Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Read online

“Your wife?”

  “No, the trip.”

  “What a peculiar manner of speech,” said Kwadil, as he vanished into the night.

  “I will never get it,” muttered Balid. “I have known him for over twenty years, and I still do not get it. Dwarfish grammar doesn’t make sense.”

  Early the next morning, Foosh and Balid went aboard the Noonoh. The seventeen trunks filled with their choicest carpets went through customs and were loaded into the cargo bay of the tri-mast.

  So it was, on Tébêt 2, 1141, that Balid, the carpet merchant, and his wife, Foosh, spirited Ahiram out of Fineekia to sell him as a slave in Tanniin.

  “I sure hope we make it in time for the Games of the Mines,” said Balid. “We’ve got to sell those carpets now.”

  “Don’t you worry, Balid,” said Foosh. “We will.”

  “The Games of the Mines were a great invention of the Kingdom of Tanniin, preserving their national pride and identity. Year after year, the Games reenacted El-Windiir’s victory, and year after year, the team from Baal won, reminding the Tanniinites that Baal was their master and they, his servants. To this end, Baal sent the finest juniors of the High Riders to win the Games.”

  –Teachings of Oreg, High Priest of Baal

  “To the Games!”

  Thunderous applause closed the inaugural speech of King Jamiir III of Tanniin on the eve of the Games of the Mines. The King smiled obsequiously, opened his arms, and gave a curt bow imbued with feigned humility. He raised his cup, surveying the guests fortunate enough to be admitted into the Royal Hall. The remaining 2,637 guests were confined to the Royal Garden, the lower hall on the first floor, and the middle hall on the second. The total number being exactly 2,929, to honor the span of years since El-Windiir, the kingdom’s founder, fought the Lord of the Pit in the Wars of Meyroon.

  “And now, dear friends, let us make merry. Let there be dancing and rejoicing on the eve of the great Games of the Mines.”

  Elliptical in shape, the Royal Hall was oriented east to west to honor Tanniin from the rising sun to its setting. The massive, vaulted ceiling held a masterpiece of dwarfish craftsmanship: a sun-shaped, alabaster-plated keystone—five feet in diameter—studded with two thousand diamonds. With its twelve gold sunrays sprawled over the white vault, the keystone shimmered like an inner sun. The high ceiling rested on twenty-four columns surrounding a gleaming dance floor large enough for seven hundred guests. Their bases of beaten bronze and hemmed, silver-fluted shafts rose to the capitals, where the ruby-eyed faces of kings long past cast an introspective gaze upon the guests below.

  Twenty silver chains held a bronze lattice over the dance floor. Resembling the inverted frame of a ship’s hull, it was the largest candelabrum ever conceived, holding eight hundred and sixty candles lighting the room as if in bright daylight.

  Two additional columns of wider girth stood: one in the western corner behind the King’s throne, and the other in the eastern corner. Marble-covered, each held a gold statue of Tanniin with his legs curled around the shaft and his neck lunging over the candelabrum with open jaws beneath ruby-red eyes gleaming in the light, while his wings fanned over the crowd in a protective gesture. Unlike Baal and Yem, Tanniin frowned upon revelries, and these two statues were a constant reminder to all of the god’s wrath upon wanton behavior.

  In the space between the columns and the back wall, the musicians sat busily tuning their instruments. Behind them, guests who chose not to dance were mingling. An arched wooden double door led to the marble balcony outside. The door was flanked by eight lancet stone arches with strip moldings of rosewood and oak. Across the dance floor, an identical double door opened to a wide corridor from which one could glimpse the glittering dark walls of the Lone Tower.

  Between every pair of windows stood a table laden with dishes to satisfy every whim and fancy.

  King Jamiir extended his white-gloved hand to Queen Ramel and the large hall fell silent. The rulers of Tanniin formed a striking couple. He was of fair complexion, skinny and freckled, with a receding hairline over a hawkish nose and a thin curled-up moustache. She was olive skinned with shoulder-length, straight, black hair parted midway and studded with pearls. A high forehead and deer-like, black eyes over a pair of thin lips that rarely smiled, gave her the conceited air of a perennially young goddess gracing the land of mortals by her presence.

