The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  The first page was empty, and so was the second. Every yellowing, tattering, and stained page remained hopelessly blank, as Mukhtar flipped through each one, wrinkling his nose with every turn.

  “An empty book, with nothing but an ominous title and the stench of a thousand rotting corpses!” Rauf filled the silence.

  “It must mean something!” Mukhtar desperately flipped through the pages. “Why else would Abha keep it?”

  “What about invisible ink?” Rauf suggested.

  Mukhtar snorted loudly. “There is no such thing! Is there?” He glanced at his brother uncertainly.

  “Yes, there is!” Ghasif gave him an annoyed look. “Little do you know of the skills of the Assassins. We use the waters of lime as ink to write hidden messages. Exposing the page to heat will reveal the text. Use the candle.”

  “And burn it?” Mukhtar frowned. “Look at it, the parchment could barely survive sunlight!”

  “This parchment is strange,” Rauf ran a finger over it. “It cannot be animal skin.”

  “Does it matter?” Mukhtar gave him an obvious stare. “It can still burn!”

  “Give it here!” Ghasif reached for the book, and Mukhtar surrendered willingly.

  Zaki, who was pacing the short space in the cabin, paused to watch as the Assassin lit a candle and brought its flame as close as he could to the page, taking delicate care to keep it from scorching. If this had any effect, it was that the heat only made the smell stronger.

  “Invisible ink indeed!” Mukhtar scoffed, and Zaki threw him a subtle wink, while Ghasif turned slightly red around his ears.

  “There must be another kind,” he muttered almost to himself, flicking the page as if urging it to reveal its contents.

  “Hmm…” Zaki gave a meek shrug meant to irritate Ghasif, and continued his pacing. “Should we allow you a moment to find it?”

  Ghasif’s nostrils flared, and he followed Zaki’s pacing with a loathsome glare. “I will find it!”

  “We have faith in your abilities,” Zaki patted him on the back as he passed.

  “I am beginning to lose faith in yours, Red-Guard!” Ghasif responded irritably.

  “You have yet to witness my abilities, Assassin!”

  “If and when you begin to show them. They seem to be lacking in more intellectual matters,” Ghasif said pointedly.

  “Is that so?” Zaki asked coolly.

  “If otherwise, your thoughts and actions would not have disrupted the norm,” Ghasif responded. His hint was obvious. He and Rauf still disapproved of Mukhtar and Zaki’s pursuit of Ghadan and Haim.

  “Disrupted the norm, but unearthed more than you have in months!” Zaki’s lip trembled slightly, and his voice gained a decibel with every word. “Do not patronize me, Assassin! Unless you have a directive, keep your remarks to yourself!”

  Ghasif’s jaw was set. After a long and stony moment, during which murderous glares were exchanged, he cleared his throat and said, “We do have a directive.” He gestured to Rauf who handed Zaki a note. “It has taken long to evade Ussam’s spies and the eyes of the Empire, but Ma’alim finally responded to my letter. This is his wise counsel.”

  Brothers,

  It has been long since we last spoke. We have much to discuss and achieve, but little time and resources to do so. For now, we must maintain secrecy. We are yet too weak to expose ourselves.

  I must admit, I am most displeased with your insubordination. You were to leave the boy in the hands of his brother, but I would be foolish not to commend your efforts. I trusted you and you have shown your loyalty. You kept the boy safe.

  With what little you have told me, we are now faced with a much greater calamity, and we must seize every opportunity. The enemy must not discover the Keystone nor the weapon. Reach it before they do, and destroy it.

  I give you sanction, and my blessing to further your mission. Our spies have informed us of certain key individuals in Khalidah, allied with the enemy’s ambitions.

  Ghulam Mirza, Rasha bint Sumrah, Yusri Abdi,

  and Nizaam Ibn Jalal.

  Rid us of these conspirators, so that society can prosper.

  May the beacon of knowledge and enlightenment

  forever be our guide.

  “He gives us sanction,” Mukhtar could not stop himself from sneering. “Your leader approves of what we did.”

  “So it would seem,” Rauf nodded, and took back the note from Zaki.

