THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures)

by Graham Diamond

  “At a small fishing port they came upon a passing ship, a merchant vessel whose captain was a kind and good man. He took them aboard and the young couple sailed away across half the world before their journey at last came to an end.”

  “And … what became of them?” asked Ramagar sadly.

  “They wed, found new lives for themselves, raised a family. The new land they had adopted was fair and peaceful, yet the refugees knew they could never know peace of their own. Not while Speca lay languid and spoiled under its cruel domination. The lovers, then, never forgot their home; nor did their children, nor even their children’s children. Each succeeding generation was well schooled in the Specian fashion, and each felt the pangs of heartbreak with every passing day. For you see, these grandchildren were now the only true heirs to the Specian throne. And one day, no matter how long it would have to take, one of them would begin the quest to reclaim it.”

  The haj rocked back and forth quietly as he listened to and digested all that his guest had spoken. At length he drew a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh of sorrow. He looked deeply at the yellow-haired foreigner, and saw etched out before him strong and proud features shaded in the vague shadows of the tent, features that assured him that this man was neither vagabond nor beggar, no matter what the paltry cloth he wore might indicate. Burlu was clearly bewildered; he looked again at the man, considered the tale, and wondered just how his guest had gathered so many facts of lost Speca’s fate.

  “Your story has been most fascinating, my friend,” he said at last. “Vivid and detailed, lacking in nothing. It is worthy of the finest storytellers I have ever heard on such an ill night as this. Truly it is a sad account of a terrible injustice to a people who deserved no such destiny. But tell me, can you—or any man—say with certainty that all of these events did indeed happen as you say? Or is it that the legend has been distorted by the long finger of time, as legends so often are?”

  “An understandable question,” replied the stranger thoughtfully. “Any intelligent man would be quick, as you were, to ask it. But, good haj, let me assure you all, all my friends here with me tonight, that each and every event of which I told is the absolute truth. There is no question as to the authenticity of my tale, and I am one to know. Yet let me whet your appetites a bit further; I say that not only is my tale true, but that even to this very day the Specian Kingdoms yet exist. They are not a dead ruin of what once was, but a thriving land waiting for a redeemer. And although it still lies dormant and miserable beneath the Eternal Darkness and the shackles of its conquerors, one day soon all will change. And Speca will again see the sun.”

  Burlu’s wizened eyes opened saucer-wide and he lost no time in downing the dregs of wine.

  “How do you know all these things you spoke of?” asked Mariana. The answer was brief, but told of much—much yet to come. “I know these things,” he told her, “because of who I am.”

  Mariana felt her sudden chills returning again. Sitting tensely, she rubbed at her bare arms. The next question was eagerly anticipated by her companions. “And who is that?”

  The stranger raised his hands and opened them to reveal the precious scimitar. “Have you forgotten this?” he asked rhetorically.

  The haj froze and marveled at the glimmering dagger. The scabbard caught a glimpse of light from the all but extinguished flames and reflected them dramatically. The tiny jewels dazzled and sparkled their eyes and the haj and his serving girl silently gasped in unabashed awe.

  “What is that prize that you hold?” Burlu stammered. “Gold? A blade of solid gold?”

  His guest smiled broadly. “Yes, haj, but it is also more. Far more. In my land it is well-known. You see, it was stolen from the kingdom for a special purpose. Some call it the Blade of the Throne,” he looked at Mariana, “but others know it by the inscription it bears: Blue Fire. Forged countless centuries ago, and handed down from king to king, it is a marvel like no other, nor can there ever be another like it. Its elements are unknown in any of the world’s kingdoms; I would venture to guess that some men would quest a lifetime to have it.” And he politely held out the blade for his host to inspect. Burlu took it hungrily.

  “Magnificent,” he gasped in awe. “Blue Fire, you say? What is its meaning?”

  The beggar smiled. “Perhaps one day you will hear of it, good haj. For now, though, I cannot say. Forgive me.”

  “I understand, my friend. I shall not pry into its secrets.” He fondled the blade gently, admiring the craftsmanship, the sparkling jewels inlaid in the scabbard. “Ah, I envy you,” he said truthfully. “I see that your prize is more than just a scepter of kings; my own words cannot do it justice. But tell me, how came this into your keeping?”

  The beggar’s eyes glowed as strongly as the jewels. “The dagger is mine and mine by right,” he said. “Handed to me by my father and before that to him by his father. Only our family know and understand its use and meanings. Since my father has died I alone claim its ownership … though others, I fear, would deny me my heritage.”

  Mariana listened, reflecting on the riddle he had posed for her to solve and recalling its enigmatic solution. And then she suddenly knew and understood. It was fantastic; incredible. She dared not believe—yet she dared not doubt. “Then you must be,” she whispered, “the true descendant of the royal lovers … the cousins who survived when Speca was conquered.”

  “Aye,” chimed in Ramagar, now grasping the matter for himself. “You are yourself a prince—and the heir to Speca’s lost throne!”

  The stranger bowed his head graciously, placing his hands in a pyramid and touching his fingertips to his forehead.

