“How many guards?” Zaki asked.
“Many,” Mukhtar replied simply. “A host of assassins and Abunaki’s mercenaries are stationed outside with the Royal Guard. Whether they are deceived or allied, I do not know, but for now, we can only assume that any man bearing a sword is our enemy. I passed an armory on the way down. We can arm ourselves and prepare for battle. Come. We must make haste!”
He started forward, only to realize after a few steps that none were following. Not even his brother. He halted and turned to find them exactly where they were, and his eyes widened with disbelief.
“We are heavily outnumbered,” Ghasif stated, glancing at Zaki then at Rauf. “How can we possibly survive such a battle?”
“I am not one to shy away from a fight, but to battle in our current state would be foolish,” Rauf said.
“How can you say that?” Mukhtar walked back toward them. “This not the time to act like cowards!”
“Look at me!” Rauf unhooked himself from Zaki’s support and took a forceful limp forward, wincing from the pain in his leg. “Look at us! How far into the battle do you think we will survive?”
“It is wiser to escape these morbid confines and regroup to better prepare ourselves,” Ghasif said solemnly. “This night may be beyond our reach.”
Mukhtar desperately wanted to dispute. He looked to his brother for support, but Zaki said nothing. He was adjusting the strap of his crossbow, with a slight twitch of his shoulder caused by a pernicious injury.
“There is evil afoot that cannot be allowed to endure,” Mukhtar said sternly, working up the courage to meet their eyes. “I cannot force you to stay and fight, but I will not allow Ussam to succeed in his venomous endeavors. This ends tonight. If not, then I do not wish to live in a world filled with his wickedness. With that, I look forward to embracing death with honor.”
He understood their reluctance. They were weary. They were injured. Indeed, Rauf spoke the truth— how would they survive another battle? He met his brother’s eye. Zaki’s expression had changed. It had become humbler, slightly shameful with a shadow of guilt. He swallowed. “When I deserted the Red-Guard, I had vowed never to leave your side. Your battles will always be mine. I will fight with you.”
Mukhtar’s spirits began to rise. He looked to Ghasif and Rauf.
They were both staring at him, astounded and taken aback by his statement. Like Zaki, they were both well-versed in combat, hardened by years of blood and sweat in battle. Their refusal to join him was not from cowardice, but from a calculable approach to fight. It would be better to escape, regroup and prepare to fight another day, but they had not seen what he had. They had not witnessed the nefarious affairs taking place on the floors above.
“Lead the way to the armory,” Ghasif gave a strong nod.
“We have come too far to desert you now,” Rauf limped forward. “Lead the way, brother. I too will stand by your side, be this my final stand in life!”
The armory was large and well equipped, with wares that made Mukhtar’s poorly maintained short-swords shrink away. He secretly held on to his own weapons, while the other three armed themselves. He longed to tell them what he had discovered, but realized the weight of the matter. He was afraid that if Zaki was to learn of the Amulet’s true nature, and that which resided within, he would utterly refuse to go any further, as would Ghasif and Rauf. He needed them. Perhaps it was foolish not to arm them with that knowledge, but they did not need it then. It may have been a gamble he was taking, but the only thing that mattered to him then was to end Ussam’s ritual above. All else could be dealt with later— if at all they survived the night.
They reunited with a frightened Nuzhah and convinced her of their plans to make a stand. It took no small measure of pleading with her and in the end, Mukhtar vowed to see her to safety before they began their attack. She agreed to lead them to an isolated corner of the palace, further away from the Throne Room, where they could discuss their next approach and leave her in safety. As soon as they emerged into the Entrance Hall, however, all manner of hell erupted.
Amidst the chaotic screams of half-naked bodies running around in fright, they had but an instant to evade the large statue thrown across the hall. Nuzhah shrieked, and Mukhtar instinctively pushed her out of its projectile. It landed with a thundering crash, where they all stood only a moment before, fatal chunks of loose rock, stone, and debris expelled in every direction.
