring. When he pressed for more information, Nasir explained that Fajeer Dassai held a residence in the hills. Aley was noted for its masyafs; grand summer houses belonging to powerful nobles and wealthy merchants. It was likely that Dassai would be here as his third wife kept a masyaf in the city. There was no telling at this point how close they were to Dassai, but something in Nasir’s eyes gave Munif a glimmer of hope.

  In the dim light they spied a small clearing beyond a thicket. Avoiding the clearing, they hiked into a dense, tangled area within the brambles, which provided them with seclusion for the evening. Nasir pulled out a thin bedroll and spread it on the ground. As Munif did the same, Nasir spoke out of the darkness. “We will light a fire and have a warm meal at daylight. We don’t want to attract unwanted attention tonight. For now, we should try to get some rest.”

  As Munif lay down, he contemplated the impossibility of sleep.

  That was his last thought of the evening.

  7

  LIGHT CREPT over the hills.

  They slept soundly for hours despite the hard ground and the chill in the air.

  Munif woke to the sweet smell of hardwood burning and fresh food over a fire. He looked around for Nasir, and saw him sitting some distance away, eating what that looked like roasted rabbit. Munif sat up. He glanced toward the first sun, which was rising, and realized how late it was.

  Prince Nasir shook his head. “You haven’t missed anything.

  I got up only a little while ago. I took the liberty of finding us breakfast.” He indicated several pieces of rabbit that lay steaming on a flat rock.

  Munif joined the Prince and joylessly ate his fill. After they finished their meal, Nasir lay on his side and looked at Munif with a neutral expression.

  “What happened to you?” Munif asked. “The official word was that you were killed in a sandstorm during the Cibaq al-Bahr race.”

  The Prince nodded. “That is only partly true. The fact that I am here proves that I did not die.” He chuckled.

  “Obviously not. But why didn’t you return? Why did you wait so long to reveal yourself?”

  Nasir hesitated. “While I was lost, I discovered… revelations.” Munif could see that Nasir was choosing his words with care. “It was dangerous information. It has taken me this long to verify it.”

  “What kind of—”

  Nasir changed the subject. “You were told that an attack was to be carried out near Tivisis. What happened?”

  Munif’s mood darkened. “I was betrayed,” he said. “I tracked two summoners to the city, where I was nearly killed.” He quickly told the Prince what had happened to him.

  “You know for sure who it was?”

  “Yes. Fajeer Dassai.”

  Nasir nodded. “And you are aware that the summoners you tracked were only one pair of several?”

  “Yes.” Munif had learned of other dreadful attacks as well. He sat staring off into the thicket that so effectively concealed them.

  “I can tell you little more now,” the Prince began. “Only that the information you were given came from me.”

  Munif turned to him in surprise. “From you? But how? Why?”

  Nasir nodded. “Later. I will reveal more in time.”

  Munif stared at him, dumbfounded, and Nasir continued. “I have been watching you, though you’ve never noticed me. You followed the summoners, while I tracked their hunter.”

  Munif’s thoughts turned to Dassai. “How can it be that such deception is allowed to exist?”

  “At one time, Fajeer Dassai was just as dedicated to the Sultan as yourself, but at some point he was lost, obsessed with power and wealth. This plot of his began years ago, even before I went missing. Needless to say, he garnered support quickly from my brother, Malek, who made a deal with Dassai that when our father died and Malek became Sultan, Dassai would gain control of the Rassan Majalis.”

  “Was your brother responsible for your disappearance?”

  “No. That was an honest and unforeseen occurrence. I really was lost in that sandstorm. What I’ve just told you is what I’ve learned from careful investigation. Sources told me that Dassai saw his opportunity when I failed to return, and began forging a stronger relationship with Malek. Now they are inseparable.”

  Munif sat wide-eyed. “You say you came upon this while in the desert—but you didn’t tell me how—”

  “You were discovered through Dassai’s actions,” Nasir said. “And already know more than most ever will.”

  Munif tried to remember a much younger Fajeer. Yet he could not recall a time when Dassai had left his post, or had had any interest in the Rassan Majalis.

  “Dassai is very clever, and it has taken tremendous effort to reveal his intent,” the Prince said. “However, it is now time to rein him in.”

  Nasir spoke so confidently, so matter-of-factly, that a chill ran down Munif’s spine. “And what is his intention?”

