| by Dave
"Crowley" Javier Talal ibn Qamuz
of Nishadina, the most prosperous book-seller in the greatest city of
Gharu'n, approached the Old City gate, leading his servants alongside a
great wooden wagon that creaked loudly under its load of crates. His old
friend Jamid, duty captain for the morning shift of gate guards, came
forward to meet him. As they embraced, Talal slipped a pouch of coins into
Jamid's hand with practiced ease.
"My old friend. How is your wife?" Talal
asked.
"She is well, and sends her greetings."
Jamid responded, quickly dropping the pouch into his tunic. "And how does
your family fare?"
Talal smiled broadly. "My wife carries
another child, and Salaya is apprenticing to a swordsmith next fall."
"Congratulations, my friend!" Jamid slapped
Talal on the back. Then, seeming to remember that he was on official duty,
he straightened up and took an officious tone, looking at the overloaded
wagon. "What are you bringing out today?"
"One thousand copies of a text on the
alchemical applications of quicksilver, by the Roulean sage Solaphon."
Talal handed over his bill of lading, signed by the chief of the guild of
bookbinders.
Jamid whistled. "One thousand copies. Many,
many copies. Now I see why the bookbinders' guild has hired so many
novices."
Talal nodded. "The Malika has decreed that
the Houses of Learning must expand their alchemical instruction to include
the writings of the Rouleans."
"The young Malika, it seems to me, spends too
much time ransacking the libraries of the Rouleans and not enough time
absorbing the wisdom of the Poet. I still cannot believe how many men and
beasts it took to cart all of those books out of Tirethas before its fall."
Jamid shook his head regretfully. "A pure heart, a clear eye, a strong arm
and a steady hand – that is what will win our war, not dusty books of a dead
empire."
"The Poet extolled the virtues of learning,
my friend," Talal pointed out, "and told us never to disregard any source of
wisdom. Was it not to protect those very libraries that he struck down his
lord? The translators tell me they have been tasked with finding texts that
would help in any way against the Viamontian hordes. So the libraries may
hold the key to the survival of Gharu'n."
Jamid held his hands out in a placating
gesture. "I meant no criticism. I speak mostly out of jealousy, because my
old head has taken too many blows to be able to hold much learning."
Both men laughed. "It has been too long
since we shared bread," said Talal. "Will you and your wife come to my home
for the evening meal?"
"Nothing would give me greater –" Jamid broke
off as he saw a woman in brightly enameled Amuli armor, bearing the
ceremonial mace of an officer in service to the Malika herself, walking
towards them. She was followed by four very large guards. None of them
were familiar to Jamid, who had been in the Old City detail for twenty
years.
"I am Maulana Qazea bint Diyas," the newcomer
announced. "I am a Captain of the Malika's Hands, and the new commander of
the guards of the Old City quarter here in Nishadina. Who is the duty
sergeant here?"
Jamid held up a hand. "I am the duty
sergeant, Your Worship," he said, respectful of the noble's title. "How may
I help you?"
Qazea glanced at Talal's wagon full of
crates. Gesturing towards it with the mace, she asked, "Has this wagon been
searched yet?"
Talal stiffened in nervousness. Quickly
glancing between his friend and this new authority figure, Jamid nodded. "I
inspected it, Your Worship. One thousand copies of a Roulean book of
alchemy, for the Malika's Houses of Learning." He handed her the bill of
lading.
Qazea looked plainly skeptical. "This wagon
left the Bookbinders' Guild only twenty minutes ago. How could you have
searched all these crates? My men will search it again."
With that, the four burly guards started
hauling crates off the wagon, as Talal and Jamid watched helplessly.
Despite their imperious demeanor, the guards took care not to jostle or drop
the crates. They methodically set each container on the ground, pried it
open with a thick-bladed knife, and investigated its contents. Without
fail, each crate held fifty neatly packed copies of the Solaphon alchemical
text. Finally, all the boxes but one were off the wagon and neatly stacked
by the gate. The one remaining crate on the wagon had been the most deeply
buried under the pile, and the guards reached out to unload it.
Resigned to his fate, Talal let out a soft
sigh. He began to bid a mental farewell to his family. He also looked
regretfully towards Jamid, who would no doubt die under the Malika's law as
well, for lying to an officer of the Hand on his behalf. Jamid merely
blinked once, very slowly, and tightened his mouth.
The lid came off of the final crate, and
Qazea lifted out a book. It was not a freshly bound copy of the Solaphon
text. It was an old book, bound in leather, well preserved in the dry
desert climate. The writing embossed in gold on its cover was Old Roulean.