  He wore a white, satin shirt hanging loosely over linen tights with rubies stitched along their outer seam. She wore a purple, sheath dress of alternating ruby-studded, velvet and silk strands. A large freeze adorned the King’s neck, while the draped neck of the Queen’s dress, inlaid with white pearls, was fronted by one large diamond. His crown was of dark iron in imitation of meyroon, the rare and precious metal of legends—so elusive, that even the King did not possess it. His shoulder signets were two pairs of gold wings. A thin silver chain held the felt sheath of his inoffensive sword. This matched a pair of fur-lined bootees which mimicked El-Windiir’s shoes of bronze. She wore a triple-band, gold crown inlaid with four emerald tears and long silk purple gloves with matching leather boots.

  Delicately, Queen Ramel placed her hand on the King’s and walked with him to the dance floor. Her dress shimmered as if she were a creature of light. They stood apart facing each other and waited for their guests to join them. Elders from the neighboring, western kingdoms of Togofalk and Oronoque, in their white saris patched with pastel tones, were the first to come forward. They were closely followed by the dark-skinned guests from Quibanxe, Edfu, and Kemet—each wearing a dozen thick serpentine chains of gold over their bright red and green saris. In contrast, the northerners from the kingdoms of Thermodon, Var-Kun, Bar Tannic, and even from the northernmost reaches of Val Halon favored tunics of interwoven fur and wool, studded with beads of black onyx. Their long, blond tresses were threaded with thin strands of silver, and the soles of their leather boots rang joyfully on the immaculate silver floor.

  Those that hailed from the eastern kingdoms of Mycene, Teshub, Mitani, and Uratu came in their traditional caftans and boubous, with earthy tones of warm summer and glorious fall. The men of the faraway Kingdom of Atlant, nearly nine thousand miles away, wore brown, leather vests, pants, and white linen shirts over pointy, black boots. The women wore long, sheath dresses in cream-colored leather with matching jewelry and sandals. Last to join the dance were two couples moving in graceful layers of silk, swaying silently with the fluidity of water as if they had emerged from a primordial springtime of youth. They hailed from Ophir, the most powerful and wealthiest kingdom outside Baal’s dominion, which lay at the southern edge of the land.

  The orchestra of twenty lyres, six cymbals, ten flutes, and four sitars started playing. King Jamiir bowed gracefully and the Queen smiled as they opened the Naddah, a dance known in most royal houses.

  And they all danced. An Adorant’s smile, thought Bahiya observing the Queen. She was referring to the feared order of women serving Baal with their voices. No man could resist their songs or gaze into their eyes too long without becoming their willing slave. The Temple used the Adorant mostly to cement the loyalty of the High Riders and the army, but these feared servants had other uses as well, darker powers which Bahiya preferred not to think about.

  She stood close to the throne in the western corner wearing a beige, satin dress that covered her from head to toe. Her hair was held in a simple high ponytail, and a strand of pearls was the only piece of jewelry she wore. Despite her austere countenance, she looked cheerful and festive next to the man behind her. Six-feet-three inches tall, broad shouldered and muscular, Commander Tanios stood, hands behind his back, surveying the dance floor as if it were a battleground. His steely-blue eyes beneath thick eyebrows were cast in a face chiseled from flint, which wavy, black hair held in a ponytail could not soften. He wore the Silent’s uniform: a crewneck sweater over a pair of pants, both covered with a seemingly random pattern of different shades of green, brown, and black patches. The pant cuffs fit tightl
y around the ankles over a pair of soft leather, black boots. The strange pattern helped the Silent move unseen, even in daylight. Silk strands, judiciously mixed with the linen, added a confusing shine and gave the garment a semblance of fragility.

  Commander Tanios would have dressed in more appropriate clothing for the occasion, but the King had sent for him two weeks ago and asked him to personally watch over Bahiya as commander of the Silent Corps.

  “The high priestess of the Temple of Baalbeck?” the commander asked, taken aback. “Why should she cross twenty-five hundred miles to attend the Games? Are there no priests of Baal in Mycene? Are they all on vacation, or better yet, dead?”

  The King sighed, tapping his index finger impatiently on his throne. “I need you to find out for me why the Temple is sending the powerful Bahiya to the Games.”

  “Could it be the slave’s participation?” asked the commander.

