Keeper of the Seal
By Leroy Dumont
Copyright 2009 Anthony Dias Souza
Published by Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-4523-2801-0
Other Books by Leroy Dumont
Bitch of Balar
Demon Horde
End of Forever
Reprisal
Sweet Revenge
Talons of the Gods
The Bladesman
The Crystal Curse
Chapter 1
Standing before the frayed goatskin tent he shared with his mother, Taur gazed at the low jagged hills of the Magash. The arid wasteland he endured since childhood offered little to inspire enthusiasm. A wretched place, he murmured, shielding his eyes from the oppressive sun.
In the domain of Akkaba, the bleak terrain was second in its harshness only to the dark volcanic Al'Hatal. The sun was unrelenting, reaching temperatures of one hundred and twenty degrees in the sparse shade. Water was especially scarce, except during the two months of the rainy season. The brief spring brought sudden downpours flooding the ravines and transforming them into spastic rivers that instantly vanished when they reached the thirsty sands of the Kharan desert. The rains offered only a momentary reawakening for the roots of the scraggly thistles lying dormant in the anemic earth. Tiny flowers sprang from the fractured sandstone of the wasteland. They blossomed almost instantly but, like many infants born to the Dumari women, soon withered and died. For the balance of the year, the exile of the clan was true to its name: Magash, a land forsaken by the gods.
Taur glanced back at his mother who stood behind him. Karena was in her late thirties. A handsome woman by Dumari standards, but harried and drawn. Streamers of motley gray discolored her ebony hair and her face resembled the surrounding terrain, parched and fractured by a network of shallow erratic ravines. She bore a permanent squint that magnified the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. The Magash oppressed her. However, Karena was resilient and hard-willed. Otherwise, she would not have survived.
Tamiska aged her before her time, Taur sadly observed. He turned toward the tent of his father and contemptuously spat to his left. The two-poled structure appeared to be molting, its hides stiffened by the oppressive heat of the sun. Diminished by his exile, the aging patriarch of the clan no longer saw to its care. Neither did Metuska, his first wife, lift a hand to oil the hides.
His abode reflects his dishonor, Taur mumbled beneath his breath. Had I been zham, Kehlal would not have driven me from Keph.
From his earliest recollection, the Dumari spoke of their exile with an undertone of shame. The clan had been purged from their flourishing well in the southern Kharan following an ill-fated battle with Kehlal, the grand malek of Akkaba and second in command to the supreme sulan. Kehlal rode against Tamiska at the Dumari grazing land near the base of Mount Zerib. The inept zham panicked and divided his forces, sending a part to engage the attackers while he rode with the others back to the well at Keph. Heavily outnumbered, most of the Dumari defenders were massacred at the Desha River. The survivors were taken captive to serve as slaves in the Demendi mines of Kehlal while Tamiska evacuated the women and children and fled the Kharan. Less than a thousand men reached sanctuary in the Magash.
Although the Dumari increased in numbers in the succeeding twenty years of exile, they now were the least of the three desert clans. The outcasts lived in hiding in the crevices of the wasteland, no more than four or five tents to the encampments scattered throughout the Magash. Despite the absence of further attacks, the clansmen still feared the grand malek.
Kehlal, Taur silently growled, attempting to rouse the krel of the name. Like the rest of the semi-nomadic clansmen of the Kharan, he believed in the spirits inhabiting all places, actions and things. The capricious kreli, when invoked, could wreak havoc on the one cursed. Kehlal be plagued, Taur snarled, straining his brow to add strength to the words. He quickly stepped forward, changing his location to avoid the reverberations of his curse. His face drew to a smile; convinced he inflicted the malek with a conjured pain.
Beyond his post as malek, Kehlal was the mureh, the spiritual leader of the cult fanatically dedicated to the dark god, Hashin. A cynical and pragmatic man, the mureh used the cult to his advantage. He employed his faithful kogri as agent provocateurs and spies throughout the seven cities of Akkaba. His hashini, as others called them, assassinated the royal family in the camp of Tamiska. Sulan Amil and Tishne, his first wife, were slain at Keph by the hashini deployed by Kehlal, who took blades to their throats, killing them in their sleep. After the murders, the mureh sought to cloak his hand in the deed by blaming the hapless Dumari zham. Gaghan, the co-conspirator of the mureh and brother of Amil, ascended the throne; and, at the urging of Kehlal, banished the Dumari by royal decree. The edict forbade the clansmen access to the cities under the penalty of death. However, an insultingly meager bounty of only fifty dinai was placed on their heads.