  “Your orders were also to leave me at the wall,” Mukhtar pressed on. “You disobeyed them. Why?”

  Ghasif’s beard twitched. “Our orders were to protect you, not dispose you at the mercy of the Red-Guard. We are your allies, Mukhtar. Have not already proven so?”

  Mukhtar avoided his gaze. He could not question their loyalty, regardless of whatever conflicts they had.

  Ghasif turned to Zaki. “We are in this together!” He clenched his fist before them to symbolize their unity. “What say you?”

  Mukhtar glanced at Zaki. “Red-Guard and Assassin, working as one?”

  Rauf gave a light chuckle. Ghasif shrugged. “In another age, Assassins wore crimson colors too.”

  “Indeed,” Zaki held out his right arm, and Ghasif met it with his. “Let us hope we can keep the peace. Where do you suggest we begin?”

  “We begin with Ghulam Mirza,” Mukhtar declared. “Too long has he oppressed the weak! He will die by my own hand, and none other. He who disapproves, speak now with reason.”

  No one disagreed. Zaki nodded, “Very well. Go to the Souk As-Silaah,” he instructed. “See what you can learn. I will take to the harbor. If Ghulam is trading weapons across the seas, he will have affiliations with merchant vessels.”

  “I will search the caravan stables outside the city,” Rauf added. “If what you say is true, he will have affiliations there as well.”

  “Ghulam’s foul play must have some protection from the law,” Ghasif said.

  “Yusri Abdi is the man you seek then,” Zaki said. “He is Khalidah’s lawmaker and Qadhi.”

  Ghasif gave a curt nod. “I will track him.”

  “We will need weapons,” Mukhtar was eyeing Ghasif’s scimitar hanging behind the door, in dire need of proper care, “and tools to repair them.”

  “I will see what I can do,” Ghasif nodded. “Let us meet back here at dusk.”

  Without any particular strategy in mind, Mukhtar went to the Souk As-Silaah. Here, he would begin his search by keeping an eye and an ear out for anything that might give him information about the Chief of the Souk.

  Aside from the Royal Palace, no other establishment in the city was so heavily guarded. It was a fort by itself, a stronghold that manufactured, housed, and safeguarded the Royal Army’s arsenal. Archers paced the parapets and battlements above, while guards patrolled the gates and perimeters. Mukhtar would need a miracle to slip in and out unnoticed.

  He needed to improvise. Something he had learned from Zaki, is that soldiers liked to gossip, and that the more there were, the more injudicious and indiscreet they were likely to be. Perhaps he might learn everything he needed without having to enter the Souk.

  He sat down by the side of the road, pretending to rest his feet while admiring the large facade of the Souk with its fluttering pennants boasting the Khalidan insignia. Not too far off, an entertainer was calling to the crowds to watch him perform, and although none bothered, he carried on anyway, drumming a set of Tefs and singing ballads to glorify the city. Mukhtar watched him interestingly, but his ears were straining to hear a conversation across the street. A cluster of guards was chattering away like fishwives. From what he could gather, they were discussing Ghulam’s sword fighting skills. It sounded like the Chief spent his afternoons in the Souk’s training courtyard, practicing with a new opponent every day, ranking those he found favorable as his personal guard.

  As Mukhtar watched, a short man in a bloodstained butcher’s apron was discreetly signaling to one of the guards. When the guard caught his eye, he n
odded almost imperceptibly, slipped away from the group, and crossed the street to follow the butcher. Mukhtar maintained a fair distance, enough to keep them within earshot. The two men moved away from the hustle and bustle to the secluded and shaded alley across the street from the gates of the Souk. Mukhtar scrambled up the wall of a single-story building in the front, and climbed onto the roof. He squatted by the edge and listened to the conversation taking place in the alley below, positioning himself as close as he could as the guard spoke.

  “Why have you brought me here, Bayzar?” he hissed. “We cannot be seen together! And where is Nasar? I have been waiting to see him for two days!”