  “I am my father’s son, master thief. First in line to our throne and the reclaiming of my kingdom and all its usurped lands. Now you all understand the urgency of my task; why I cannot delay even a single day while bondage and suffering bleed my people as well as my heart. And by the will of the Fates I shall succeed in this long, difficult quest. Succeed in all this, and more.”

  “No wonder you were willing to die to regain the dagger,” said Ramagar with perception. “Without it you would have no proof of your heritage.”

  “Rightly so. Without the scimitar I am like a sailor bereft of a ship. A herder without a staff. Or,” he grinned, “a thief without cunning. But with the blade I can do many things; in my grasp will be the power to lead my people from their oppression.”

  “Well put, gentle Prince,” said the haj. Then he looked at his guest with a perplexed stare and sincere worry in his eyes. “Your cause is as noble as any I have ever heard. And only a man pure of heart and soul would even contemplate taking on the task. But I fear that living up to these ambitions will be far harder than speaking of them tonight. Are you not one man alone? And do you not face, by your own admission, a force of men who will be more than eager to get their hands on Speca’s last true surviving prince? What of these black arts your adversaries so skillfully practice? Recall—this magic brought your whole empire to its knees, slaughtered your people, made wreckage of your fleets and your royal family. Is this not so?”

  “I have never claimed that my task would be an easy one,” the beggar prince replied gloomily. “The barbarians have turned my land into one so forebidding that men who hear my tale sometimes recoil in terror at the spoken word. To this day mariners who pass Speca’s shores are said to quiver and pray until the dark coast is a hundred leagues from sight—and even then they speak, of it only in whispers.”

  “Yet still you are not deterred?” said the haj with some amazement.

  “Nothing can deter me. Tell me, are you not willing to fight for your own homes, if you must? Good haj, if bandits swooped down from the mountains and claimed all your land, your swine, your sheep, your tents, would you not face them boldly and fight?”

  Burlu nodded firmly. “What man would not? But your own plight is very different, I fear.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned in closer to his guest. His lips were pursed and he rubbed
his palms in a slow, circular motion. “Ah, good friend. We know each other not. But now I speak to you as though I were your father and you my favorite son. Give up these dreams to regain the throne. There is only a cold and lonely grave that can wait at the end of your journey. Death and death alone.”

  “Too many voices from the past cry out to me, haj,” sighed the beggar Prince. “I cannot turn from them. They count on me to free my people, and what is a king but the servant of his flock? A humble servant.”

  Mariana put her hand to the Prince’s shoulder in a sisterly fashion, her eyes pleading and distraught. “We are your friends,” she told him with a ring of sincerity in her voice. “And the haj is right, you know. When your journey is finally complete and you have reached the land where the sun never shines, what will you do? How will you overcome the fearful odds against you? Banish these black powers from your kingdom? You must be a very brave and noble man to do what you say you must. But I am frightened for you. You are a man alone, with no one to share your burden.”

  All were silent for a time. The haj leaned forward and handed back the scimitar to the Prince in rags. The Prince took it without a word and stared sullenly at his fabulous prize.

  “Speca had many allies once upon a time,” he said at length. “I will seek out the boldest of them and try to bring them under my banner. Once they believe who I am, understand the worthiness of my cause, perhaps together we shall find a way …”

  “And do these allies from days past know of your kingdom’s fate?” asked Ramagar.

  The Prince sighed. “They know it well. They have seen the dark enemy and given them a name: Druids. Men of Shadows. The land of my allies lies perilously close to Speca’s own shores. It would be best for them to aid me in ridding the world of this scourge.”

  “Are they themselves knowledgeable in such black sorcery as the Druids possess?” asked the haj. The Prince shook his head ruefully, and the haj added, “Then have they armies so vast and strong that they can overcome Druid magic?”

  Again the woeful Prince was forced to admit they did not.

  “Then why should they fight for you? Surely they must know their own land will suffer for such folly. They will likely as not be forced to share Speca’s fate.”

  The Prince sat thoughtfully, then said, “Perhaps not. The bonds between our peoples once ran strong; but I will offer far more than the memory of our ancient friendship. I intend to offer them wealth in return for their assistance—wealth beyond belief. Enough gold and jewels to fill every purse and every coffer. The riches of Kalimar and all the Eastern Kingdoms combined would look pale when compared to what I am offering.”

  Ramagar’s brow knitted with surprise. “And you actually have all this wealth to offer?”

  The Prince met the thief’s steady gaze. “I do, my friend. All that and even more, I promise. Each and every man who will join my cause shall return home in the style and luxury of an Eastern king. He will want for nothing until his dying day.”

  The haj whistled. “Soldiers of fortune are easy enough to find,” he observed. “Indeed, Kalimar’s cities are filled with them. For what you will pay I daresay you could raise an entire army overnight. And a loyal one to boot, though all the black power be arrayed against you. Greed is blind to danger.”

  The thief of Kalimar stirred restlessly upon his cushion, and Mariana was well aware of the thoughts running wildly through his mind. “If you have all you claim,” she said bluntly to the Prince, “then why are you not followed by a legion? Why do you travel alone and in the guise of a beggar? A man of such riches should be leading a worldwide crusade, his cause renowned in every land.”