Qazea nodded in satisfaction and gestured to the guards. The four guards
grabbed the arms of Talal and Jamid, and forced them to kneel on the road
before their leader.
Brandishing the book in one hand, clutching
her mace in the other, Qazea stood in front of the two men. "For the crime
of smuggling, you are both sentenced to hang in madness cages until such
time as the Malika grants you mercy." Jamid snorted. Everyone knew the
Malika's pardon usually came long after the occupant of a madness cage had
withered to bones.
********
Creaking and howling. That was all he had
heard for days. The creak of the cage as it hung on its chain, and the howl
of the nigh constant desert winds through the high, isolated canyon. A
little while ago, he thought he'd heard a human scream, a wail of despair
that may have been the voice of Jamid. Then again, it might have been
nothing at all. Talal had been imprisoned in the madness cage for three
days, though it would have surprised him to learn that. He had not bothered
to keep track of the days or hours. He had not even bothered to count how
many of the small water gourds he had drunk, nor was he aware of the fact
that he had been given one per day. Talal had resigned himself to death the
moment they shut the cage on him. No man emerged from a madness cage. Not in
any form that one might still consider human.
The sun was about to reach its hottest
point. His skin was already blistering and peeling. There was shade for
only half the day in the canyon. Looking at the small gourd that was his
current water ration, he licked his lips and sighed, then pushed it between
the metal bars of the cage. He heard it crack and splash as it hit the
rocks on the canyon floor below. If death were on its way, let it come
swiftly. A sudden wind kicked up, as if in response, and drove hot desert
sand into his eyes.
The wind died down after a few minutes. It
was then, with his eyes throbbing and his skin scraped freshly raw by the
blown-about grit, that he heard the muted thump of hoofbeats on sand. He
closed his eyes, convinced this was some aural mirage. He imagined the
sound of multiple horses, and the comforting whine of wagon wheels turning
on their axles.
The hoofbeats and axle-creaking came close
and stopped. Then Talal heard and felt the door to his cage creak open.
Not daring to hope, he kept his eyes closed. He whimpered and murmured as
rough hands grabbed hold of his perforated skin, pulled him out of the cage,
and carried his unresisting body to what felt like the back of a wagon.
A few minutes into the ride, Talal ventured
to open his eyes. The wagon and a group of escort riders were on a road
through the desert that was more like a less rocky and less scrubby path
than any real attempt at road-building. Up ahead, barely visible, was an
oasis he didn't recognize and a very large, but unmarked, tent. All around
the oasis were soldiers, horses, pack animals, and a heaping stack of...
more crates. All of the soldiers wore the enameled armor of the Malika's
Hands.
Talal decided to close his eyes and just hope
for the best. He played near-dead for the benefit of his captors, as well
as to recover his own strength. The wagon came to a jarring halt. Hands
reached out and lifted him once again. But this time the hands were clothed
in metal mail, and they carried him slowly out of the wagon. After a
moment, the heat on his face became less intense, and less light struck at
his closed eyelids, leading him to conclude that he'd been carried into the
large tent. He was laid down on a bed of cushions, and he soon felt soft,
delicate hands spreading cool ointments over his burned and nearly flayed
skin.
A vessel was held to his lips, and he sipped
cool water. He drank hesitantly at first, and then in gulps that spilled
down his neck, chin, and chest. He opened his eyes and saw a beautiful
young girl holding a bowl to his mouth. Refusing to look in his eyes, she
set the bowl down, wet a cloth, and gently cleaned the caked-on grit from
his face. The touch of even a soft cloth made him weep with pain, but the
simple care and attention after so much time in the madness cage nearly
broke his heart with joy.
Talal was just beginning to feel normal
again, and just beginning to wonder just what fate had planned for him, when
a bell sounded from outside the tent. The girl stopped washing his face,
bowed quickly and left, leaving the cloth and the bowl of water by his side.
A figure appeared at the opening of the tent,
at first just a shadow that sparkled with gems. The figure moved closer,
and Talal finally made out a face: a grim-faced young woman, with sharp
nose, thin lips, and proud chin. The high and arrogant posture of a noble,
born to command... A royal circlet about her brow... Two soldiers with the
distinctive helmets of royal bodyguards appeared behind the figure.
With more energy than he knew he had, Talal
scrambled from his prone position to kneel before the Malika of Gharu'n.
"Majesty," he croaked, "I tremble in your
presence and thank you for your mercy to a wretched criminal."
There was a long pause. Talal didn't dare
sit up, even when he felt the blood from his wounded back trickle forward
over his neck.
