Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (32 page)

“What did he do?”

“I kept this from you, but given the circumstances, I believe I should tell you…He had one of his men slap me on the mouth.”

This was an insult of the worst kind in the Kingdom of Tanniin, for it was a punishment reserved for rebellious slaves. By slapping Master Habael, the prince intimated that the old man was like a slave to him and therefore anyone who valued and respected the gardener was foolhardy. Unwittingly, with this single gesture, the prince insulted the royal house of Tanniin.

“He did what?”

Ahiram, Banimelek, and Jedarc were on their feet.

“He did what?” repeated Ahiram. His indignation was beyond measure. Habael motioned for them to sit down and waited for the young men to recover some semblance of self-control before continuing.

“That he slapped me and threw me out is something I permitted him to do for reasons which are all my own. My lad,” he said, addressing Ahiram, “I have made this unfortunate event known to you because I want you to understand that you do not know everything. The prince was vindictive, arrogant and reveled in his own cruelty. He was determined to kill you, and you defended yourself—which was the right thing to do–but you gave free reign to your selfish desires, abused your strength, and maimed a man for life. As you can plainly see, I do not excuse nor justify your violence against the prince. I grieved when I learned of your actions, but if you have any respect and affection for this old man, then do not wallow in self-judgment in the hope that someone might console you; instead, atone for the evil you have committed, and find a noble way to make reparation to the prince if you can, and if not, to others in his stead.”

“How?” asked Ahiram. “How do I do that? Just tell me.”

“Your eagerness is commendable,” replied Habael, “but do not assume that it is as easy as training for combat.” Habael looked at Jedarc and smiled. “Consider this, Ahiram: a Silent attracted to a Junior High Rider is a good omen, my lad; it is a hopeful sign.”

Ahiram stiffened and his jaw tightened instantly.

“She wanted to kill me.”

“Would you say that her desire to kill you was greater than your eagerness to hurt and kill the prince?” asked Habael softly.

Jedarc and Banimelek held their breath, fully expecting Ahiram to fly out of the room in a bout of anger. Instead, their friend simply lowered his head.

“No,” answered Ahiram, “I don’t think so.”

“So then,” continued Habael, “if you, who has committed a worse action, cannot forgive Hiyam, how would you be able to accept what you have done and find ways to avoid doing it again? Ponder this well, Ahiram, for your future and so much more than your future hangs in the balance.”

Six quick trumpet blasts announced the coming of the King, who entered, flanked by six guards and Commander Tanios. The Silent assumed their military positions and Habael bowed.

“At ease,” said the King, who inspected the Silent. He stopped by Ahiram. “Congratulations once more on your second victory. Your victories are an honor to the entire body of the Silent.” Ahiram bowed before the King, who then looked at Habael. “My dear Habael, may we have a word with you?”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

The commander invited them to his private apartments and closed the door behind him.

“This must be serious,” said Banimelek, “for the King to be up in the middle of the night.”

“You didn’t hear?” asked Jedarc, and, before his friends could ask him, he added, “One of Hiyam’s men has been found dead in the Queen’s Ballroom. He was killed with a poisonous dart.”

The two young men glanced at each other and then looked at the closed door, wondering what the three men could be discussing inside the commander’s quarters.

“My dear Habael,” started the King, “do you recall the poem about the rising of Tanniin?”

Habael thought it was an odd hour for such a request, but did not show any sign of surprise.

“I believe so, Your Majesty.”

“Very well. Now, my dear Tanios, I want you to pay close attention to the words of this poem. The Queen told me once that this poem is very ancient, perhaps predating the Age of the Temple. I believe you will find these few verses of special interest to you in light of the latest unfortunate events.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Habael, please start.”

Habael began:

“
Tanniin-the-Strong was on high,

Above Baal and his Temple,

Strength to rule the sea and sky,

Power before which all tremble.

In the darkness of his lair,

Baal plotted death and despair;

Seeds of sorrow,

By night and morrow,

Using stealth and machination;

He made of stolen meyroon,

Three spears of desolation.

And in the shadow of the moon,

Threw his spears, wounding the flying liege

Who fell, and fell, and fell unto earth beneath;

Where he moans his fate, a broken sheath,

And the toil of his sons under siege.

Silently, he awaits the day of his strength,

When freedom shall be his at length.

To be free, he must heal his woes,

By dealing Baal four blows,

Four sons, four lives,

By stealth and silver knives.

Blood sprinkled on the corners of the seal

Will break the curse and end his ordeal.

It will reveal the sword hidden within,

When the hour shall toll for the surge of Tanniin.
”

The deep voice of Habael fell silent. The King looked at Tanios, who stood, eyes closed, unmoving.

“Much to ponder, do you not think so, my dear Tanios?”

“Yes indeed, Your Majesty,” replied the commander slowly. “This has proved very helpful. Thank you.”

“What are your plans, Commander Tanios?”

