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

by Graham Diamond

  There was a loud crunching noise, then a soft grinding that sounded like a moan. “We’ve struck!” shouted Ramagar, positive that the Vulture was now aground and totally helpless against the onslaught.

  “Gates of hell!” came the haj’s voice rising above the din. “Not us, man! Them! It’s the Dragon Ship! Look!”

  It was then that Mariana saw a sight she would never for get. The Dragon Ship had come to a total stop, and was sinking like a leaden weight.

  “She’s struck the reefs and can’t keep afloat!” cried a jubilant Captain Osari. “Just look at her! She can’t float!”

  Slowly, painfully slowly, the monster ship had begun to tilt. Mariana could clearly see her sailors rushing about frantically, their red eyes flaming, panic-stricken as they realized what bad happened.

  Osari had proved the master. He had purposely taken the larger vessel on a chase through the least navigable channel available, hoping against all hope that the massive craft would run aground somewhere along the way. And that was exactly what had happened. The Dragon Ship’s awesome bulk had hit a canyon of hidden rock beneath the waterline, shattering its hull. For all of its speed, for all of its terrible war machines, the ship had proved vulnerable after all. Now she was floundering, taking on water like a bloated barrel, leaking it like a sieve, while her frame cracked and broke before her crew’s astonished eyes.

  “Trim the sails!” called Osari to his stunned sailors. The Vulture lurched forward, zigging and zagging between the reefs, cleanly pulling away from the stranded vessel. Osari laughed boisterously while grim Night-Watchers stared and shook angry fists.

  Soon all that could be seen of the indestructible Druid ship was its quivering red glow; that would finally be extinguished when the boat slipped beneath the murky waters.

  Captain Osari came bounding from the bridge, a delighted grin on his face.

  “Incredible!” wheezed the haj, scratching his head in wonder. “A minute more and we’d have been done for!”

  Osari chuckled good-naturedly. “A sailor never gives up, my friend. Especially a mariner from the North. Eh, Argyle?” And he winked at the dour lord of Aran.

  “Never mind,” chided Mariana, recalling just how close to death they had all come. “You didn’t look so confident ten minutes ago.”

  “Well, maybe not,” conceded the captain with a shrug. “Still, it was a merry fight while it lasted.” His eyes crinkled with his mirth while he glanced behind at the dimming glow. Then suddenly his smile had faded, replaced by a frown. “It’s not going to be very long before another Dragon Ship heads this way on patrol,” he said. “And next time we might not be as fortunate.”

  Ramagar set his gaze toward land. “Then we’d better get a move on,” he said.

  The Prince nodded gloomily and stuck out his hand to the captain. “You have more than fulfilled your part of the bargain,” he said. “We are grateful. But there isn’t much time to spare …”

  “Aye,” Osari replied thoughtfully. “We’d best be quick.” And he shouted for his men to ready one of the skiffs.

  “What will you do after we leave?” asked Mariana.

  The mariner smiled. “Run back into the mist as fast as we can, I should think. The same way we came in, if possible.”

  The haj furrowed his brow. “And you’ll wait for our signal?”

  “Precisely as we discussed. You have my word on it. We’ll stand in these waters as long as we can, waiting for your beacon. Then we’ll come to shore and get you out,” he looked to Argyle, “perhaps with a fleet of Aran’s ships behind.”

  “Once the black clouds begin to swirl, Aran will know of your success,” Argyle told them all. “And my people won’t let you down. You can count on that as well…”

  “Good,” said the Prince, and after a few words of parting he made his way toward the skiff, where supplies were already being loaded.

  Mariana stood on her toes and kissed Captain Osari warmly. “Goodbyes are too tearful,” she said. “So for now, good friend, farewell. We’ll meet again soon.”

  The sailor flushed and grinned. “I’m certain of it, Mariana. Good luck.” He pinched her cheek, and turning to Ramagar, took the thief’s hand with a powerful grasp. “Take good care of her, my friend. She’s priceless.”