Finally, the Malika spoke softly. "I bid
you, sit comfortably, Talal ibn Qamuz. You may look upon me directly."
Hesitating, Talal rearranged himself to sit
cross-legged before the ruler of Gharu'n. The Malika herself sat an arm's
length away, crossing her legs under her heavy, brocaded robes and placing
her hands coolly on her knees. The ludicrousness of his position, parched
and burned and in audience with the cross-legged Malika, did not escape
Talal. He almost laughed in nervous wonder, ready to dismiss the entire
episode as a febrile death dream.
"By my own laws, Talal, you should be dead.
You and all your family."
That brought him out of his dazed
bemusement. Talal nodded silently.
"You were caught smuggling ancient books out
of the archive of the Old City. Books that were ordained by my father's
fathers as royal property. Books that were carried, at great risk and
expense, out of the great archives of Tirethas. Hundreds of the sons and
daughters of Gharu'n died, merely to delay those bull-worshipping savages
long enough to cover the flight of our wagons. You have stolen, from me and
from the nation. This is no simple thievery, Talal. This... is treason."
Talal abased himself again. "My crime is
inexcusable, Majesty."
"Tell me, Talal. For whom were your books
intended?"
"They were for sale to nobles of Viamont,
Majesty."
"So you have stolen the books of the City of
Lore from my library, to sell to the very invader lords who threaten the
Gharu'n nation. You would defile the blood of our war dead to sell the
books back to the very jackals who sought to plunder them."
Talal quivered, barely able to speak. "Yes,
Majesty."
"This has been going on for some time, I
gather. Since even before the Viamontians took Tirethas."
"S-several years, Majesty. B-before they
attacked Gharu'n."
"And yet, after they invaded, you kept your
hand in their purses. You must have felt like you would never be caught."
With no comment from Talal, the Malika went on. "You would not have been
caught, either, except that someone told the Zharalim about your
activities. They were told of the methods you use to smuggle the books out
of the archives, and given the name of your friend, the foolish old guard.
You were compromised by Hamzir ibn Hamzir."
Talal was unable to keep his head down,
shocked by this news. He looked up at the Malika in pure surprise, before
bowing his head again.
"This was unexpected, yes? In your secret
and lucrative profession, even rivals do not violate the smugglers' code.
Do not betray each other to the Malika's justice. Is this true?"
Talal nodded miserably. Through his despair
over his crime and his fate, he felt anger swelling within him. Hamzir ibn
Hamzir had once been his assistant! He had trained Hamzir, and let him
start his own book-smuggling business without retaliation!
"Hamzir attempted to keep his hand hidden.
He sent intermediaries of intermediaries to deliver an anonymous
accusation."
Talal let out a low moan of rage and
frustration. The Malika chuckled, then seemed to catch herself. "I do not
mock your pain, Talal ibn Qamuz. I merely laugh at Hamzir's conceit. To
believe that he could cloak himself from the Shagar Zharala... The
assassins are not the force they once were, it is true, but their
investigative techniques are still potent enough to penetrate the
smokescreens of a stupid young book smuggler!"
The Malika snapped a finger at one of her
guards, who bowed and left the tent. The ruler then turned her attention
back to Talal. "Tell me the names of your clients... these crude,
blue-skinned predators who batter our gates and steal away the treasures of
our libraries."
"Uh... Well, Countess Lotila... Count Renari...
Duke Bellenesse..." The Malika listened as Talal listed every Viamontian
noble he had done business with since he began smuggling books to Viamont.
"Bellenesse... The one who slew the Emperor
himself..." The Malika paused, lost in her own thoughts. Talal hunkered
down respectfully, unsure whether or not the mention of the Duke's name had
caused him to fatally offend the Malika. Finally, she smiled and looked
back at him. "That will do nicely. You have dealt with these nobles for
many years. They trust you to bring them remarkable and noteworthy books?"
"Yes, Majesty. I have learned what interests
them... and their followers."
"I have something that will interest them
greatly."
Surprised again by another incongruity, Talal
lifted his head. He saw the guard who had departed come back to the
Malika's side, holding a thin book, bound in rich red leather. The guard
handed it to the Malika, who dropped it in the dirt in front of Talal.
"Go ahead, pick it up." The Malika gestured
impatiently.
Talal picked up the book and inspected its
cover. Muttering the Old Roulean words to himself, he translated the title
into his own language. "The... Treatise of the... Individual... by Lokios
of Tirethas." His breath left him. He looked up at the Malika for but a
moment, then quickly dropped his eyes once again to the treasure which she
had so casually tossed into the desert sand. "The Treatise of the
Individual," he muttered to himself, and wiped away the tears from his eyes.
