Garu bowed and the crowd applauded mechanically. The applause started low and polite, and abruptly turned into a roar. Garu who was still bowing, lifted his head and was startled. He was receiving a standing ovation and the arbitrators were running toward him. I know my speech was good, but I did not think it was that good, he thought. He walked toward the arbitrators running in his direction to reassure them that he could handle the crowd without their protection, but they passed him and continued running up the road behind him.
He turned around and saw Ahiram and Hiyam sprinting down the path. They were running toe-to-toe and crossed the finish line together.
Hylâz smacked his head with his hand. “Not again,” he moaned. “What are we to do? The rules do not make provisions for a slave as a co-winner of a Game. Did he lose or did he win this Game?”
“Let us verify the artifacts, shall we?” snapped Garu.
Ahiram raised a mask of gold. The crowd surged like a mighty wave, and the judges were nearly trampled underfoot, but the angry shouts of the trumpets broke the surge and quieted everyone. Garu elbowed his way through the human forest and had to use his full authority to reach Ahiram and Hiyam, who now stood side-by-side. The three other judges joined him.
“Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?” Garu spoke with a gruff voice. Despite appearances, he was impressed that this slave had won single handedly The Game of Gold was no small feat.
“Here is the mask, Master Garu,” replied Ahiram with a weary smile.
“Yes, yes, indeed, it is the mask of gold. Do you have the shoes of bronze and the belt of silver as well?”
Ahiram exhibited these pieces to the delight of the crowd. To win the Game, it was not enough to find the proper artifact at each step; Ahiram had to keep them until the last Game was over. This is why the Game of Meyroon was the most dangerous. In the past, stalling and pouncing became a widespread tactic that various teams used to try to win the Games. They would intentionally trail the winner in the first three Games to conserve their strength, then pounce on their exhausted prey during the fourth Game, and steal the shoes, belt, and mask. The judges modified the rules a few years back to disqualify all but the top four teams from participation in the Game of Meyroon.
“Yes, yes, there is no doubt, young man,” continued Garu, who had finished his deliberation with the three other judges, “You have all the artifacts. Now your turn, young lady. Show us the mask, if you please.”
Hiyam handed them a mask of gold. The judges inspected it and confirmed its authenticity.
“Very well, now please show us the remaining artifacts,” asked Garu.
Hiyam blanched. She was the fastest runner on her team, and when she had seen Ahiram ahead of her on the road, she had snatched the mask of gold from one of her teammates, but she had forgotten the shoes of bronze and the belt of silver.
“They are with the rest of my team,” she stuttered. “We have them.”
“Unfortunately, my dear lady, the rules are very specific,” said Garu. “No team can be declared a winner of the Game of Gold unless they exhibit all three artifacts. As such, I declare the slave Ahiram the uncontested winner of the Game of Gold. Congratulations.”
The euphoria of the crowd knew no bounds. A dream once thought lost was now becoming reality. It had taken shape and now had a face. The city of Taniir-The-Strong was swelling with visitors attracted by the ancient prophecy. The flow of people did not give any sign of abating. The garrison of Baalites was on full alert and reinforcements were being sent from the two southern ports of Mitreel and Aramin.
The elation of the crowd was so strong that the arrival of Hiyam’s team was hardly noticed. Standing before the judges, her discomfiture turned to shame when no team member could produce the shoes of bronze. In the mayhem and confusion of the geyser, she had forgotten that the dead High Rider was carrying them. Ramany, wanting to sooth her pain, told her that the other teams were missing the mask. She nodded and closed her eyes.
“Aha,” exclaimed Hylâz, ”since none of these good teams have all three artifacts, we have a winner.” Garu rolled his eyes and sighed. “For the rules are clear: ‘if at any stage after the Game of Bronze, only one team has in its possession all constituent parts deemed valid, then this team is to be declared winner, and the Games are over.’”
“Wait, what did you just say, Hylâz?” asked Garu.
