Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (47 page)

Tanios would spice up the game by calling several numbers at once. A player who tagged someone other than his designated opponent was disqualified and his number transferred to his closest team player. A dozen simultaneous players taught the Silent to rely on one another, to move in tandem, and to watch their backs while reacting to every move their opponents made.

One student had been ill that day, so Noraldeen stood without an opponent. Tanios had ordered Ahiram to join the opposing team. The students–who had not taken this order seriously–erupted in laughter. The commander, aware of the incongruity of the situation, had not objected. After all, asking a young slave to face a Silent was akin to asking a farmer to engage a soldier. Noraldeen alone had not laughed.

“Do not make us wait, young man.”

The commander’s voice had stilled the room. The students had seen the slave get up and take his place in their midst.

“Commander,” had interjected young Jedarc, unable to keep his mouth shut, “do you want us to play
nice
?”

“I want you to do your best, Jedarc, as always,” had replied the commander without taking his eyes off the slave. “Now, Jedarc, listen carefully: ‘
Who shall bemoan the fate of the Silent who, trusting his eyes, fails to take the full measure of his adversary?’
What have I just quoted?”

“Chapter 3, verse 1 of the Book of Lamentation.”

With these sobering words, the game had proceeded. Then the commander had called Noraldeen and Ahiram. Noraldeen, a fast runner, had reached the midline first, but then Ahiram leaped, and everyone froze. Noraldeen’s throw had been accurate, but futile. Later, she had admitted that tagging Ahiram had been like tagging the wind or the rain. Ahiram had landed behind Noraldeen and gently tagged her with her own dart that he had caught in midair.

That day, his team had been doing badly. So much so, that when he had been called a second time, he faced six opponents, yet managed to tag all of them. Tanios had been astounded at the speed, precision, and power of Ahiram’s throws. Round after round, Ahiram had tagged his opponents. Eventually, there had been only two opponents left in the court: Banimelek and Ahiram. Banimelek towered over Ahiram. His powerful build was coupled with fast reflexes.

Tanios wondered if Ahiram had found his match. He had given the signal. Ahiram had leaped forward, barely touched the ground and rebounded in the air. They thought he had been flying. Tanios watched attentively as Ahiram interweaved well-known movements with movements of his own, that were unlike anything they had seen before. Banimelek had attempted to avoid the fury by sidestepping Ahiram and outflanking him, but it had been useless. Ahiram sped past Banimelek, had jumped, and performed a perfect backward somersault, landing behind his opponent. Banimelek whirled around and had been promptly served a dart on his nose.

“You’re it,” Ahiram had said with a glint in his eye.

Banimelek had stood frozen. No one could believe what had just happened. Noraldeen applauded, and they had all joined in. He blushed and had looked down. Banimelek had slapped him on the shoulder: his sign of approval and respect. They had surrounded him and drowned him with questions. How did he do this move? Why throw the dart the way he did? Tanios had to call them back to order. He then asked Ahiram if he would like to join the Silent Corps. The young boy had nodded, and they had all welcomed him with cheers and applause.

The young Ahiram was incredibly fast and the accuracy of his blows was frightening. Whenever a Silent became his prey, he moved like a dart, tearing through the air with a purpose that could not be deflected. In all his fighting years, Tanios had never met his equal, save perhaps a long lost friend whose absence the commander felt keenly, now more than ever.

By his talents and abilities, Ahiram had won the admiration of his peers. By his humility, he had won their respect. He was straightforward, truthful, and soft-spoken. Ahiram was technically their superior, but he behaved as one of them. Sure, he blushed with pleasure when they had all applauded, but he had not shown off, a behavior that would have been characteristic of a boy his age. This commanding maturity had earned him the Silent’s friendship and admiration.

Gradually, and without anyone’s intervention, his commanding role had confirmed itself. It seemed natural that Ahiram would become a Silent. It seemed fitting that he would lead his class. They learned to go to Ahiram for advice, and he would humbly direct them. Whenever the question of slavery came up, they avoided it with pained embarrassment; an aberration of sorts, that defied the natural laws.

Ahiram was Tanios’ star pupil, the best he had ever seen, and tomorrow, by all accounts, he would be dead.

Tanios sighed once more.
If only I could take his place,
he thought. His affection for the lad was so deep he was willing to lay down his life for him. But this was not to be. Ahiram would enter the mines, perhaps for the last time, not to be seen again.

“Restless, Commander Tanios?” Habael stepped onto the balcony and stood by his friend.

“I am not the only one, I see.”

“A man of my age needs little sleep,” replied Habael, with a smile.

The two men stood there leaning quietly on the stone railing and peered into the night. They seemed to comfort each other without words, as men do sometimes when sharing a burden uncharacteristically heavy. That stubborn lad was taking part in the Games tomorrow, and there was nothing to stop him, except death.

“I have done everything I could to make sure he will be rested and strong for tomorrow. He is sleeping soundly.”

“Thank you, Master Habael.” These words alone brought comfort to Tanios’ soul, yet he could barely restrain a sob. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Do you think he will make it tomorrow?”

Habael looked at Tanios. He then placed his arm on the tall man’s shoulder. “I have never been as hopeful as I am tonight.”

“Why?” vehemently replied Tanios. “Tell me, my friend, how could you be so bold in the face of such a bleak prospect? Surely, you are not ignorant of the threats to his life? The Temple has decided his fate and neither you nor I nor anyone else can stop them.”