"Yes. That book... rumored to exist, but
never found, correct?"
Talal nodded, unable to speak. This single
book, sold to the right buyer, would be worth as much as an entire crate of
lesser texts.
"No one has ever read it, but to an expert on
Roulean texts... This is the crown jewel, yes? All the ancient sages wrote
of this great work and the revolutionary ideas of the Philosopher, Lokios.
And how, after writing it, Lokios left Tirethas to wander the world, and was
never heard from again. You... of course, know why it was believed to be
lost..."
Talal nodded his head. The Malika had hit
upon a subject on which he prided himself an expert. "The Roulean emperors
suppressed it and had all known copies burned to ash, Majesty."
The Malika nodded. "I have read that book.
Several times, actually. It contains some dangerous ideas. Or at least,
ideas dangerous to the kind of thoughtless, brutal, morally bankrupt regime
that the Emperors maintained. So you may be curious how it survived their
decree of destruction."
Talal nodded again. "Yes, very curious,
Majesty."
The Malika laughed. "The Emperors of Roulea
were not complete savages, after all. A few copies survived in their
personal vaults. They retained enough respect for knowledge in their
debased minds to keep them from permanently destroying any work of human
thought, even one so dangerous as this. So when my father's fathers took
Tirethas so many years ago, these books came to light. The Poet himself
came upon them, and it was at his urging that the books were placed in the
royal archives. They even survived the Age of Smoke and Shadow, when our
royal line dispersed and the Viamontians placed their puppets on our
throne." She spat on the ground to commemorate the time of the Viamontian
interregnum.
Talal ran his hands over the binding, still
afraid to even open the book.
"You might notice, Talal, that the book is
new. I would not have brought one of the originals to you."
A sudden realization came to Talal as he
remembered the crates of books outside. Slowly, he looked at the Malika,
fear growing in his wind-burnt eyes. The Malika merely smiled at him,
clearly enjoying the his reaction. "Yes, Talal. My scribes have made many
copies of this book. One thousand of them. They are right outside this
tent, as a matter of fact."
The Malika leaned close. "I have come to
offer you more than you could have hoped for, Talal ibn Qamuz. I have come
to offer you mercy, revenge, and a job."
Talal abased himself again. "I will do
whatever you command me, Great Malika."
"Then listen carefully, for I will give you
these instructions only once. After that, I wish never to see you again.
Nor will I acknowledge ever meeting you."
Talal nodded emphatically, groveling. The
Malika watched him for a long moment, then continued.
"First, I will give you your revenge. Hamzir
ibn Hamzir will be punished for his own smuggling, as well as his
duplicity. He and all his line will be extinguished, because I find his
betrayal of his benefactor, even within the murk of your illicit trade, to
be shameful and unworthy of a son of Gharu'n."
Talal clenched his fists in bitter triumph.
"Your Majesty shows great wisdom in her judgment, and generosity to this
criminal, who is worthy only of your loathing."
The Malika smiled faintly. "And you, Talal
ibn Qamuz, will be banished forever from Gharu'n. Your life will be spared,
and you will be sent across the Ironsea to sell these thousand books. Go to
Viamont, Talal, and peddle the forbidden text to their nobles and merchant
lords. In return, I will show leniency to your friend the guard and I will
provide for the welfare of your family. It is many lives I spare, Talal,
because I want you to be very eager to sell these books."
Blubbering with gratitude, Talal crawled
forward and kissed the Malika's foot. She paused to allow him his gesture
of submission, then went on.
"But should you cross me, Talal ibn Qamuz...
Be aware that the reach of the Shagar Zharala extends all the way into
Viamont, to the city of Corcosa itself. I will know if you fail to live up
to the spirit of our agreement. And if you displease me, I will kill your
wife, your children, your brothers and sisters and cousins. I will kill
their children, and their children's children... To the third generation."
The Malika paused to allow time for Talal's stricken mind to absorb her
words. When she saw the tears in his eyes, she knew that he understood.
"Sell every last book. Play the merchant's
game. Haggle with them, get a good price for each... If you sell them too
cheaply, they will doubt your sincerity, or the book's legitimacy. But each
book must find its way into blue-skinned hands."
The Malika stood with one swift, graceful
motion and regarded Talal coldly. "Thus ends our interview, Talal. There
are people waiting outside to take you to Corcosa. Enjoy this last journey
to the coast, because you will never again see the lands of Gharu'n." With
that, she left the tent. The flap closed behind her, leaving Talal weeping
softly in the cool darkness.
From Turbine's
Throne of Destiny site. |