Although an infant at the time, Taur grew to view the Dumari flight with disdain. Fermented by years of paternal indifference, the rancid taste of bitterness soured his tongue. The zham was an apathetic father throughout his upbringing, leaving the chore of rearing to Karena, his forsaken second wife. Oppressed by his first wife, Metuska, the aging zham centered his attention on her son, Omar, who, by time of birth, was his second son. Taur was the elder of the two though born of a lesser wife. Metuska sought to take advantage of her superior status as the first wife by having her husband pass the birthright to Omar, elevating him to zham. However, Karena bitterly contested an appointment, besieging Taur not to let Metuska set him aside. Within the strained realm of custom, the women engaged in psychological warfare through their sons, and the venomous contest was nearing an end. Tamiska no longer could mount his camel or raise a scimitar in his defense, which according to Kharan tradition, was time for him to cede his post to a son, generally the eldest and the son of a first wife. However, the right to succeed him was clouded by the status of his wives and the ages of his sons. While Taur was the eldest, he was born to the second wife. The younger Omar was the son of the first. Tradition held the pair equal in status. Each possessed the right to replace his father as zham. Normally, the choice of a successor was left to the zham. However, Tamiska vacillated, refusing to decide. He favored Omar, but he feared Taur. His eldest son was brash and easily moved to violence when provoked. Taur thrived on the exhilarating rush of combat, finding it an escape from the otherwise faceless lifestyle of the clan. Thus, Tamiska did not dare to confront his eldest son.
Maturing in an environment immersed in death and deprivation, Taur became a ruad, a desert marauder who bowed his head to no man. He progressed from nightly pilfering amongst the imperial caravans to brazenly raiding them at will. His presence on the desert was charismatic. Other ruadi, outcasts from the cities, turned to him for leadership. Now more than two hundred outlaws rode at his side.
With a quick glance at the late afternoon sky, Taur moved toward his camel with Karena trailing at his heels. A twinkle of pride constantly adorned her eyes. Her son stood an impressive six-foot six, almost a giant by Dumari standards. Only those of Ramili stock rivaled him in height. His brawny arms and barreled chest set him apart from the rest of the clan of his father. Few amongst the Dumari equaled him in strength and none matched his ability with the scimitar. Taur was an expert swordsman, reputedly the best upon the Kharan.
He is true to the Ramili, Karena thought, admiring the broad shoulders and impressive height of her son. From her vantage slightly to his left, Karena could see tiny sparkles of sunlight reflecting from his oiled ebony beard. The four-inch scar that ran the length of his left cheek was the only blemish on his otherwise handsome profile. It was a mark Taur bore with pride. The scar highlighted the challenging fierceness radiating from his steely gray eyes.
The blood of Restan runs strong in his veins, Karena silently observed. After all, she was the daughter of Tufal, the brother of Amil and the eldest son of the conqueror of Akkaba. Sulan Restan had been a man of great stature and physical appeal. With a small army of skilled Ramili warriors, he brought the domain under his control to become its first sovereign. Restan was the son of an enterprising trader who ventured to distant lands. He was a builder as well as a warrior of undisputed prowess, erecting the fortress palace at Rizhad. There lay the royal court at which Karena had been reared.
Though of the royal family, Karena was given in marriage to Tamiska to affirm the loyalty of the then-populous and prominent desert clan. She was accustomed to the lifestyle and sophistication of nobility, and despised her exile to the Kharan to serve as the second wife of a crude goat-herding zham. Though bound by custom to adopt the identity of her husband, Karena never acknowledged the Dumari as her clan. She constantly reminded her son of her affiliation with the Ramili and the royal family of Akkaba. Frustrated in marriage to the brink of insanity, her salvation was bringing forth a son. The child was a vigorous ten-pound infant who evolved in stature, possessing an alert and absorbing mind. She named him Taur in his fifth year, after the first man of creation according to Ramili lore. An appropriate name, she reasoned, for he was her first and only son.