  The King shook his head. “I highly doubt it. The Temple dispatches slaves routinely, my dear Tanios. Frankly, that is why I consented to this silly idea of yours. I appoint you as her personal bodyguard from the moment she sets foot on the kingdom’s soil, to the moment she is on the ship and headed back to the Fineekian shores.”

  Grim-faced and tight-lipped, the commander now stood next to the high priestess of Baalbeck while the music played. Bahiya’s glance lingered for a moment over Hiyam’s slender frame. How she has grown, she thought as her daughter moved gracefully on the dance floor with her partner, Prince Olothe. Now, he is something else altogether, she thought with contained disgust.

  Olothe’s long, silky hair flowed gently as he fawned over Hiyam, his black sari glittering with diamond fragments. His black beard, black eyes, and black hair contrasted violently with his bleached skin creating an eerie impression of the walking dead. Hiyam wore a bertha-collared, white shirt with three-quarter length, puff sleeves over a light-blue, gored skirt, and a pair of gilded leather thongs. Her hair cascaded in dark, wide locks, and she wore a tiara with a single diamond.

  She looks lovely, thought Bahiya misty-eyed, and she shuddered when she tried to imagine her daughter’s betrothal to Prince Olothe. It was a marriage of convenience, to give Hiyam access to the wealth she would need to complete her formation in Babylon. Olothe was rich, greedy, and conveniently ambitious. Like fools who thought they could tame a high priestess’ daughter and use her to gain access to a power they craved, he would end up as her daughter’s driveling servant. On the night of the wedding, when he would come running to her chamber, an Adorant would be waiting to turn him into the willing instrument that Hiyam would need for her ascendancy in the order of the Temple.

  “I wish for you to go to Tanniin,” Sharr, the high priest of Babylon, had told Bahiya. “I am counting on your expertise to handle three delicate matters. First, the good King Jamiir has not delivered Tanniin into our hands. You will assist him in completing this task. Second, our informants have told us that representatives from the Kingdom of Ophir will be in Tanniin. My niece, Ramel, does not believe the King instigated this. Find out what these representatives want, and why. Lastly, the good King has allowed a slave, who is also a Silent, to take part in the Games of the Mines. I am certain the irony does not escape you. Dispose of the slave discreetly and stop these Games. Do this, and your entrance into the Inner Circle is assured.”

  Bahiya shivered. The Inner Circle was Baal’s circle of power. Priests and priestesses belonging to the circle saw what no one else could see and wielded a power most men and women craved. This would be the culmination of her career, the peak she had longed for.

  From the corner of her eye, Bahiya glimpsed a moving shadow. Turning away from the dance floor, she saw a Silent approaching. He could not have been more than six feet tall, but his stride was powerful, his stance assured, as if he was cresting a dark storm, dragging it wherever he went. He surveyed the hall, claiming the world for himself, and leaning against a column, he crossed his arms in an act of self-assured defiance. The thick locks of his auburn, curly hair fell untidily around his face, and his hazel eyes, which seemed gentle at first, burned with a fire she had never seen before. A wave of fear washed over her—sudden, unnatural.

  As guardians of the King, every Silent was on duty this night. This Silent would not be standing here unless he is the slave taking part in the Games, thought Bahiya.

  Before reaching the shores of Tanniin, she had told Prince Olothe she would give him her daughter’s hand if he could take care of the slave quickly and discreetly. The prince nearly laughed at her, and only a modicum of self-control saved his life. Obsequiously, he then assured her that he would get rid of the slave, and she had felt she could focus on the two most pressing matters: the King and the Ophirian representatives. However, now that she saw the slave, doubt lodged itself in her mind like a worm. Bahiya knew this doubt all too well. The familiar angst turned her palms sweaty and constricted her breathing. This acute and unreasoned fear had always been for her the harbinger of failure. She glanced at Olothe and immediately regretted having done so, for she knew the commander was observing her and would pick up on her glance. She bit her lower lip and regretted that too, as she instinctively knew he noticed this as well. Bahiya chided herself for having revealed so much to the commander, for he must have guessed by now that Olothe would dispose of the slave. The high priestess slowed her breathing and regained her composure. The slave turned sideways, looking behind him, and she winced. A lone eagle’s feather was embroidered on his right shoulder: the Solitary’s insignia, the highest rank a Silent could achieve.