  Ramagar smiled, hiding his sorrow at the parting. “I will. And take good care of yourself. We’ll have need of your services again.”

  Captain Osari’s own smile deepened. “I hope so. Now hurry, time is pressing.”

  The Prince and Homer had already taken their places on the farthest of roughly hewn slat benches; the haj lent a hand to Mariana, and with his arm around her sat down on the second. Just as Ramagar was about to take his own place a hand grasped firm hold of his shoulder. It was Argyle.

  “I am coming also,” said the burly lord of Aran.

  The tiny band of adventurers stared at him with surprise. “But your part of the bargain is done,” said Mariana. “You have successfully guided us to shore. Now isn’t your wish to return to Aran?”

  The sea warrior smiled thinly. “Aran needs me far less than you, my friends. And I think perhaps I can be of special value.” He fondled the handle of his great ax.

  “You will be of invaluable service,” said the Prince, as he stood to make a place for the Aranian to sit. “Come, Argyle, share our company and our fortunes.”

  Argyle grinned, and tossing his cloak behind with a quick turn of his hand, sat and took hold of the oars.

  The skiff was silently lowered into the dark, forebidding waters. Slowly Argyle rowed them away from the Vulture. From his post Captain Osari watched until they had disappeared. Then with a deep sigh he turned his back and made ready to sail. His heart was with them in that leaky skiff, his heart and all his thoughts. But the knowledge of what they must face, the trials they would surely endure, made him certain that he would never see any of them again.

  18

  A small, half-moon-shaped inlet loomed straight ahead as Argyle’s strong strokes swiftly took them to shore. High cliffs hung menacingly on one side; deadened stumps of what had once been mighty and proud trees dotted the low, sharply slanting hills on the other.

  There was no grass growing anywhere, only clumps of weed and moss, twisted and colorless, that had somehow managed to grow without benefit of sunlight. Beyond the inlet a broad sweep of mountains fanned one end of the horizon to the other, beautiful mountains, high and stoic, capped with thin layers of snow near the summits. But in the pervasive gloom of the Eternal Dark the mountains seemed to sag, as though they had been weighted down by the burden of night, never to breathe again, never to feel their soil enriched by the warmth of the sun. They stood dormant in a land without color.

  The sky itself was a canvas of darkness. Low-hanging clouds, thick and threatening, varying in shades from gray to charcoal, scudded rapidly across the peaks and down into the valleys. And above them were more clouds, equally as heavy, equally as depressing. The overall sight was one of total gloom, so depressing that even the Prince cringed as his gaze swept the rugged scape. It was a place like no other, destitute and forlorn, with the only sound that of the wind, a low and mournful howl creeping down from distant dales, crying, begging to see the light of day just once more. It was a grim and unhappy land, and it tore at the hearts of the strangers about to set foot on its soil.

  The sea wind still had a bite to it, although the inlet’s protection sharply curtailed its ferocity. Mariana sucked in her breath as the skiff grated against an arc of sand at the base of the hills. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as with a mixture of excitement and fear she stared up at the racing banks of black clouds hurrying inland. From the distance came a low rumble of thunder, and she knew that their landing would soon be marred by rain.

  While Argyle silently drew in the oars, the Prince leaped from the boat and secured her fragile line beneath a rock. Then one by one they all got up and looked about.

  “Any idea where we are?” asked the thief
.

  Argyle’s eyes narrowed; he stared hard beyond the broad, barren fields set on a long plain nestled between the hills and the mountains. “Speca’s walls will be found to the east,” he grunted.

  “And the palace of the Druid king?” asked the girl.

  “We shall come to it soon enough. The Devil’s Tower can be sighted from leagues away.”

  The haj cleared his throat. “What, may I ask, is the Devil’s Tower?”

  “I can answer that,” said the Prince. “Long ago the Specian kings built a temple in reverence to the Fates. Unfinished at the time of Speca’s demise, the tower had already risen to heights undreamed of by the world’s architects. Fully completed, it would have been a monument so colossal that the highest mountain would have seemed small by comparison …”

  Mariana, blew the air out of her mouth in contemplation of such an awesome structure. “It would rise right into the sky itself!” she exclaimed in wonder.