As Taur loosened the tethering rope of his camel, his mother moved beside him, tilting her head to gaze into his eyes. "There is no reason to go to Rizhad," she whispered, pleading. "It is much too dangerous. A great price has been placed on your head."
Taur nodded passively as if unconcerned. Kehlal offered the outrageous sum of twenty thousand dinai, one hundred minai of gold, for the head of the ruad. However, the reward was of interest only to those who lived within the cities. Silver and gold possessed little value amongst the barter-based desert clans. The urban centers of Akkaba were possessed by the Ramili and Nasari, two clans with differing religions and ethnic roots. Along with the Dumari, the Ishmali and Mephti occupied the Kharan. An immense cultural difference prevailed between the desert and city dwellers. Both existed in separate worlds. Each tolerated the other, associating only to barter an exchange of necessary goods. Thus, although Restan, the founder of the domain, instituted the monetary system in Akkaba, it still had not taken root on the Kharan.
"There is no alternative," Taur murmured. "Tradition demands it. Ascendance requires a gift from the city, and the custom must be fulfilled to secure my place as zham. When Tamiska accepts it, he will be set aside."
Karena heaved a plaintive sigh. The Dumari were stifled by tradition, entombed in a mindless repetition of the past. Her son submitted to it only when it served his needs. He was independent to the point of irresponsibility, rebelling against the mindless commitment to form sustained by his clan. Standing apart from the Dumari, he chose the unfettered lifestyle of a ruad; a self-reliant mode of living he would be forced to relinquish when he became zham. "Go to the bazaar at Dekron," Karena begged. "It will fulfill the custom. There is no need to risk your life in the lair of Kehlal."
Taur turned slightly. His pursed lips crinkled the scar on his cheek. The mark terminated at his chin, within the coarse curling hair of his full-faced beard. He glared down at his mother, elevating his head to lord over her. She pressed him to become zham. If not for her persistent badgering, he gladly would cede the position to Omar. "If I die, Omar will rise to zham," he said passively. "The hand of Ishmad will not be denied."
Indeed, on the Kharan, Ishmad was all-powerful. The desert clansmen paid it homage. Beyond the kreli of their lore, Fate was the overseeing divine. Ishmad determined the whole of human existence. Its caprice could not be turned aside.
Karena reluctantly nodded. "Your destiny cannot be denied," she agreed, attempting to turn the notion to her advantage. "You will become zham without going to Rizhad."
Taur scowled as he coaxed the camel to its knees. His mother was aware of the dilemma without him having to elaborate. "Metuska prods Omar to challenge my birthright. Others have heard her words and murmur because I am a ruad. They are afraid it will incite Kehlal if I rise to zham. This journey will silence their fears. I will go to the lair of the viper and return unharmed. His krel will be set aside."
Karena frowned. She disliked his affinity for the heathenish superstitions of the desert clan. As a member of the Ramili, she was reared in their more sophisticated creed, spending countless nights with him beneath the clear Magash sky seeking to instill in him a respect for her religion. Taur was thoroughly versed in the dogma of her clan. He could recite the names of each planet and constellation, and explain their astrological significance to human life. Moreover, he was versed in the three scrolls Karena brought with her from the palace, teaching him to read and write. Still, he appeared to fancy the beliefs of the illiterate Dumari, evoking their kreli to fulfill his whims. "Custom merely requires a gift procured from a city, any city," Karena reminded him.
"A city of choice and I have chosen Rizhad," Taur declared obstinately.
His mother winced at the finality of his tone. Now rebelliously mature, he was not to be dissuaded once he had set his mind. Still she continued. "Rizhad is watched by the fardhi," she protested.
"They all are," Taur sneered, slowly enumerating the principal cities of Akkaba. "Rizhad, Shdad, Neveh and Haran." He loathed the walled urban centers, considering them the prisons of Kehlal. Only the desert cities of Deshne and Dekron were acceptable. They were open to the desert clansmen and surrounded only by shoulder-high walls merely to keep out the drifting sand of the Kharan.
"But Rizhad has the most ghirdhi," Karena countered. "It will be more dangerous than the rest."