Several of the occupants, who had partaken in the occult rituals only an hour before, lay crushed beneath the rubble. Blood and innards sprawled across the marble floor. The rituals had ended and there was some sort of retaliation or retribution taking place, where the ritualists were now paying for their deeds with their lives. It was not long before a host of assassins and mercenaries engaged them in combat, and Mukhtar found himself facing three men with spears, charging toward him with murderous roars.
Impulse and adrenaline took him, as he pulled out the short-swords from their sheaths on his back, and prepared to face them. The first man, large and baby-faced, swung forward with immense strength, nearly shattering Mukhtar’s arm as he tried to parry the attack with one sword. The man struck again, but Mukhtar was ready for him. He dodged with agility and thrust forward, driving his blade deep into the man’s belly, but did not stop to watch him die as he pulled back the blade. Two more mercenaries were already on him. He dodged several strikes from their consecutive attacks, receiving a fair share of blows and cuts. He conquered them with a mid-air twist, swinging left with one blade and right with the other. He caught one, with a powerful swing on his chest, tearing the man’s leather amour through to his flesh, and slicing the other’s neck.
Nearly breathless, he stood back and tried to find his friends and brother amidst the chaotic crowd. Assassin archers, on the grand balcony above, were raining down arrows upon anyone who moved, and several of the ritualists cowered behind the stone pillars, all manner of intoxication forgone by fear and adrenaline. Those who had weapons, or somehow managed to salvage one, made every attempt to survive by warding off the attackers.
Mukhtar watched Rauf dispose four archers at the top of the stairs, who were trying to get a good aim over their targets. Nuzhah was crouched beside him, tossing bits of rock and rubble at the mercenaries. Her aim was not perfect, nor was her reach, but she succeeded in distracting them long enough for Rauf to press his advantage and fire a steady shot. Zaki was fending off four assassins by himself, and Ghasif, after successfully disposing of his own opponents, rushed forward to help him
“Ghasif, you traitor!”
Mukhtar spun around wildly to see Shahzad the Impaler charge toward Ghasif, leading a fresh batch of assassins down the marble steps. Ghasif responded with a battle cry and charged to meet them, shortly joined by Zaki, and Mukhtar watched with horror as both men struggled to fend off Shahzad’s forces.
More of Abunaki’s mercenaries were charging down the marble stairs, as archers lined up along the railings at the top. The handful of Royal Guards who heard the commotion, joined in the battle, but they were overwhelmed, outmanned and outnumbered. Another statue, a replica of the first, was lifted off the ground by an invisible force, and tossed through the air. It crashed several yards away from any of them, shattering against a pillar, which crumbled to the floor in a mass of broken stone and a huge cloud of dust. Jinn had joined the fight.
“Adva!” he called desperately. “Help us!”
The words had barely left his lips, and she materialized before him, hovering an inch off the ground, brandishing a strangely shaped blade. Her dark lips peeled back and revealed a razor-toothed snarl behind a curtain of long dark hair.
“What is attacking us?” he gasped, his eyes searching for the invisible forces.
“The Shayateen reign freely. Turn your attention to Ussam. They obey his command. Kill him and they will flee! Look to the Throne Room,” she pointed above the stairs.
Mukhtar faced the Throne Room. “I will not allow Uss
am to see the light of dawn!”
Below the grand balcony, Zaki braced himself to face five assassins, who, after seeing the dead bodies of their fallen comrades, approached with greater caution. Ghasif was engaged in a fierce clash of steel with his adversary, Shahzad, corresponding skill for skill, blade for blade. Nuzhah and Rauf took cover behind a large stone chest, arrows scattered all around them. The archers on the grand balcony had painted him as a greater adversity, and Mukhtar could see why. The balcony was riddled with several dead assassins, their blood dripping steadily onto the marble floor below. Mukhtar watched with awe, as Rauf leaned over the stone chest, took aim, and fired two arrows with such speed, he was a mere blur. He did not even find the need to confirm his shot, as the arrows struck their targets. The archers keeled over the balcony, and fell with horrid splats onto the floor below.
“Clear me a path to the Throne Room!” Mukhtar instructed Adva.
She responded by effortlessly lifting a large boulder and throwing it over the balcony. Some of the archers scattered, and those caught unaware were buried beneath the rubble.
