Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (27 page)

Abiil straightened up, glanced sideways at the tavern’s entrance, leaned over and whispered, “It’ll be easier than you think, master. You and your men can take the stairs, I’ll have men disguised as guards waiting for you. They will guide you to the Royal Hall. You depose the King and set the slave on the throne. Everyone will follow you. You’ll be the hero instead of that pampered slave.”

“Very well, my friend, but what if the troops of Baal prepare a little surprise of their own?”

“Do not worry, master,” continued Abiil, “I have spies among them: young, ambitious men who are easily blinded by a glimmer of gold. They keep me informed of Baal’s plans. I know when the Baalites come and when they go, when they sit and when they stand. I will alert you in case of danger.”

A moment went by when each of the men sipped their ale. The raucous ambience shielded them from eavesdroppers. Besides, the High Riders seldom ventured into this part of town. As an added security measure, Soloron had his men posted outside, ready to warn him in case of trouble. Abiil finished his beer and stood up.

“I had better go back before they notice my absence. The royal castle is full of men of Baal. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Very good, Abiil. You shall keep quiet, hmm?”

“Do not worry, master, I will be as quiet as a snake in the snow.” Abiil covered his head with his hood and left.

“This Abab-liil—” started Soloron’s brother. Frajil was also his assistant, a giant of a man whose stature alone was enough to open a passage for Soloron in the most crowded streets.

“Abiil,” corrected Soloron.

“… he sharpens the ax and hardens the wood.”

“You mean he is double-tongued?”

“Yeah, that too. I no like his head.”

“Do not worry, Frajil, after we make it to the top, his head will be so low that it will take a shovel to pick it up.”

The three men erupted in laughter and the massive frame of Frajil rocked the table so hard that the earthen goblet containing his beer crashed onto the floor. Frajil pointed his finger toward the smashed goblet and said, “The King.”

Down at last,
thought Ahiram, as he made it safely off the deadly staircase. He panted from exertion and took a moment to catch his breath. The young man could not hear anything over the din of rushing water and could not tell if Hiyam’s men were trailing him. Seen from down below, the cave looked twice as large. In the eerie emptiness, he sensed an invisible presence following his every move
.
Is it the Urkuun following me or am I imagining things? It must be these caves. No wonder some of the miners went crazy down here
,
he thought, shrugging his shoulders.

He ran along a rocky path and reached the Bridge of the Last Meeting where allegedly, El-Windiir had met Layaleen for the last time before going to his demise. Some say that if one were to stand on this bridge, and remain still for a while, one could hear the echo of their voices trapped between the walls of the mine. Ahiram sprinted across the bridge. He had no time for such fairytales.

At the end of the bridge, he glanced back out of habit, just in time to see a rock crashing down from the spiraling stairs. In the dim light, he could barely glimpse a man dangling from the staircase several hundred feet above. He heard Prince Olothe scream, “Idiot, be careful.”

“Be careful…careful…careful…” replied the echo.

So the priestess’ daughter sent her dogs after me,
he thought.
How very nice of her.

The stairs on this side of the mines were large, square slabs sloping gently up along a winding path. Ahiram ran up a dozen steps, looked back and was shocked to see Olothe and his men at the bottom of the cave.
How did they do it?
he thought
. This is incredible. I am fast and well trained, yet it took me a lot longer to get down here.
Ahiram nearly panicked. He threw himself behind a large boulder and watched them. Instead of running to the bridge, they leaped and crossed nearly twenty feet in a single jump.
That’s impossible
—
it
is almost magical.
Suddenly, it dawned on him:
These men
are
using magic. They are cheating. I bet the priestess is behind this.
Raging anger bubbled up, but he stayed it.
No use running away from them, but I can use their weapon against them.
Looking up he saw a burning torch across from the large boulder. He crossed the path and inspected the two iron rings holding the torch, yanking them forcefully. They did not budge.