Taur unconsciously nodded. There was a measure of truth to her words, he inwardly conceded. While mercenaries of questionable repute were hired to serve as the constabulary of Dekron and Deshne, many Ramili and Nasari army regulars patrolled the streets of the capitol of Akkaba. These ghirdhi regulars were more committed to their duties. Their rank and status, though elicited through the influence of their families, still depended on the whims of the malek.
"Kehlal will mount your head on a pole in the bazaar if you are discovered," Karena warned, sulking to a peeve. "He would revel in the capture of Al'Hadin."
An arrogant sneer twisted the lips of her son. "I am not afraid of the viper," he boasted with a clear rasp of disdain. "His ghirdhi quake at the mention of my name." He nodded to affirm the statement and added. "I leave their bones to scorch in the sun on the Kharan." Tilting his head, Taur pompously grinned down at his mother. "Was it not Kehlal, himself, who proclaimed me the Lord of Plagues?"
Taur took pride in the fabled name. Al'Hadin was the malevolent aspect of the duality of Jival and Hashin, the Nasari twin gods of creation. All that wreaked havoc on the bodies of men was attributed the deity and, in the opinion of Taur, it was an appropriate image to sustain. He referred to it as the krel of his scimitar; evoking the name each time he raised his blade. Caravans would quake in terror when confronted by Al'Hadin.
Karena smiled and nodded in silent adulation. "You are of great renown," she said, appealing to his vanity. "The more reason not to go to Rizhad. Kehlal has decried you to all of Akkaba."
"As the Lord of Plagues after I sent the heads of his assassins through his bazaar," he added. He softly laughed, recalling the incident.
Plagued by the ruadi, the grand malek dispatched two assassins to join the outlaws and murder their leader in his sleep. Taur decapitated both with his scimitar and mounted the heads on lances strapped to the back of a camel. He then attached goat bells to the animal and sent two ruadi to take it to Rizhad. When his men neared the city, they silenced the bells until within a hundred yards of the west gate of capital. At that point, they released the macabre display, letting loose the bells and driving the animal into the city. The frightened camel rampaged through the bazaar, wreaking havoc. Audaciously, Taur painted the name KEHLAL across the rump of the animal with a blazing red arrow pointing to its anus. For days following the incident, the city buzzed with recounted tales of the event. Al'Hadin was the only one who ever dared to openly challenge the malek. He rendered the ultimate dishonor and Kehlal could do no more than post the extravagant reward and decry him as the Lord of Plagues. Many of the city dwellers who despised the malek prefaced the name Al'Hadin with the title sulan, some believing he would one day rise to seek the throne of Akkaba. To many of the disenfranchised, Sulan Al'Hadin was more than a legend. He was idolized as a god.
Taur brandished a haughty grin, entertained by the memory. "As the Lord of Plagues, I have infested the member of Kehlal, rendering him impotent," he laughed.
His mother gave a scolding shake of her head at the comment. His words hinged on the obscene. "You are revered by your kinsmen," she offered instead, choosing to divert the subject. "They will look with favor on a gift purchased in Dekron."
Taur sneered. "Revered? Feared, you mean. My kinsmen hold their silence in my presence because they are afraid of my blade." He arrogantly folded his arms and glared at the tent of his father. "Afraid," he repeated, nodding in agreement with the word. "They survive on that which my raids provide." He paused and snarled. "Without me, the Dumari would cease to exist," he said, raising his voice to be heard throughout the small encampment. "My ruadi made safe the grazing lands beneath Mount Zerib."
"And they already look upon you as their zham," Karena suggested.
"They loathe me," Taur spat. "Like my ruadi, I am of dregs of Akkaba. I am needed, but held in contempt." He drew a breath and raised his voice even louder. "I am the krel of necessity whom the Dumari must appease!" he declared, shouting the words across the campsite. "That is the cut of it." He nodded to affirm his declaration.
Throughout his youth, Taur never gained acceptance within the clan. He was shunned and, at its worst, spat on and called a Ramili whelp when he displayed his writing skills. Educated by his mother, he knew too much for the illiterate and superstitious Dumari. Only Omar never resorted to the vile names that spewed from the mouths of the others. Instead, he listened to his brother's words and marveled at the ideas they revealed. As Taur grew in stature, the tongues of the Dumari silenced, but not their minds. He could see the glare of repulsion set deeply within their eyes; more so, now that he lorded over them, about to assume the role of their zham. They would bow their heads, but only to his scimitar.