  “There has been a development,” Bayzar the butcher replied calmly. “I have been tasked in Nasar’s stead. The Master is rethinking his options with the deaths of Haim and Ghadan. He believes we made a grave mistake in trusting Ghulam.”

  The guard seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I told you he was a two-faced traitor. He could never be trusted. Arrogant and rash. Lacks the basic understanding of subtlety. He will expose us prematurely if not stopped.”

  The butcher looked grim. “We need him, Yabis. His resources are plenty, as are his influences. What more can you report?”

  “Everything is in this,” Yabis slipped him a folded piece of parchment. Bayzar read it once and folded it away into a pouch tied to his waist. “I await the Master’s command. All else has been made ready. The carts leave by caravan at dawn. Ghulam will be overseeing the transaction himself.”

  “And how is the General?” Bayzar asked. “Does he suspect anything?”

  “Oblivious,” Yabis replied. “My sources tell me that he will be attending the feast.”

  “Did Ghulam merit an invitation?” Bayzar sneered.

  Yabis gave a small nod. “He will need to keep that temper of his under control. He must not compromise the Brotherhood!”

  “He will not,” the butcher assured him. “The Master has already warned me to keep an eye on him. He is to be removed if things get out of hand. It is General Aarguf we must concern ourselves with.”

  “In due time,” Yabis said. “Let us hope they will keep a civil tongue at the feast!”

  “They have their differences, but both Aarguf and Ghulam know to keep up their appearances,” the butcher reassured him. “That being said, very few can hold their tongues after wine has been drunk.”

  “Ah, the redundant stipulations of politics in a state of inebriety.”

  “Fear not. The Master has a plan, and we must trust in him. Even now he presses his advantage.”

  Master? Brothers? Mukhtar wondered. Were they referring to Ussam, or is there some other master we have yet to discover?

  “What does he intend?” Bayzar asked. “Do you know?”

  Just the question Mukhtar was waiting for.

  “The less you know, the better,” Yabis replied curtly, and the butcher raised a suspicious eyebrow to which Yabis responded by saying, “Sincerely speaking, like you, I too am a messenger, and know just as much. Do as you have been instructed. Ensure this letter reaches the Merchant.”

  They bade each other farewell, and Yabis returned to his post. Mukhtar silently dropped down behind Bayzar, who exited the alley to join the crowds. He discreetly followed the butcher, gradually closing the gap between them. It was no simple task, as Bayzar constantly kept glancing over his shoulder, but when he was close enough, Mukhtar stealthily reached for the butcher’s pouch. A quick lift and the scroll was his, and he slipped into an alley to read it.

  Master,

  Our work in the Souk continues, but we are concerned about The Chief’s abilities to see things through. He has begun overworking the artisans and taxing them heavily. I fear that the people may come to reject him when the time comes. We cannot afford to have a rebellion which may come to the attention of the King, and that may destroy our plans. I would suggest you find another to take his place, simply as a precaution to secure our interests.

  We also worry that our man at Nazdak may have become increasingly unstable. Some of the merchant caravans complain of his inability to resolve matters, increasing the tax charges along the trade routes, spending more of his time locked in the citadel, drowning himself in wine. We have heard rumors that the Mountain City and its Citadel have already been infiltrated by Aghari spies, unmarked and unchecked.

  We must consider replacing him with one of our own, before they do so with one of their own.

  We await your command and remain ever so faithful to the cause.

  We are your brothers in light and darkness.

  Mukhtar folded the letter, tucked it into his thaub, and returned to the Souk As-Silaah to try and see what else he could unearth. He sat down across the gates once again and looked about, his thoughts lost amid what he had just read. The drummer continued his act ever so enthusiastically, for he now had a larger audience. Then, something else caught his eye.

  Not far away, a speaker had taken a stand at the corner of the street under the shade of a large palm tree, and was calling people forward. His dark oily hair gleamed in the sunlight and his beady eyes occasionally stole a glance at a pair of guards stationed a short distance away. “Aarguf Babak cares nothing for the people of Khalidah, else he would not entertain the likes of Ghulam Mirza and Sheikh Ruwaid,” he was saying.