&nb
sp; “Fajeer Dassai wants to control the Rassan Majalis as well as my brother—to be the true power behind the throne, and thus all of Qatana. He used my disappearance to get close to Malek. He’s been influencing my brother, who, in his desire to succeed our

  father as Sultan, devised the attacks in Miranes’.”

  “Emir Malek arranged those attacks?” Munif felt the betrayal sink deeper into his gut.

  “He did—acting in collusion with Dassai.”

  “I still don’t understand the reasoning behind the attacks.”

  “Fajeer is one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom. He is very close to the Sultan of Qatana. He knows that my brother is more amenable to furthering the interests of the Sultanate—and he can persuade my father to do anything. Dassai persuaded him to spread the story of my demise, which guarantees my brother the crown.”

  Munif saw the connection immediately. “And that guarantees Dassai a willing and able puppet.”

  Prince Nasir nodded. “You see the seriousness of the situation.”

  Munif sighed. “I do.”

  8

  IT WAS some time before Munif spoke again.

  More questions formed in his mind, but he could not bring himself to speak. He wanted to know everything, yet he did not want to dominate the conversation.

  Nasir smiled grimly. “There are places within the palaces of Riyyal where even I am forbidden to tread.”

  Munif knew he had to be satisfied with that response. Yet, one more question nagged at him. “Why have you allowed me aid you?”

  Nasir shrugged. “I thought it was the best thing to do at the time. I was there when you tried to stop Dassai from leaving Tivisis, wounded and in anguish over the loss of your fellow agents. I saw your efforts to put a stop to the plot. When it was over, I wanted to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. I must tell you, however, that it is only in your own eyes that you havefailed. I commend your efforts. You are blameless with regard to those unfortunate events.”

  Munif’s eyes welled up with emotion. He closed them, overwhelmed with relief. It was a balm to his spirit to hear those words. As Nasir waited quietly, he took a few moments to regain his composure.

  Munif turned his thoughts to the troubles at hand. “You have my word that I will assist you to the end.”

  The Prince nodded in approval. “Through the years there have been numerous plots against the Rassan Majalis and the Jassaj—yet never from someone so high within the Sultanate. I still do not know the extent of Dassai’s plot. Nevertheless, it is time to put him in the noose. He will never realize the extent of our knowledge—even at his last breath.”

  “What else can you tell me?” Munif asked.

  “While in Tivisis, Dassai had a meeting with two men we believe to be key players in the plot. I believe he comes here to further incite terror. Just what action remains unclear, but is something that we must prepare for.”

  “Similar to what happened in Burj al-Ansour?”

  Nasir nodded. “I believe so, done to cause panic and chaos, so that he can gain favor by seeming to resolve it.”

  “Is that possible?” Munif said.

  Nasir shrugged. “Despite his efforts, he cannot subvert the Rassan Majalis. They will maintain control in spite of him,” the Prince said confidently as he extinguished the fire. “The Rassan Majalis is too powerful to oppose. They will not stand for subversion, even from one of the Sultan’s own right-hand men.”

  “So you knew he would come here.”

  Again Nasir nodded. “Yes. We believe so.”

  “You’ve been gone eight years, but you keep saying ‘we.’ Are others assisting you in tracking Dassai?”

  “Yes,” Nasir said, smiling slightly. “I do not wish to divulge their identities at this time. But yes… I’ve been aware of Dassai

  and Malek and their plans for some time.”

  Nasir sighed, his features going grim. “I sent out messages in the hope that it would reach certain allies. They never did help us, and I was informed that Dassai played a part in intercepting the couriers. They are lost now.”

  “Lost? Who is lost?”

  Nasir avoided the question. “Later. We must prepare to leave.”

  Munif sat silent, pondering this new information. With renewed vigor he sprang into action, putting away his bedroll and helping to douse the remaining embers. Soon their packs were ready and they stood together with the river before them. He smiled. It had been a long time since he had felt this confident.

  Nasir glanced at him. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  They crossed the bridge and followed the road toward Aley.

  9

  MUNIF WAS WEARY.

  The path had taken them to the east coast of Tammós, across a steep divide covered with trees and scrub. A westerly wind blew from the sea, bringing heavy fog and relentless drizzling rain.

  He lay beside Nasir on the sodden turf of a steep hill, thoroughly soaked, hidden from the road below by a small boulder. An outcropping behind them formed a small cave, which offered partial shelter from the elements.

  Nasir had insisted that they stop there above a nondescript little village. All seemed peaceful, yet the Prince refused to leave. When Munif questioned the decision, he simply said, “More will be told in time.”