Placing the saddle on his camel, Taur turned and smiled at his mother, nodding a silent farewell. He would ride throughout the night to reach the Kharan.
"Your father spoke against this journey," Karena offered as a final attempt to dissuade her son.
"Tamiska always speaks against me," Taur snarled, "but never to my face. He has not the courage to confront me. He knows if he did, I would not stand down."
Karena unconsciously nodded. Her son merely reflected her own jaded perspective of the aging zham. Since their wedding night, Tamiska was less of a husband than a father after impregnating her with Taur. The flight from Keph crushed him and he withdrew, virtually permitting Metuska, his first wife, to dominate his life. As Taur grew, Karena saw within him a faint hope of regaining her former lifestyle. She imbued him with her own unvoiced rebellion, spinning tales of the exploits of her grandfather, the conqueror of Akkaba. Seeking to inspire him to greatness, she ended each childhood story with the provocation: "You are destined to be another Restan."
Curling his cloak about his tunic and pantaloons, Taur lifted himself on his mount. He coaxed the camel to its feet and dipped his head to his mother. "If it offers you comfort, evoke the krel of safe journeys," he grinned, deliberately taunting her by his reference to the mythical imp.
"I'll pray to the god of caprice," Karena scowled. "Take care no one recognizes you."
"No one will," he assured her, drawing forward the cowl of his cloak. "This marubi garb will turn away their eyes."
Karena thinly smiled her approval of his choice of clothing. The dress of a gypsy trader evoked little attention from the denizens of the urban bazaars. Unlike the stable Ramili and Nasari merchants, the marubi bartered whatever they managed to possess at the moment. They were the nomadic entrepreneurs of the marketplaces with no consistent set of wares. The city clans tolerated them primarily because they provided items that otherwise would not reach the bazaars. Especially prized were the small caches of semiprecious stones the marubi ferried from the lands beyond the Demendi Mountains. They were the only adventurers who dared to negotiate the single hazardous passage to the distant Sabjal.
Urging his camel forward, Taur nodded to Omar who now stood just beyond the doorway of his mother's tent. His half-brother almost rivaled him in height but lacked his brawn. Taur relished the advantage, lording it over his sibling, mostly in jest. Omar was his companion in childhood, born to an Ishmali mother. Metuska was an anonymous woman in the central desert clan of Zham Khazid when Tamiska accepted her as his first wife. She was more of a gift than a chosen bride, presented to cement intertribal relations.
"I go to Rizhad," Taur called out, primarily as a taunt directed at Metuska whom he knew listened from inside her tent. The woman reviled him, berating her son for even the most casual association with the ruad.
Omar silently tolerated but resented the abuse by his mother. He was intimidated by the woman, beaten viciously until he grew old enough to run and hide. Metuska was almost demonic in the eyes of her son. She resented the fact her almost infertile husband had not rendered her a daughter to aid in her, and had not permitted Omar to enjoy the privileges of his manhood until he was twelve. At thirteen, the age of majority amongst the desert clans, Metuska finally and grudgingly exempted him from the menial household chores that, by custom, were relegated to daughters and wives.
Omar nodded as his brother approached. "I heard of your journey from the moment you stepped out of your tent," he smirked. "Your voice carries in this wilderness."
"The voice of a man," Taur said, aloofly tilting his head. "At least one should be heard in this encampment. Our father has lost his."
"He speaks firmly but softly as befitting a zham," Omar returned diplomatically. His mother never allowed him to speak a word against her husband.
"What about me?" Taur asked, almost demanding. "How do I speak?"
"Firmly," his brother grinned, "but more like a camel tender saddled with uncooperative beasts."
"A fitting portrayal of the Dumari," Taur guffawed. "When I return, I'll raise them to their feet. Maybe then, they will discover they possess the backbones of men, not humps like their mindless beasts."
"When you return," Omar repeated, implying a measure of doubt. His mother was pleased with the trek to Rizhad, praying the ruad would be taken captive by Kehlal.