  The Prince nodded darkly. “Yes, and into the black clouds themselves. Into the Eternal Dark.”

  The dancing girl shivered. “Let’s stay as far away from that as we can,” she said.

  The Prince shook his head. “If I am right,” he told them all, “then the Devil’s Tower is precisely the place we must find. For there may rest our only chance of dispelling the night.”

  Ramagar sighed. “Well, wherever we have to go, there’s no point in staying here.” He put out the palm of his hand and a raindrop splashed. “Come on, let’s collect our gear.”

  Homer leaned over the side of the skiff to pick up the bundles of blankets and provisions.

  “AH-CHOO!”

  Mariana heard the sneeze. Looking at Homer, she said, “Bless you!”

  The youth stared back at her, perplexed. “But I didn’t sneeze,” he protested.

  Mariana smiled. “Of course you did. I heard you.”

  Homer shook his head. “It wasn’t me …”

  The girl looked sharply at her companions, and one by one they all shook their heads.

  “AH-CHOO!”

  Homer’s hand tugged the blanket away from the stores, and he gasped at what he saw. Huddled beside the boxes of food and weapons a slight figure of a man drew away, seemingly trying to slither unnoticed under the nearest slat bench.

  Mariana groaned. “It’s Oro!”

  The hunchback lifted his head and smiled wanly at the angry faces pressing in at him.

  “And what are you doing here?” demanded the thief.

  Oro stood meekly, with his knees shaking. “I—I was hiding from the Dragon Ship,” he said unconvincingly. “I thought it would be the only way I could escape—”

  “He’s lying,” growled Ramagar. “More likely he still thinks he can wrest the scimitar away from us and do some double-dealing with the Druids himself.”

  Oro stuck out his hands, palms upward, and shook them nervously. “No, no! Please, believe me!”

  “Let me have him,” growled the haj. “I’ll get the truth out of him yet!” He turned to Argyle and reached for the ax. “May I?”

  The lord of Aran smiled wickedly. “My pleasure, good haj.”

  The hunchback paled and backed up, tripping as he stumbled into the provisions. The haj drew menacingly closer, holding the weapon with both hands. “Well?” he asked.

  Oro was shaking all over. “All right! All right! You win! I was plotting to steal the blade …”

  “As usual,” commented Mariana dryly. Then she looked at the thief and the Prince.

  Ramagar threw up his hands in exasperation.

  “Shall I remove his head, and settle the matter once and for all?” said the haj.

  Although as angry as the others, the Prince was also somewhat bemused. Oro’s gall and tenacity had been a thorn in their sides for so long that life without him would somehow seem lacking.

  “We might as well let him alone,” he said.

  “And leave him here to scheme against us?” rattled Ramagar, aghast. “The sneak’s been listening to every word we’ve been saying!”

  “It seems to be either that or taking him along with us again,” observed the dancing girl.

  The thief heaved a sigh and looked to the Prince, who merely shrugged in reply. “All right,” Ramagar grunted after a hasty moment’s decision making. “Perhaps it is best if we do take him with us. Just so that we can keep our eyes on him.”

  With a mutter and a frown the haj returned the ax to Argyle. Then he shook an angry finger at the trembling hunchback. “None of your tricks, mind you,” he warned severely. “Remember, we can always see to it that the Druids use you for target practice.” And the look in his eyes warned Oro that this was no empty threat.

  “I agree,” mumbled Oro.

  “Now can we get moving?” said the thief, scooping up supplies and stuffing them into the knapsacks Captain Osari had provided.

  The rain had begun as the small band gathered up their belongings, dragged the skiff safely out of sight behind some nearby rocks, then slowly began the trek, making their way first along the base of the hills and heading in the direction of the barren plain that would lead them to their destination.