  They waited in silence. A gray veil slowly descended to obscure the landscape. Both knew that once the rain had passed, a fierce wind would follow. Munif was beginning to doubt that

  the sorry conditions were worth the cost.

  “We are in danger here,” Munif said.

  The Prince nodded. “Yes. But there is a larger threat ahead without the information I seek.”

  “From whom?”

  Turning his gaze from the village, Nasir said, “The imam here is an old friend. He has shared information with me that makes me cautious.”

  From their shelter, Munif and Nasir had a clear view north to Aley. They maintained constant watch over a path that led south a little distance before descending a second hillside and passing out of sight. That hill was covered in low-lying scrub, and its slopes were scattered with pine trees. Thorny brambles hindered their view—and their comfort. The rain changed to a foggy spray that blew incessantly into their faces.

  Munif was an expert in wilderness survival, but after traveling for days with Nasir, he had come to realize that the Prince was as well-prepared as Munif.

  Before long, Munif heard a faint noise behind him. A stranger slid adeptly down an embankment and picked his way through the underbrush toward Munif.

  “Rest easy, Pavanan,” the Prince said. “This is the man I spoke of. Itani Hayyek has been waiting in the village for some days now.”

  The imam was tall, with dark hair and strong aquiline features. He was dressed in the simple yet functional garb of a cleric. He was probably tied to the rahibs who’d been slaughtered near Burj al-Ansour, and Munif winced as he visualized the atrocity.

  “I see the track is as active as ever,” the imam said in a voice that wove seamlessly into the sounds of wind and rain. “The light will fade once the worst of the weather arrives.”

  Munif shrugged. “You’ll get no sympathy from me. While you sipped sweet wine beside a warm hearth, I was freezing my ass off here.”

  “True enough, but you were made for this,” Hayyek countered with little remorse. “Just look at you.”

  Nasir could not help but smile. “I’d be glad to get some rest and leave you behind. I’ll think of you while I warm my hands in front of a roaring fire, and pray you don’t catch a chill.”

  “Thank you for those kind thoughts,” the imam said, producing a small flask. “I’ll be warm enough for a while yet.”

  Nasir snatched the flask from him and took a sip. “Has sharing been eradicated from your extensive list of virtues?”

  “Not completely. The weather does cut to the bone, does it not?”

  “We won’t see anything tonight,” Nasir
said. “We may as well leave him here to watch until morning.”

  “No one has moved along the trail in some time,” said Munif, “and the old hut outside the village is long since deserted.”

  The imam nodded and settled to his watch.

  Munif stretched and motioned to Nasir.

  “Show me where I may find that warm fire.”

  10

  THEY WAITED.

  Munif and Nasir returned to their observation post just after the first sun’s dawn. At some point during the night the rain had stopped, leaving a thick mist to filter the suns’ rays.

  Itani Hayyek lingered with the two men. Munif enjoyed the imam’s dry wit and quick retorts. After about a half-hour, the cleric carefully stretched his back.

  “Well, I doubt you heathens have any more use for my services this day. I’m off to get dry and have some–”

  Suddenly he dropped beside Munif and bent low, looking off into the distance. Munif followed his gaze, peering through the thick vegetation. A massive shape lumbered along the roadthat descended into the vale from the north. They could hear low growling, and something akin to a dog’s high-pitched whine. The thing approached and moved past the abandoned house.

  Munif could not believe what he was seeing. Twice as tall as a man and nearly as wide as the road itself, the creature walked on two massive feet. Its thick skin was a dull dark gray, and black fissures scored it all over, like mud that had dried in the sun. Pavanan Munif had not believed he’d see such a thing in his lifetime.

  The Kúrrul had a young girl tucked beneath one arm; she was trying vainly to break free. It was plain to see she was exhausted; her screams were so weak he could hardly hear them. Directly below her, the demon’s fist clenched around a massive spear—a twenty-foot-long tree trunk sharpened to a point at one end. In its other fist it dangled three human heads by a knot of hair. Munif shuddered as it passed below him and went on its way.

  “So the rumors are true, then,” Munif murmured as he weighed the situation before him. “I never would have believed it if I had not seen it myself.”

  Nasir shook his head. “To conjure up such creatures—” he muttered. “Dassai must have used considerable magics to set Kúrruls on the loose. He’d need a legion of Carac to conjure up those vile things.” Nasir studied the back of the demon as it receded from their view. Hayyek sat quietly, but his lips moved in a silent prayer.