Halting his camel in front of his brother, Taur leaned forward on the saddle, resting on his forearms. "I will return to take my rightful place as zham," he taunted, directing his words to Metuska. "My destiny will be fulfilled."
"A foolhardy journey," Omar sighed. "There is a price on your head and you ride the Kharan without your ruadi."
"Ten thousand dinai," Taur boasted, emphasizing each word. "A bounty vastly greater than the meager fifty resting on yours. When Kehlal hears of my visit, he will add another ten or, maybe, offer the whole treasury of Akkaba."
Omar again sighed, shaking his head. "You are not hindered by humility."
Taur curled his lip in an exaggerated sneer. "A ruad needs only two virtues. Courage and a good arm with the blade."
"Those would be the only virtues of Al'Hadin," Omar conceded, passively nodding.
"And you?" Taur asked. "What virtues do you hold dear?"
Omar grinned. "Wisdom to know my limitations and patience, for I endured you these many years."
"Traits of a goat herder," Taur laughed. "You spend too many nights taking your she-goats. No wonder your herd looks at you with passionate eyes."
His brother turned his head, attempting to suppress his smile. He coughed to conceal the laughter rumbling in his throat. Metuska would not approve. "The staff of a goat herder rests easy in my grasp," he said, when finally able to speak.
"A noble occupation, goat herding," Taur mocked, "but not the calling of a zham. Tend to your goats and I will tend to the Dumari when I return."
"A much greater chore," Omar suggested.
Taur sneered. "A herd of a different kind, though both possess an equal slowness of mind."
Not wishing to debate the merits of his kinsmen, Omar leaned and peered around the camel at Karena. "Your mother harbors fear for your safety," he observed.
"And yours?" Taur asked, lowering his head to look into Metuska's tent. "What does she harbor? Does she still nurture the illusion of having you proclaimed zham?"
His brother shrugged in resignation. "She merely upholds custom," he replied calmly, invoking the argument of his mother. "I am the first son of the first wife."
"A play on words," Taur countered. "I am the elder. Thus, the first son."
"A matter of contention," Omar retorted for his mother's benefit. "Few ascend in station when born to a second wife. And then, only if the first proves barren."
"As well as barren," Taur snarled. "Her weak limbs have spawned a herdsman not a zham."
Omar glared up at him. A distinct spark of anger ignited in the depths of his eyes. The words of his brother passed beyond the boundaries of the mutual derision they enjoyed. "That hangs on the edge of dishonor," Omar angrily growled, lowering his voice to a threatening murmur. "You insult the one who gave me life."
"Then put me to the challenge," Taur taunted, drawing aside his cloak and placing his palm on the hilt of his scimitar. "We could settle the question of birthright without an exhausting journey to Rizhad."
Omar hesitated. Taur never withdrew from a challenge, not even one rendered in jest. It was his irrational outlet for the hostility he accumulated growing up amongst the Dumari. Omar witnessed its evolution and violent results. Blood on his scimitar was the ruad's inevitable response to any provocation.
After several silent moments, Omar dropped his eyes. "You know very well I'm not your equal with a blade," he reluctantly conceded. "Your words have not been heard." On impulse, he drew back the cowl of his robe to expose his neck, passively lowering his head. "If you're bent on murder, then be done with it. Here. I offer you my life."
Taur casually elevated a brow. His brother's brash response provoked a smile. Though reluctant to admit it, Omar was an able warrior, tested in inadvertent encounters with the small bands of brigands who filtered across the Desha River from Shdad to prey on the Dumari herdsmen. He never failed to rise to the occasion, taking their lives while defending his stock. Afterwards, he sulked in silence, regretting having caused the deaths. It was the way of Omar. "There is a thread of courage in you, my brother," Taur acknowledged, understating his true belief. "You would fare better paying more attention to your blade."
The veiled compliment prompted Omar to return a smile. "I have no need for it, not since I have the renowned Al'Hadin to protect me."
"But who will protect you from Al'Hadin?" Taur grinned.
Omar tilted his head and shrugged, pondering a response. Finally, he stared into his brother's eyes and smiled. "If I am ever oppressed by him, I'll kill him in his sleep. I would have done so already but my kinsmen need the meager wares his raids provide. For their sake, I withheld my blade."