  Olothe will fail,” Bahiya thought with absolute certainty. The prince was a brute, using his cruelty as a substitute for skills, but he was no match for the drive of a Solitary. Few could face a Solitary and prevail, especially when they had trained under Tanios.

  The dance ended to the guests’ applause. The King bowed once more, and his shadow slithered beneath him as he walked toward the Queen.

  Like a trembling snake, thought Ahiram, leaning against a column next to the northern door. He came late and had missed the King’s address. No one will notice anyway, for no one notices a slave. He crossed his arms, a sad smile on his face. Tébêt 4, 1197, the Festival of Light. They must be preparing to celebrate in Baher-Ghafé, he thought. It was also his birthday, a fact he chose to ignore for fear of stirring deeply buried emotions. Looking for a distraction, he surveyed the audience, trying to locate Bahiya, the high priestess of the Temple of Baal. He saw her standing by Commander Tanios. Both were looking at the King.

  Six years had come and gone since Master Kwadil had brought him to this strange land. Six years as a slave in the Kingdom of Tanniin. Six years of intense training as a Silent. Six years ago it was his twelfth birthday. Today, it was his birthday again. He was standing amid strangers, far away from the tender light of his sister Hoda and the reassuring voices of his mother and father. All he had wanted was to catch a shark, but instead, he ended up in the jaws of another shark: the dwarf Kwadil, who brought him to this faraway land and sold him as a slave to Commander Tanios. Though his status was that of a slave, Commander Tanios treated him as his own son and taught him everything he knew. Tonight, Ahiram stood at the threshold of freedom. The Games of the Mines were his chance to be set free.

  Once more, the music filled the hall as the King and his guests stepped onto the dance floor. Ramel the Queen smiled her dazzling smile, and Ahiram averted his eyes.

  “Baal needs to keep his grip on Tanniin,” Commander Tanios had explained. “Our kingdom is the key to the north. If it slips away from the iron grip of Baal, the entire north will follow suit. Our beloved King, who, by the way, is not of the direct lineage of El-Windiir, was asked to marry Ramel, the niece of the high priest of Babylon. Stay away from the Queen; do not let her notice you.”

  Ahiram wondered why Tanios disliked the Temple so much. After all, Baal brought peace and prosperity to the whole land. Baal symbolized order and discipline, two virtues Tanios possessed to an
eminent degree. His commander’s mistrust of the Temple did not make much sense to him. Granted, the Kingdom of Tanniin was dedicated to the dragon Tanniin who, the legend says, was exiled to the Realm of the Void by Baal. As a whole, the Tanniinites resented Baal’s grip. King Jamiir, who considered himself a skilled diplomat, was content with the prevailing peace, which was tenuous at best. Nearly everyone else considered him to be a weak monarch, and some went as far as to think that he was an outright traitor.

  “Be very careful when you speak to the high priestess,” Tanios had told him. “She is cunning and her knowledge of the kingdom is outstanding. She is very familiar with our legends, songs, and even our prophecies. In fact, it was she who introduced Ramel to Jamiir and arranged for their betrothal. She is also an accomplished athlete, but most of all, her magical power is great. The less contact you have with her the better.”

  Nearby laughter broke Ahiram’s reflection. He glanced sideways at a group of young men and women to his left. He looked at the young woman with long, dark hair, who was standing among them, and he recognized her easily. She was Hiyam, the daughter of Bahiya, the high priestess of Baal. Hiyam was as slender and as beautiful as her mother. Some thought she surpassed her mother’s beauty. For Ahiram, Hiyam meant trouble of a different kind—her team of players from Baal was his most dangerous opponent in the Games of the Mines. Suddenly, Hiyam looked at him, and Ahiram immediately lowered his gaze, for it was not proper for a slave to look at a guest in the eyes. The laughter died. He heard a whisper followed by a hushed “ah.” The group moved away. Ahiram smiled.

  Hiyam and her team were favored to win these Games. It was an outstanding team that had the blessing of the King. Jamiir did not pay much attention to Ahiram’s participation. Had the King thought Ahiram stood a chance to win the Games, he would have forbidden his participation. As far as the King was concerned, Hiyam had to win. It meant peace with Baal.