He produced a thin rope from his belt, tied it to the top ring and looped it around the second ring. He let it dangle to the ground and went back behind the boulder.

Olothe and his men will naturally look at the light, and with a little luck, they will miss the rope
. Minutes later, he heard Olothe.

“Faster now, do not lose him. I want him dead before he reaches the Hall of Echoes.”

Ahiram’s temper flared like raging magma. Seeing the extended shadows of the three men profiled on the opposite wall, he gripped the rope tightly. By now, he was able to hear the bounce of the three men close by. He waited a little longer, then yanked the rope with both hands. Suddenly, the last torch before the rocks where Ahiram was hiding projected the shadow of the foremost runner, who ran into the rope and yelled as he fell back. Knocking his head on the slab, he lay unconscious. The second attacker was in mid-air when this happened. He managed to avoid his companion, landing next to him, but the mysterious power that he relied on to move so quickly, propelled him forty feet in the air with a frightening force. He screamed, lost control, smashed against the boulder, then fell to the ground where he lay in an awkward position, blood coursing from his mouth and nose.

Olothe, who came last, managed to stop in time.

“Slave,” he shouted, “I know you are hiding behind this boulder. Come out from your lair, so I can squash you like the rat that you are.” Ahiram remained still. He was waiting for his foe to make the first move. Olothe unsheathed his sword. “Come out, you coward,” he said, as he moved up the stairs slowly. “Come out, you sniveling dog, son of a dog, coward, son of a coward, slave, son of a slave.”

This, the prince should not have said. Startled, he watched Ahiram attack with a speed and a fury he had never seen before. He lifted his sword in a futile act of defense. But how could a sword defend against a raging flood, a howling wind, or an all-consuming fire? A fist of stone exploded in his chest, sending waves of unbearable pain through his body. Prince Olothe was a trained military man, but nothing had prepared him for the speed and accuracy with which Ahiram pummeled him. The Silent attacked the prince without any restraint. He hit to hurt and punish, using all that he had learned to break, dislocate, and destroy bones, joints, and ligaments. In the span of a few minutes, Olothe lay on the ground writhing with pain, shaking violently. Ahiram placed his hand on his opponent’s throat and squeezed. He whispered in the prince’s ear, “You will not be able to make use of your arms or your legs for the rest of your miserable life. A slave will live a better life. If you ever call my father a slave again, wherever you may be, even in the depths of the earth, I will find you and inflict even greater pain upon you than now, then I will leave you to the dogs. Do you understand me? To the dogs.”

The prince, now unable to speak, moaned. Ahiram’s voice had resonated within his heart like the commanding voice of a god. The words the Silent spoke were indelibly etched in his mind. Ahiram, unaware of the effect his voice had on his opponent, loosened his grip on the man’s neck and spat on the prince’s face before leaving. He ran for a short while, stopped, and unable to control himself anymore, burst into tears. He did not know why he was crying. Regret overwhelmed him. He knew the damage he inflicted upon Prince Olothe was irreparable and nothing would ever heal him. The prince would now be a cripple, simply because he, a trained Silent, had lost his temper. He could not even remember how he moved so fast. He could almost hear the commander speaking, “Control your anger or it will destroy you.” Now it was too late. A man was paralyzed, broken and useless, and it was his doing. He could not help but feel sorry for Olothe.

Ahiram forced himself to calm down and resumed the ascent. “I have a Game to win, and I will win it,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. He reached the top without any further incidents. Once there, he saw the Bridge of Silver crossing the Chasm of the Deep, forty feet wide and sixty feet long, with magnificent carvings on its high railings. Glittering softly, the polished bridge was out of place in the belly of the mountain, like a princess amid lepers and paupers. No one knew what this masterpiece—rivaling Taniir-The-Strong’s drawbridge in beauty—was doing so deep within the mines. As he crossed, Ahiram immediately noticed the twelve framed panels covering the handrails, six on each side.