Taur emitted a loud guffaw. "I'll have to express my gratitude to your kinsmen. Until this moment, I didn't realize I owed them my life."
"Go to Rizhad," Omar said, shooing him on his way with a flip of his right hand. "I'll offer oblations to the krel of good fortune when I hear Kehlal has torn the flesh from your bones."
"Come and witness the spectacle firsthand," Taur teased. "Ten thousand dinai would serve to keep you in comfort in Rizhad."
Omar shrugged. "A tempting offer but I, too, have a bounty on my head."
"Fifty dinai," Taur laughed. "I'll turn you over to the ghirdhi if I ever have need for a cup of decash."
"Go," Omar pleasantly frowned, "I will await word of your death."
"Is that what you really want?" Taur asked.
"On occasion," Omar admitted. "However, your presence has added a small measure of challenge to my life. Without you, I would have no one to contend with except my more intelligent goats."
"A contest of wits that would sorely test your mettle," Taur laughed as he urged his camel toward the Kharan. "We'll continue discussing the merits of your goats when I return from Rizhad."
"Safe journey!" Omar called out as his brother departed the encampment. He watched for several moments, and then absently stared at the distant Mount Shush. The twin of Mount Zerib offered nothing to capture his interest as his thoughts lingered on his brother. Taur was his mentor as a child, relaying the instruction of Karena and teaching him to read and write. Through his brother, Omar came to look upon the heavens with reawakened eyes. It became a source of endless contemplation during the cool clear nights as he watched over his small flock and pondered the endless stream of questions flowing through his mind.
I have no wish to command, he inwardly admitted, reflecting on his conversation with Taur. As he said, I am a herdsman not a zham. Omar took several steps away from the tent of his mother to distance himself from her and not have his thoughts overheard. Metuska seemed to possess the ability to see into his mind. She resented his passion for poetry; haranguing him each time he penned his verses on the hides. "A Ramili rhymer," she would mutter with disdain. "They give their bodies to the fat merchants who pay the price. Are you preparing yourself for the trade or to be zham?"
Taking another step forward, Omar stooped to pick up a shiny pebble, turning it in his left palm. He clenched his fist and closed his eyes. Krel of fortune, he murmured fervently, see to my brother. Pass from me the burden of zham. To insure the fulfillment of his conjure, Omar rotated his hand, the palm downward, letting the pebble fall to the earth. He took a quick step backward before opening his eyes. Breathing a relieved sigh, he slowly returned to the tent of his mother. Metuska would not hear of his spell for he had safely entombed it in the depths of his mind.
Chapter 2
Resting his camel on the last weathered mound of the Magash foothills, Taur managed a quiet smile. The southern Kharan, already sweltering in the heat of the morning sun, offered more than a measure of consolation. It was his personal domain. Here, he was master. His ruadi controlled the windswept sands from Dekron to the banks of the Desha River. The ghirdhi of the sulan no longer ventured to the extreme south and east of Akkaba, suffering too many casualties in encounters with the seasoned marauders of Al'Hadin. Mounted on swift camels, his ruadi attacked the horse cavalry of the malek in the dead of night, vanishing amid the dunes with the rise of the morning sun. The tactic proved effective, diminishing the ghirdhi regulars and sending the survivors fleeing for safety within the walled cities of Neveh and Shdad. The beleaguered ghirdhi grew to view the Lord of Plagues as invincible; many believing Al'Hadin was a demon from the fiery depths of the Nasari version of hell. Taur relished the notoriety. At times, he attacked the ghirdhi replacements sent to Shdad from the capitol merely to exaggerate their fear. From their sanctuary in the Magash, his ruadi ventured westward, beyond the oasis of Dama, to raid the rich caravans following the Tibuti foothills northward, delivering their wares from Shdad to the bazaars of Neveh, Haran, Nahl and Rizhad. They were the only organized band of outlaws on the Kharan, aided covertly by the Ishmali whose zham despised the grand malek and the reigning sulan. Zham Khazid provided fresh camels and gave them sanctuary within his personal domain. In exchange for his aid, the ruadi never attacked the caravans bound for cities of Dekron and Deshne in the eastern Kharan where the Ishmali bartered for needed wares.