“Tighten the security around the castle and the teams of participants, then get a few hours of rest. I will want to follow a few leads from the poem Master Habael recited. Hopefully, tomorrow will be uneventful. After all, there is still a Game to be won.”

“Very well, my dear Commander. Remember, I am counting on you to find the murderer quickly.”

Tanios bowed before the King, who opened the door and turned around with a sigh.

“My dear Habael, I envy you.”

“Your Majesty, peace awaits you in Magdala’s heart”

The King pondered the enigmatic words of the old man. Habael had often spoken to the King about the forest and the beauty within.

“Someday, Habael, someday.”

Outside the castle, across from the balcony on the royal floor, an owl suddenly took flight. It hooted as if it were trying to warn them that, hidden beneath the shadows, a murderer was stalking the castle.

“The Game of Gold is a rite of passage. Death by water, rebirth by fire, and then the long, painful ascension through the Pit of Thunder. Above all, beware the masks of gold hiding in the midst of the many faces of Tanniin. Of all the Games, the Game of Gold is my favorite.”

–
Principles and Rules for the Games of the Mines, The Great Judge Bayrul III

“The Game of Gold. O My! O My! The excitement, the adventure, the heroes, the winners, the dead left behind, bobbing up and down on the surface of the still cold water; round and round they go, and no one remembers.”

–
Soliloquy of Zuzu the Hip, Jester of the Royal Court of Tanniin

“The dwarfs, having carved the mines, knew them better than anyone else. Yet, the mines remained shrouded in mystery, as though the mountain housed ancient beings of great power deep within its bosom.”

–
Philology of the Dwarfs, Anonymous

“Jedarc, what are you doing in the servants’ kitchen?” asked Ahiram.

“What does it look like?” replied Jedarc, spreading fresh goat cheese on a slice of warm bread. “Having a scrumptious breakfast, reserved only for slaves.”

“But this is where
I
have breakfast,” objected Ahiram. “You’re supposed to get your fancy food upstairs, not down here.”

“Fancy food, fancy food…” grumbled Jedarc. “Do you hear that, Banimelek? They treat him like a prince down here and serve him the freshest ingredients, while
we
get the stale porridge and the wilted apples.”

“Sit down, Ahiram,” said Banimelek, smiling. “You should eat, or you’ll be late again.”

“Late?” said Ahiram, sitting. “I’m never late.” He took the ladle and served himself a generous portion of cooked oats and mixed in raisins, dried apricots, a spoonful of crumbled walnuts, and two swirls of honey.

“See?” said Jedarc, pointing his spoon at Ahiram. “What did I tell you? Raisins and apricots! When was the last time
we
had raisins and apricots?”

“You wouldn’t eat apricots anyway,” said Banimelek. “It thickens your beard.”

“Really?” asked Jedarc, eyeing the apricots suspiciously. Seeing a glint in Banimelek’s eyes and the beginning of a smile, he frowned and slapped his tall friend’s shoulder. “Look who’s talking. If this were true, you’d be able to hide a cow in your beard, if you let it grow.”

“So, what are you doing here?” asked Ahiram again as he cut three thick slices of bread. He covered the first slice with goat cheese, the second with a piece of ham, and the third with a thick, gooey, light-brown sauce, and a swirl of honey.

“What is that?” asked Jedarc suspiciously.

“Marinated goat’s brain with aged yogurt,” replied Ahiram, “Why do you ask?”

Jedarc’s jaw dropped as he gazed at his friend, mingling pity with horror.

“I thought this was the marinated goat’s tongue,” offered Banimelek.

“They ran out,” explained Ahiram, who gazed innocently at Jedarc. “My favorite is the dish over there,” he said, pointing to a bowl with a dark, thick sauce. “That’s marinated goat’s eyes with turmeric and mint, but we get it only on feast days.”

“Too bad,” sighed Banimelek.

Jedarc shook his head in disbelief. Unable to contain themselves any longer, the two broke into laughter. They laughed so hard that tears welled up in their eyes.

“All right, all right,” grumbled Jedarc, shrugging his shoulders. “You got me, but I am glad you did. I thought I had stepped into a nightmare.” He shuddered, shaking his shoulders like a man getting rid of a slimy substance. “So, what are you eating?”

Ahiram took a piece of bread, spread the gooey sauce on it and added honey. “Go ahead, try it,” he said, handing it over to Jedarc.

Jedarc looked at him suspiciously at first. Then he relaxed and grinned. “What am I doing? This is Ahiram after all,” he muttered to himself. “If you’re telling me to try it, then it must be good.” He shoved the piece of bread in his mouth and chewed energetically. “Hey, that’s not bad at all. It’s nutty and sweet.”

“Crushed almonds,” said Banimelek, “with honey.”

“They serve him crushed almonds, too?” moaned Jedarc. “What do I have to do to become a slave?
Please
tell me.”

“So, what are you doing here?” asked Ahiram for the third time.

“Someone murdered two men, and you are still the prime suspect. We are in charge of your protection, so we will escort you to the plaza.”