“Huh? What did tiny one say?” asked Frajil. He was talking to his older brother, Soloron, as they stood a mere three rows away from Ahiram and could clearly hear what was being said.
“He said that Ahiram has all three artifacts, and no other team does, so Ahiram wins.”
“Huh?” answered Frajil.
“Listen Frajil,” said Soloron patiently. “Ahiram has the shoes, belt, and mask, right?”
“Yes.”
“No other team has the shoes, belt, and mask, right?”
“Yes.”
“Ahiram wins. That’s what the tiny fella over there said.”
“Huh?”
“However,” said Ibromaliöm, “the rules stipulate that the Games must take place under normal and reasonable circumstances. I would venture that this particular Game does not satisfy either category, in which case such a Game ought to be annulled.”
“Correct as usual, my dear Ibromaliöm,” continued Garu pensively. He motioned for the other three judges to follow him and moved away from the crowd. The judges lowered their voices in order not to be overheard by anyone. “But if we were to annul the Game of Gold, does it then follow that one may win the Games without the mask of gold?”
“According to the rules,” replied Hylâz, “no team is worthy of winning that did not gather all four elements.”
“I see,” replied Garu, “we are throwing the slave as bait to the other teams. He enters the Mine of Meyroon, and the teams missing an artifact will converge on him to steal his items. I wonder who makes a final decision in this matter. According to the regulations, that is?”
“This one is easy,” said Ramany. “His Majesty the King is the supreme judge of the Games.”
“To the King then,” exclaimed Garu, who was relieved to know that for once, he did not have to make a difficult decision. They broke off their consultation and went back to the middle of the circle. “My dear people, after this superb victory of our young friend here, a number of legislative issues have been brought to our attention regarding the proper interpretation of the rules and their relevance to the Game at hand. Therefore, in strict observance of the rules, we shall defer all judgments to His Majesty the King who will be able to instruct us in these matters so that all is done in strict conformity to the rules, which are properly prescribed and ordained for the benefit of all. With these glad tidings, I wish all of you who were faithful through and through, a quiet and restful night. I hope to see you tomorrow for the glorious conclusion of these Games, so unlike any other event in the annals of the kingdom. Long live the King!”
The crowd answered, “Long live the King,” mechanically and resumed their rejoicing. Eventually, after mingling with the crowd, Ahiram went back to the royal castle, flanked by Banimelek and Jedarc. Abiil, the man who met with Soloron and Frajil at the tavern a few days back, gave them a slight nod. Soloron smiled as he left the plaza with his giant of a brother in tow.
“Tomorrow, we roast the chicken,” he said softly.
“Chicken? Where?” exclaimed Frajil. “Show me chicken. We could roast it tonight.”
“My dear Frajil, you will have to wait until tomorrow when the chicken is delivered into our hands.”
“Oh, yes, yes, I forgot all about it,” said Frajil.
“About what?” asked Soloron wondering if, for once, Frajil understood what was implied by these words.
“The marketplace is already closed. We cannot buy a chicken before tomorrow morning.”
Soloron sighed and went back toward the horses. Tomorrow will be a busy day, he thought.
“Gentleme
n, this has been a rather busy night, far too busy for my taste. I shall give my decision in the morning. For now, I wish all of you a good and restful night.”
Everyone rose as the King left for his private apartments. Upon entering, King Jamiir III was surprised to find Queen Ramel waiting for him.
“My dear Ramel, have the events at hand disturbed your sleep?”
“What is His Majesty’s decision?”
“Since when has the Queen shown any interest in the governance of the kingdom?”
“There have been three murders in this castle since the start of the Games. I do not feel safe while these Games are in progress.”
“I trust that Commander Tanios will resolve this matter. He is a capable man. As far as the Games are concerned, the King will let his decision be known tomorrow morning.”
“I trust His Majesty considered the impact that his decision will have on his servants throughout the kingdom. My servants informed me there was only one golden mask in the race and that pursuing the Games means almost certainly a death warrant for the slave, whom many consider to be a hero. If His Majesty were to authorize this last Game, it may be interpreted by the people of Tannin as an act of treason.”