The Silent was simultaneously attracted and repulsed by them. Forgetting the race, he crossed the bridge with deliberate slowness, staring at each panel as he walked passed it. They seemed to tell a story, tragic and sad, that started at the feet of a high tower of monstrous proportions, while on the opposite hill, two men stood observing it. On the tower’s peak, a dark figure sat on a spiked throne, gazing at the two men who held their arms straight, palms open in a gesture of warning. The tower then crumbled and the taller of the two men was no more. In his stead, Ahiram saw a beautiful woman with a haunted look in her eyes, standing by the second man, who was bearded now.

Ahiram saw the bearded man standing atop the ruined tower with the woman in his arms. A close-up portrait showed him screaming with rage. The tower was now gone, replaced by a pool of dark water. Another panel showed the bearded man as he stood gazing at the pool, while a second shadowy figure watched him. From the pool, a book emerged—something Ahiram had never seen before and could not recognize. The man leaned over the book as the shadowy figure now stood behind him, holding three orbs.

The last panel on his left showed the bearded man dressed as a priest of Baal, but the panel to his right was black. Ahiram glanced at it and leaped back. He had the distinct impression that the panel was about to pull him in.
These mines are getting to me,
he thought, rubbing his hair.
I must be seeing things.

As he stepped off the bridge, he was startled by a distinct popping sound. He looked back and saw, or imagined, the black panel throbbing like an exposed, dark heart. He ran from the bridge as fast as he could.

After a short while, he entered the brightly lit Room of Echoes in search of a belt of silver. The waiting crowd gave him a standing ovation. He blinked in the light and saluted. The cave was large and spacious and served as an ideal spot for the crowd to watch the contenders in action. The trumpets sounded and the crowd hushed. Just then, the team from Quibanxe reached the cave, and the three tall men fanned out in search of the artifacts. Ahiram concentrated on the ceiling, for it was the most natural and most difficult hiding place. At the extreme southeastern corner, he saw something glitter. He looked closer, and there it was: a belt of silver, hidden behind a stalactite. One of the men of Quibanxe called the two others, pointing at another spot on the ceiling.

They found a belt too
, thought Ahiram.
This is going to be close.
He knew they could form a human ladder and reach the ceiling. He was alone and had to rely on other means. He pulled a rope from his belt, clipped it to a dart, and hurled the dart up. The looping dart swung around a stalactite, reeling the rope up. Ahiram pulled on it, and the noose tightened and held. Using his arms, he climbed up so quickly that the crowd gasped. Without stopping, he looped the rope around his feet and swung back and forth, gathering momentum until he managed to reach the belt of silver. He clipped it onto a hook on his left leg and was about to grab the rope with both hands, when it came loose. The crowd screamed.

Ahiram dropped the rope and slammed feet first into a neighboring stalactite. The crowd shrieked. Knees bent, he pushed away, extending his body to reach another stalactite which he held on to with both arms. He heard scattered applause. Cautiously, he began to slide down, but the structure broke, and he fell, barely evading the fractured rock. Instinctively, the spectators ducked, howling and cheering. Shifting his body, he managed to grab the peak of a stalagmite with his left hand. He swung his legs, and his body slammed into the rock. Despite the shock and momentary dizziness, Ahiram held on. All eyes were on him. In one fluid movement, he slid down the freezing surface, then pushing away, performed a perfect flip and landed on his feet. The crowd gave him a standing ovation in a deafening roar. Ignoring the cheers and applause, he saw the men of Quibanxe about to leave the hall with the leader holding a belt above his head, so sure they were of their win. Ahiram pulled out his folded crossbow, opened it, cranked it, slid an arrow dart into the shaft, aimed, and fired. The belt flew from the hands of the surprised leader and slammed against the wall behind the howling crowd. Ahiram sprinted, hoping the Quibanxian would try to pry the belt from the arrow dart instead of running after him, for they were amazing runners. He ran the last five miles as fast as he could, not daring to look back, and reached the exit barely two steps ahead of the fastest man on the team of Quibanxe.