Twirling both blades skillfully, Mukhtar started forward, building up his momentum from a jog to a sprint, fighting his way through the advancing assassins and mercenaries. Three archers took aim and fired. One of the arrows found its mark and sheared through the flesh of his right arm, throwing him back several feet. He screamed and recoiled in pain, urging himself to keep moving.
Mustering his strengths, he tossed a few throwing-knives without really aiming, and succeeded in critically wounding two archers and a guard at the top of the steps. Rauf’s arrows took out two more, as another massive stone block shattered over the heads of four others, clearing the way for Mukhtar.
He chanced a glance back, only to see more assassins and mercenaries flood into the Entrance Hall, advancing toward the others, their battle cries elevated. Mukhtar’s limbs tired, his body ached, and he groaned on the verge of losing all hope. He hesitated for a moment, torn between advancing to the Throne Room, or turning back to help his friends.
His shoulders tensed, the grip on his sword handles tightened, as the elegant oak doors of the Entrance Hall burst open with a thunderous clap, and a larger host of soldiers marched through, spears held high, shields upright and firm, swords and scimitars, bows and arrows at the ready. Mukhtar nearly fell to his knees dispiritedly, until he realized the leader of the host.
Aarguf Babak, clad in armor, brandished his jeweled scimitar and barked orders at his men. Behind him, looking overwhelmed and mildly frightened, was Nabiha. She took one glance in Rauf and Nuzhah’s direction, and ran forward to join them.
Aarguf’s men charged forward and clashed with the assassins and mercenaries in battle. The Entrance Hall was ravaged by a fresh batch of shrieks, screams, and clashes of steel as petrified and injured civilians scampered to safety.
Mukhtar, whose attention was drawn to Aarguf’s timely entrance, had failed to realize that the doors to the Throne Room had also opened. He caught a brief glimpse of fluttering dark robes before he was struck in the face by a strong fist. The impact swooped him off his feet in a backward arch, and he was flung down the marble steps, landing heavily on his back. Every part of his body groaned in pain, as tiny balls of light hovered before him, and his jaw felt loosely detached from the rest of his head. Through blurry eyes, he saw a strong set of legs running down the steps toward him. He raised his head just as a powerful kick struck him in his midsection, and he felt his guts force through his mouth.
“How I have longed to cut you open since I saw you sneaking through the feast!” the attacker exclaimed viciously.
Mukhtar vomited and gasped for air. Clutching his stomach, he forced his eyes open, and had but a moment’s notice to roll over and narrowly avoid a trampling stomp.
Now is not the time to let them tread over you! He thought to himself desperately. Get up, Mukhtar!
He forced himself up, swaying slightly on his feet, gripping his swords firmly, ready for the fight.
Abunaki charged forward with his scimitar and a look of pure hatred. Mukhtar raised his own swords to deflect the powerful strike, forcing him to take several steps back. Abunaki charged repeatedly, relentlessly, and with an animosity Mukhtar had never witnessed of him. It was all he could do to fend off the attacks of the skilled and seasoned warrior’s power and strength. But he was not prepared to give in so easily.
He learned and adapted to Abunaki’s strong and weak points. Abunaki had all but forgotten who always sharpened and repaired his weapons. Mukhtar knew that scimitar well. Its weight gave him a powerful strike, but slowed his recovery from every swing. Mukhtar’s short-swords were lighter and made him agile. He skillfully dodged and parried Abunaki’s strikes, while inflicting him with minor cuts and slashes wherever he found an opening. Abunaki’s frustration mounted with every strike, making him reckless, and Mukhtar wasted no effort in manipulating it to dominate the fight. It was not long before he had Abunaki at the bottom of the steps, bleeding, hurting, and holding up his hands for mercy, his scimitar several feet beyond reach.
“Redeem yourself, Abunaki. Repent for your sins!”
Abunaki pointed a bloody finger at him, and began to laugh, choking on his own blood. “Fool! You walk to your doom! Return to your mother’s lap, child!”
“I once held you in high regard,” Mukhtar gave him a disappointed look. “Now I only see a coward!”
Abunaki laughed mirthlessly, “Sometimes, cowards do survive!”