“An act of treason?”
“May the King live forever,” said Ramel, bowing. “Surely His Majesty knows that the servants of the King see in this slave the fulfillment of the prophecy concerning the rise of Tanniin?”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Jamiir with a tired voice, “I know all about their dreams and aspirations. But what can dreams do in the face of the harsh reality of Baal? The high priestess told me the Temple is sending reinforcements. This will be the last time these Games will take place. The forces of Baal are preparing to take over the castle at the end of the Games, and they are thinking of dismantling the Silent Corps. I am not even certain the kingdom will be preserved.” The King fell silent for a while and Ramel waited.
“I have striven to protect the crown of Tanniin from a complete takeover by Baal, and I thought I had succeeded by authorizing the construction of a temple to Baal in this city and by appearing there in person. This slave has brought years of efforts to naught. Baal will be taking over, and we will most likely be exiled. Oh, do not fear, my dove, since you are the niece of one of the greatest priests of Babylon, the exile will be comfortable, if not pleasurable, and I owe this to your person.”
Jamiir bowed before the Queen. She bristled at the implied sarcasm. “Now, my dear Ramel, what should the King do? Excite Baal’s wrath even more by declaring this slave the winner and allow an insurrection to take place? Bahiya was very clear: any insurrection will be crushed without mercy by the Baalites and many will die. The Games will go on tomorrow, and the slave will die. I believe the King has no other choice. If Your Majesty will excuse the King, he is tired.”
Ramel bowed before her husband and withdrew to her private apartments. She could hardly control herself. From the start, she had despised Jamiir for the weakness she perceived in him. He was indecisive, she thought, lacked any will to resist and above all, had fallen under the priestess’ charm. Her marriage encroached on her sense of honor: she, the niece of a high priest of Baal from the eternal city of Babylon, was married to a coward and this at the instigation of the high priestess of Baalbeck. Ramel clenched her fists as she dismissed all her servants. She went out onto her balcony where three candles were burning. She took one of them and lit a fourth. Her features hardened, and had the King been present, he may not have recognized the quiet, soft-spoken Ramel in the woman standing on the balcony. In this obscure twilight of the four flickering candles, Queen Ramel looked like a warrior before battle.
“You surprise me, Daughter. Why these feelings toward the slave now that you know he will die tomorrow?”
Hiyam had just learned from her mother the decision of the Temple of Baal to dispose of Ahiram in the Mine of Meyroon. She lost her composure and stood stricken with grief; her heart plunged in a bitter sea of sadness. It was more than she could bear, and she dropped into her seat, crying.
“What is it, Daughter?” asked Bahiya, even though she already knew the answer.
“I have always admired the men of Baal for their courage and loyalty. But courage and strength such as this, I have never seen. Since the start of these Games, we have used force and deception to break him—a slave. Shame on us. Had we given him a chance to defend himself, I would have felt the honor of Baal would have been upheld, but killing him like a rat? His blood will spill on Baal’s face and on my memory.”
“This is no matter for discussion,” replied Bahiya sternly. “These orders came to us directly from Babylon. Neither you nor I, nor the King, nor anyone else has a choice. It is settled.”
Bahiya stood up and turned her back to her daughter. Hiyam bowed her head. The high priestess continued in a softer tone of voice. “You should go and rest, Daughter. Tomorrow will be a long day for you, and remember, you will be crowned winner of the Games. You will have to behave as a true daughter of Baal. I expect nothing less from you.”
“Mother, why does he have to die? Would it not be better to capture him and bring him as a slave to Baalbeck?”
“And keep him chained between four walls? If he were to escape and come back, the Temple would be shamed.” Bahiya’s voice, which was normally taut as a bow, quivered and fell. Hiyam looked up, surprised, but the weakness, if it ever existed, was now gone. “We cannot allow this to happen. Only death will make him truly silent. Know this, my daughter, the Temple of Baal does not resort to these extreme measures if other options are available. In this case, we cannot see how to avoid bloodshed while keeping him alive. If it is any consolation to you, know that the twelve men of Baal who will be waiting for him in the cave are expert warriors, and his death will be as swift and as painless as possible.”