  They had been on the move for less than an hour when Argyle, who had taken the lead, stopped, kneeled, and ran his fingers across scattered pebbles and mud. The tracks discovered were plain enough; horses had passed this way only recently. Druid soldiers, it was a fair bet, and an even better one that they would sooner or later pass this way again.

  Pressing on with growing concern, they skirted the path of the tracks and took a long route across a wide dale. Skeletons of trees, branches twisted and broken, swayed slowly in the wind. Shadows greeted them everywhere, enormous and shapeless, harmless perhaps, but a glum reminder of where they were and what the rest of the world could one day expect should the Druids grow restless.

  Whether the hour was day or night no one could tell; but they felt as though they had walked forever, and unless shelter were soon found they might well drop in the mud from exhaustion.

  Keen-eyed Argyle saved them from that fate. Cunningly surveying the land, he caught sight of a small grotto halfway up the face of a boulder-infested hillock. He led the way up the mound and everyone followed eagerly. Right now even a hole in the wall seemed a palace.

  The cavern proved low and narrow, but large enough to accommodate them all. Everyone stretched out wearily and amid long sighs prepared for a good rest. They could not build a fire for fear of its being seen by nearby patrols. Yet the grotto was warm and dry. That was enough. So here, sheltered from the starless sky of the Eternal Dark, they spent their first night in Speca.

  Mariana knew she was dreaming, but what a marvelous dream it was. There were golden sands beneath a hot summer sun, blue sky, the laughter of children running barefoot along the beach. Palm and date trees swayed in a gentle eastern breeze, and cool waves of an aquamarine sea swept softly onto the shore. She was walking along the beach, with Ramagar at her side holding her hand. Far away domes and spires glimmered in the morning light. She felt the rush of sea wind against her face and glowed with contentment. This place, wherever it was, could only be home. And she was safe at last.

  Home, she thought. Home!

  She woke abruptly, and the illusions shattered like glass. It was very cold in the bleak grotto and she rubbed at her arms as she sat up. Her companions were still fast asleep, Ramagar close by her side, his hand resting on her thigh.

  For a few minutes she sat motionless, listening to the strange noises caused by the ever-howling Northern winds outside. She mulled over recent events and wished to herself that this adventure would soon be over. Oh, it was not that she was unhappy with her new friends; quite the contrary. Nor even that her brushes with death made her question her reasons for coming in the first place. It was just that she was tired. Tired of running, tired of living from day to day. All she wanted was all she had ever wanted. A home, a family, and Ramagar. And right now, all of that seemed farther away than ever
.

  A small cough made her snap from these thoughts and cast her glance toward the mouth of the cavern. She had not noticed before, but the haj was also awake. He sat with his back resting lightly against the rough wall, his knees slightly up, and his arms buried within the folds of his flowing Eastern robe. He seemed as deeply lost in his own thoughts as Mariana had been in hers.

  The haj heard her soft shuffle as the girl got up quietly and, careful not to disturb the others, made her way over to sit by his side.

  “Is something the matter, Mariana?” he asked in a whisper. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she told him, smiling. “I woke up, that’s all.” She shifted her weight and made herself comfortable on the pebbly dirt. “But what about you? Why aren’t you fast asleep like the others?”

  “I rarely sleep much these days,” he replied with a sigh, and Mariana was sure she saw sorrow flicker in his eyes. “Perhaps it is because of age,” he went on after a moment of reflection. “At least some would say so.”

  Mariana dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. You’re not so old—”

  The haj smiled. “Old enough, at any rate. But you, Mariana, are so young. So very young…”

  “Over twenty,” she admitted.

  The haj’s smile deepened. “Ah, twenty. Yes, a good age. Let me see.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “At your age, if I recall properly, my own wife had already delivered my second child. My second son …” Burlu inhaled deeply and bobbed his head up and down as if to confirm his memory.

  “You must have been very proud of your sons.”

  The bejeweled haj twirled his finger ring and nodded. “Yes, very proud of them all. The first left home to sail the seas, you know. And never have I heard from him since. My third died while yet a youth, gored to death by a wild beast. He was a brave lad.” He shrugged, grew silent.