  The yellow-haired pretender folded his arms and sighed. “I think, my friends, that you misunderstand me. I travel alone because 1 must—”

  “Then you have no money?”

  He shook his head. “Not a penny. But wait—the riches I spoke of are real enough. Remember that Speca in her glory was the envy of every nation. In the palace storerooms alone are so much gold, so much silver, so many priceless artifacts that a hundred scribes could spend their lives in making the tally. You have all seen the scimitar I carry. The fortune I offer could buy a thousand of them. Ten thousand. We need only win back this wealth from the Druids and set Speca free. My people would call it a fair bargain indeed. A slave dreams not of gold or jewels—only his freedom.”

  The haj frowned. “Soldiers of fortune fight only for cash. The jingle of coins in their pockets.”

  “So I have learned,” ruminated the Prince. “I have been laughed at, called a madman, a fool, been cursed with the foulest oaths men can utter.” His shoulders sank and a weary look came to his eyes. “Not a man in all my travels has considered my cause worthy enough to risk his life for. Nor even for the promise of a fortune. As you said, dear Mariana, I am a man alone …”

  “No!” came the cry, and Homer bounded to his feet, tears flowing down his face. “You are not alone! No longer! I will accompany you, I shall be at your side always!”

  The Prince looked up at his faithful young friend and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Homer. Your offer means more to me than I can tell, because you give it out of love. But alas, I cannot ask it. What the haj and Mariana have said are simple truths. My road is far too perilous to allow you to travel it at my side.”

  “You won’t stop me,” cried the boy. “We made a bargain, you and I; that where you went, I would follow.”

  “True enough,” replied the Prince in rags. “But only until our paths are forced to part. When we reach the sea—”

  “I will be at your side,” the boy interrupted firmly. “I want to fight for your cause. I want to assist you in setting your land free.”

  “He is but a child,” Mariana said sadly.

  “I was man enough to risk my head to set Ramagar free!” Homer rejoined angrily. “I am a child of the Jandari. My will is my own, my life to decide for myself.”

  “He is right, you know,” said Ramagar, looking first to Mariana and then to the Prince. “Take him. A boy such as he has no future in Kalimar or any of her nearby kingdoms. But with you he will learn and become a man to be proud of. Who knows, perhaps the two of you may even succeed in your quest…”

  The Prince nodded with understanding. A street urchin in Kalimar was no more than so much rubbish. If nothing else, the quest to regain Speca would give the boy a sense of purpose, a pride in himself that he had never had before. Even a reason for living. And it was better to die fighting for a cause, if it came to that, than to rot in some hopeless dungeon.

  “All right, then,” said the Prince. He looked at Homer and grinned. “I shall take you with me when we sail. And this much I vow: that when my kingdom is redeemed I will not forget your help. From urchin to prince shall be your destiny. Homer: foreign-born prince of Speca.”

  The boy sat, silently weeping with happiness.

  “I am glad at least that much is settled,” said the haj with relief. “And what of the two of you?” he asked Mariana and Ramagar. “Where do your own travels lead? Will you also journey to distant lands, or perhaps one day return to Kalimar?”

  Ramagar hung his head. “I will be honest with you, haj,” he said. “I can never return to Kalimar. I am a wanted man, although falsely accused. Proving my innocence is impossible.” He glanced up at the girl and smiled. “Neither Mariana nor myself can ever go home again.”

  “We seek a new life, haj,” added the girl. “Just a simple life. One where we can live freely and spend our years together.”

  Burlu was touched by her sincerity. The fact that her lover was an accused criminal did not disturb him in the least. As a hill man it was none of his concern; he would never speak of it. But more than that, he knew of the city and its evil doings; knew that even a good, pure man could find himself forced to crime. The haj would cast no blame.

  “So where will you go, then?”

  Mariana shrugged. “We have no firm course to follow. Thus far we have traveled with th
e Prince, and shall probably continue to do so at least until we reach the sea.”

  The haj hid a small frown. “And then?”

  “Wherever the Fates may will,” answered the thief. “I had thought about sailing for southern lands, but those places are not for bringing a wife. Maybe we shall go north. I have heard tell of sheep country beyond the Great Divide. A land of peace and serenity.”

  Burlu listened patiently, all the while nervously tugging at his finger ring. “I wonder if I might be bold,” he said at length. “I know we are still mostly strangers to each other, but I feel I know you both like my own children. There is plenty of land in these hills. Land I own and that I have no need for. True, much is barren, but a hard-working man can make a go of it, if he tries. Maybe,” he smiled, “even become a haj. What say you? Would you accept such an offer?”

  “A most gracious offer!” cried Mariana, flushing with emotion. “We are deeply, deeply honored. But …” She looked away so she couldn’t see his eyes. “But we cannot accept. These lands are still within the dominion of Kalimar. Soldiers will come looking for us sooner or later. And then it will be you they’ll come after. The penalty for harboring a fugitive from justice is death.”