“And a coward you shall remain!” Mukhtar snarled.
A blinding, dazzling light overhead, made everyone in the hall cease the battle and watch with awe. Adva was engaged in a furious battle with another Shayateen. It had taken the human form of a muscular man, and they were both floating in mid-air, close to the high ceiling, firing detonations among other spells at unnatural speeds.
Their energies were unleashed with unimaginative force, shattering the stone-walls and ceiling, showering the humans below with rubble and dust. There was a fleeting instance when Mukhtar became afraid for her. A powerful force threw her across the hall and she crashed into a stone column. Everyone within the vicinity cowered for their lives, as the column crumbled to the ground. He was relieved to see her emerge unscathed from the cloud of dust, and respond with an energetic spell of her own, which involved several whips of a bright blue flash that tore through her opponent’s body. Chunks of body parts and innards fell to the floor, showering those below with splatters of blood and organs. There was an icy gleam in her snakelike eyes, a deep satisfaction of having enjoyed the fight immensely.
Zaki and Ghasif rejoined Nuzhah, Rauf, and Nabiha, defending them from rogue attacks. Aarguf’s forces continued to engage Ussam’s in an enraged battle, but despite their efforts, many more non-combatants continued to fall in the crossfire.
Mukhtar struggled to bring his focus back to the task at hand. He felt deep remorse and regret for not paying heed to Zaki, Ghasif, and Rauf’s pleas. They were indeed outnumbered and out-manned. Their blood spilled was on his hands. There was only one way to end it all. Cut off the head of the snake and the body will die.
He rushed up the stairs and before the doors of the Throne Room, he paused. His targets lay beyond, clad in flowing dark robes. Taking deep breaths, he repositioned the twin short-swords and stormed over the threshold. Several assassins charged forward, and he became occupied for a long while before the skirmish was won. When his final opponent, a short and stubby man with a scimitar, fell to the floor, clutching the open wound on his neck, Mukhtar was able to turn his attention to where the ultimatum of the night’s events was taking place.
At the foot of the steps leading up to the Throne, a figure was sprawled with his arms and legs spread, bleeding and bruised, dressed in royal robes. Towering above him were two men, one short, the other tall. The short one was easily recognizable as the potbellied Thamir, and his companion, therefore, was Ussam Bashiri, the leader of the Assassins of Ghu
ldad.
Mukhtar’s presence in the hall was not unnoticed. Ussam wore an expression of mild interest, as though he had not expected Mukhtar to have come this far. Thamir reacted without thinking, abandoning all manner of restraint. He wore a look of pure loathing, his bare chest and meaty face glistening with sweat.
“You!” he exclaimed, stepping forward. “Miscreant! A fool of Zafar, you are! You have caused us great misfortune, you vile spawn of—!”
Mukhtar did not allow him to speak any further. He sheathed the short-swords, drew a pair of throwing-knives, and swung them sequentially at Thamir’s bulging mass. The first blade struck him on his chest, while the other wedged itself in his left eye socket. His final words escaped him in a muffled screech, and he keeled over, a bloated mass on the hard marble floor.
Ussam glanced at Thamir’s body, and a shadow of horror momentarily flashed in his dark eyes. He displayed no further emotion, affirming the depth of his wickedness. He did not even care. He did not even dismay. He was a hollow shell of an egregious being.
“Lie there in silence,” his hoarse whisper carried across the room. “You have served your part.” He turned to face the king, and Mukhtar followed his gaze.
Azhar Babak was softly moaning in pain at the foot of the steps.
“Our work here is nearly done,” Ussam said more audibly. “There is nothing you can do now. His soul fades into the great beyond, where lies an endless torture to world’s end. So shall he pay and suffer, for he blew upon knots of conjury, invoking upon that which is forbidden. So shall he pay... and suffer...”
“Your work will remain undone for as long as I breathe!” Mukhtar yelled and unsheathed his short-swords. “Draw your sword, Ussam, and we shall end this!”
“You will not survive this night,” Ussam stated, as calmly as though he were welcoming Mukhtar as a guest.
The Amulets of Sihr Page 35