“I am all too aware of the Temple’s intent, Commander.” Habael looked up at a sky resplendent with stars. He pointed at one of them, “Amalein, Lantern of Hope. Did you ever wonder why these stars shine so vividly? Night after night, they stand at their appointed places shining brightly, as they ought. There is in this heavenly order, a harmony that gladdens the heart and gives peace to my old age. For beyond these stars, in the confines of the heavens, Amalseer, Undying Hope, shines. It sustains us, even in the face of the most gruesome death. I believe Ahiram will overtake his enemies and come out victorious.”

“Forgive me if I do not share your hope, Master Habael. I am a man of action who has learned to measure risks and determine their outcome. My hope rests on measurable facts. I pay my tribute to the gods, but I do not ask from them what I cannot do myself.”

“Any progress in the case at hand?” asked Master Habael, mostly to give his friend something else to focus on.

The commander grunted. “No woman in the castle is a redhead, so this is rather frustrating.”

“You mean apart from the high priestess?”

“Indeed, and it would be absurd to think that she would be killing her own, just as it would be absurd to think that I would be willing to kill a Silent. So, yes, apart from her there are no other redheads in the castle.”

“Could this woman be someone exterior to the castle?”

“Yes, but I cannot question every redhead in the city. This investigation needs all of my attention, and I confess, I am distracted right now.”

“I understand,” said Habael.

A rooster crowed in the distance. The moon was cresting. Its cold, silver rays splashed the valley beneath with a ghostly glow. A jaybird took its flight, and below in a garden of the King’s castle, a dog barked. Tanios caught himself wishing he had been stuck in a prolonged nightmare that would soon melt away at the rising of the sun, taking with it the Games, Baal and these bloody murders. Yet he knew better. Indeed, he knew better.

Soloron surveyed his men training for battle. The sun had not yet crested the high peaks and a freezing cold wind whipped the soldiers like an impatient taskmaster stirring his slaves into action.

Soloron had relocated the Undergrounders from the mines to this hard-to-access canyon, south of Taniir-The-Strong Castle. Away from prying eyes, he gave his soldiers a proper training, modeled after that of the High Riders but with slight, yet important, modifications.

Being a well-traveled man who had fought under different skies and rulers, he had synthesized what he learned into a unique fighting style that became the Undergrounders’ hallmark.

In the sky, a large vulture was gliding in circles.
Probably some beast dying of thirst,
thought Soloron, and he imagined the King running away to die of thirst in the scorching heat of the desert. This thought brought a broad smile to his tanned face, where two dark eyes glittered like the deadly gems of Haradoon. His gaze turned back down toward his men. They were ready. His company now numbered in the thousands—a small army that would surprise the King and the Baalites. Suddenly, the imposing frame of Frajil materialized beside him. Soloron, at six feet ten inches was by no means short, but he was dwarfed by his younger brother’s height; at nearly nine feet, he towered over everyone else. Frajil’s shoulders were broader than two strong men standing side-by-side. Still, this giant was quiet like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey.

“Soloron, we ready for chicken.” Seemingly, Frajil had finally understood the hidden meaning of this expression.

“Yes, my dear Frajil, tonight we roast the chicken.”

“No, Soloron. Cook says chicken ready now. I hungry.”

“You want to eat chicken for breakfast?”

“No,” replied Frajil, offended. “I no eat chicken for breakfast. I eat chicken for strength.”

He paused a moment, as though vaguely sensing that, perhaps, “breakfast” had a different meaning than what he had thought. “What is breakfast?” he asked cautiously.

Soloron sighed. “Never mind. Let the men rest and eat.”

“And tonight chicken, too?”

“Yes, Frajil, chicken tonight, too. Now, here is what I want you to do for me. Listen carefully. This is a hard one. I want you to go to the kitchen right now and see if I’m there, and if I’m not, I want you to stay there until you find me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Soloron. I go.”

Frajil nodded energetically before taking off on his new mission. He always liked new and challenging missions, and finding Soloron in the kitchen seemed challenging enough. Soloron sighed,
Keeping him busy is getting more and more difficult.

Once Soloron had tricked simple-minded Frajil one way, he could not repeat the trick a second time. Frajil had an incredible memory for these things and would only respond to new challenges, even if they were minute variations of old ones.
What this boy needs is some real action, and he will soon get it aplenty.
Below, the men were preparing for the seemingly impossible task of storming the castle, dethroning the King, and declaring Soloron the new King of Tanniin.
If the Baalites only knew of the little surprise we are preparing for them,
thought Soloron with a grin on his face.

Soloron walked back down to the training ground and stepped inside a large cabin where a dozen smiths were at work under the direction of Kerk, the dwarf. They had been working day and night to forge the swords, spears, and arrowheads his men would need. Soloron picked up a finished sword and checked the angle of the blade; he gripped the finely fashioned hilt and felt the weight and balance of the sword by cutting the air with it. He smiled. Kerk was a master at forging and honing swords known for their strength and flexibility.

“Is the artful art of the artistic artists,” asked Kerk, pointing to the blacksmiths, “to the satisfying satisfaction of the commanding commander? I am of the opinionated opinion that she is a most suitably suitable and suitable most suitably for your enterprising enterprise.”