“Yes Mother, like thieves in the night.”
Before Bahiya could reply, Hiyam left. She wiped her tears and walked toward her room. Unconsciously, Hiyam attributed the weakness in her protective shield and the failure of her magical powers to Ahiram himself. Even though her mother reassured her that this slave could not have access to such high magic and that he suffered, like everyone else, from the geyser this morning, Hiyam could not shake off the idea that somehow, Ahiram was stronger than she. This feeling had turned into respect bordering on awe. She considered him to be a worthy foe, not a mere slave, not a mere nuisance to be rid of. She understood her mother’s decision and that of the Temple’s, but she could not help feeling as if she was murdering an outstanding opponent, and in so doing, dishonoring her name and that of the High Riders. She went into her room, closed the door, and wished that she were miles and miles away by the fountain of the Temple in the cool breeze of the sunset when the grapes are golden ripe and the water is fresh like the laughter of a child. For the first time in her life, Hiyam felt lonely.
Yet, had she seen her mother’s composure after she left, she may have been surprised.
Bahiya was pacing back and forth, her hands on her stomach as if in pain. She was moaning as her tears dripped onto the floor before her. “Be strong, be strong,” she said in a soft voice. “Do what you must.” Finally, unable to contain her sorrow any longer, she collapsed on her bed, burying her head in the soft pillows to muffle her sobs.
“Give up the Games, Ahiram. It is over.” Tanios’ voice resonated in the nearly empty Room of Meetings in the quarters of the Silent. Ahiram was sitting on a chair. Tanios was pacing. Banimelek, Jedarc, and Habael were standing behind Ahiram. “They are going to kill you tomorrow, I am convinced of it,” continued Tanios. “They will most likely do it in the Mine of Meyroon, and make it look like an accident.”
“I can defend myself—”
“Against a patrol or two, maybe, but against thirty or forty hardened High Riders? It would be suicide.” Tanios sighed. “I have arranged for you to hide in the caves beneath the ruins of Taniir-On-High Castle. There is a colony of dwarfs who live there, and
they can keep you safe long enough for the entire matter to subside. Once Baal relaxes his surveillance, we will slip you out and away to the northernmost part of the kingdom. In a few years, you would be able to move around like a free man.”
“Like a free man?” Ahiram looked at his master, who stopped pacing and looked back. Ahiram stood up. “Commander Tanios, where I come from, there is a saying: ‘Hold a shark captive and it will bind your honor to its cage.’ So it is with me. I cannot give up the Games and hide, for if I do, I would be giving up my honor, and worse, the honor of my family. I knew all along that I might die in these Games, but at least my death would be honorable and meaningful. For what does it mean if a man is forced to live in the shadows, turning his face from the sun that gives him life? He is no more alive than a withered tree still standing in fear of falling down. I will go tomorrow to these Games as I have done today, come what may. If I must die, I entrust you with a message for my father: ‘He was worthy of your trust, and he died upholding your honor.’ Now Commander, with your permission, I should like to retire. I need a good night sleep.”
Ahiram bowed deeply and left the room. Tanios sighed.
“Did you expect anything else, Commander Tanios?” asked Habael.
“No. His stubbornness is as strong as his love for his family.”
“Yes, I know. That is what makes him endearing to us all.”
“He speaks like a free man,” exclaimed Jedarc.
“He has always been free in his mind. He is not one who can be turned into a slave,” replied Tanios gruffly.
“So, what are our options?” asked Banimelek who was growing impatient. He was a man of action, not of discourse.
“My orders are clear: no interventions on our part under severe punishment. I trust I do not need to repeat myself.”
“No, Commander Tanios,” replied both Jedarc and Banimelek.
Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Page 38