  Mukhtar loitered to listen, keeping a keen eye on him. His voice carried a distinct tone, smooth and calming, but at the same time, assertive and confident. He was a gifted speaker, and every word ended with a unique period and desired impact. If only they had fallen on the right ears. The crowd, upon realizing the speaker’s true affairs, slowly began to disperse.

  However, the speaker carried on determinedly. “While we starve, the men in his keep want for nothing, growing fat upon the fruits of your hard work and labor. Now they seek to control every bit of our lives! Who will answer for the killings at the Monasteries and Masjids? Who will care for the families of the wrongfully arrested Clerics and Imams?”

  A woman paused to readjust the heavy basket she was carrying. “Be quiet!” she hissed and gestured at the two guards who were peering along the street, suspecting some rabble-rousing afoot.

  “Ignorance!” the speaker pointed at her. “Ignorance! Fools you have become, imprisoned by your own ignorance! Our leaders are selfish men who only seek to conquer all! To control us like mere sheep and cattle! Open your eyes! Rise up people of Khalidah. Join us in our protest and liberate this city!”

  “They will behead you for this!” said another man, turning away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Your words will see you hanged!” another slunk away.

  If a higher authority was brainwashing the masses, they seem to be succeeding, Mukhtar thought. He felt an urge to approach the speaker and invite him to join forces, but decided against it. He watched closely as the speaker cast a wary eye at the crowd, and joined another man who was waiting for him.

  “How many have you gathered to our cause?” he asked the speaker.

  “None,” the speaker replied. “They are too afraid.”

  “We must not give up,” said his companion. “Come. We will find another market, another square. Aarguf Babak must be dethroned for our cause to bear fruit.”

  Mukhtar hurried back to the cabin, desperate to tell the others what he had discovered.

  “Ghulam’s influence is deep, and his resources are widespread. Many men call him master, but his strength is failing. Now is the time to strike him. There is a wealthy merchant by the harbor. He and Ghulam do not see eye to eye, and this works to our advantage.”

  “How so?” Ghasif raised a dubious eyebrow.

  “From what I gather, the merchant has invited Ghulam to a feast,” Mukhtar explained. “They will need to keep their differences suppressed. Ghulam will be too distracted to expect an attack.”

  “I believe I may have discovered the same,” Zaki said. “Thamir Ar-Rushdi is the wealthiest merchant in the city. His influe
nce regulates the entire harbor, and many use his ships to smuggle goods across the sea, Ghulam being one of them. It is how he has amassed his wealth. In ten days, Thamir will be hosting a feast to celebrate the good news of his eldest daughter’s betrothal.”

  “Then it seems I may have discovered who will be supplying the food and wine,” Rauf added excitedly. “Before leaving the city, Ghulam’s caravans stop by the Sweet Orchards further north from here. The Sweet Orchards belong to Rasha bint Sumrah, who provides them with food and supplies. She will also be attending the feast.”

  They all looked at Ghasif, who suddenly became very grim.

  “Did you procure weapons?” Rauf asked him.

  Ghasif pointed to a small leather-wrapped bundle in the corner. “Daggers. That is all I could find. No weapon maker in the city was willing to sell me anything bigger or even sharper than a rusty blade. They may as well have given me wooden sticks. These will need to be restored before they can do any killing.”

  “Mukhtar can do that,” Zaki said simply. “What has you vexed though, I wonder. Much as I detest empathizing, I cannot help but notice, you have been annoyingly quiet.”

  Ghasif gave him an irritated look. He removed a few artifacts and pieces of parchment from a small pouch strapped to the sash around his waist. Among them were a bunch of feathers, the fang of some animal, and a ring with a black obsidian stone very similar to the one Mukhtar wore on his finger, as well as a medallion shaped like the Amulet. “This is what I found in Yusri Abdi’s mansion.”

  “Is it –?” he began.

  “Another Amulet?” Ghasif asked. “No. An imitation, perhaps. He had a secret room in his mansion. The walls were stained with what looked like dried blood and carved with strange symbols. An eerie presence lingered and I could not bear to stay any longer than a few moments. With haste, I grabbed what I could and fled.”