Turning in his saddle, Taur looked eastward, toward Dekron. Thin wisps of smoke could be seen rising from the city. Despite the heat, the women tended their cooking fires, preparing their early afternoon meals. Like the rest of the desert dwellers, no one ventured about in heat of the midday sun. Mornings and evenings were given to trade and chores and, except in emergencies, travel was engaged only at night, guided primarily by the stars. Like Deshne to the north, Dekron was not a sizeable city. Both were built by Cujal, an entrepreneur and prominent elder of the Ramili clan. The merchant attempted to construct a series of urban centers in the Kharan, at each of its four wells. Though Dekron and Deshne were respectively claimed by the Dumari and Ishmali, neither clan objected to the initial constructions; however, both adamantly refused to cede their wells at Keph and Akam. Thus, Cujal began to assemble a private army of mercenaries, intending to take the wells by force and dispossess the balking clans. Fearful of raising the wrath of the desert nomads, Amil, then sulan, intervened. He disbanded the mercenaries of the merchant and was at Keph, cementing relations with Zham Tamiska, when he was assassinated. Many believed Cujal had a hand in the plot, urging Gaghan to conspire with Kehlal against the sulan. The Ramili elder was the first to support the rise of the pretender after the death of Amil.
Taur gazed westward toward Keph, the former home of the Dumari and the site of his birth. He was a newborn infant when the ghirdhi of Kehlal descended upon the clan at the Desha River. Tamiska fled to the Magash, a cowardly decision in the eyes of the other desert clans. Before the assassination of Sulan Amil, the Dumari occupied the southernmost extreme of the Kharan. They flourished by taking their goatherds to the lush grass lining the banks of the Desha River, trading in the city of Dekron. Their existence was no better and no worse than that of the other clans. The Mephti and the Ishmali still thrived upon a similar way of life.
Raising his eyes, Taur surveyed the thin threads of snow outlining the tip of Mount Harabhis, the loftiest peak of the Demendi range. The northern mountain revived bitter memories within the older Dumari. It held the mines of Kehlal, cavernous pits where Dumari captives were taken, never to return. Slavery was banned in Akkaba by order of Sulan Amil. However, after the murder of the sovereign, Kehlal exempted his mines from the edict, importing slaves through the port of Shdad to supplement the prisoners he dispatched to his pits. Only the Nasari who profited from the venture approved of it. The rest of the city clansmen looked upon the practice with disdain. In their eyes, the mines were the disgrace of their isolated desert domain.
Akkaba was indeed isolated, surrounded on three sides by virtually impassable mountains and bordered on the west by the Haitashi Sea. The only foreign visitors arrived by ship to trade with the coastal cities of Neveh and Shdad. However, the Haitashi was the haven of pirates and foreign raiders. Thus, Restan, the architect of the domain, designed both cities to repel invasions. Second only to Rizhad, Shdad and Neveh were virtual fortresses, contained within twenty-foot walls constructed of massive sandstone blocks. Haran and Nahl also thrived along the coastline, protected from the sea by insurmountable perpendicular cliffs. The rest of Akkaba was shielded from intrusion by its mountains. A single path along a precipitous gorge cleaved its way through the Demendi range. However, only by the hardiest of the marubi made the journey. These adventurous traders risked their lives to obtain the semiprecious stones provided by the civilized inhabitants of Sabjal beyond Mount Kurash. Sabjal was the blueprint of the domain of Restan. The son of a marubi, he imported many of the practices of the more advanced culture, adopting them as part of the customs of his Ramili clan.
Urging his camel west of Dekron, Taur plied the invisible desert trail to the oasis of Riba to take his evening meal beneath its scant gathering of palms. After a brief rest, he would ride throughout the night to the well of Deve and the encampment of Zham Khazid. Taur was always welcomed by the zham of the Ishmali. The patriarch harbored only hatred for Kehlal. His elder sister, Tishne, was the wife of Amil. Her death at the side of her husband left a debt of honor unresolved and Khazid vowed to avenge the murder someday. Meanwhile, Al'Hadin was the instrument of his vengeance. He took solace in the harassment of the malek by ruad, offering him sanctuary within Ishmali lands. Taur could safely travel the span from Riba to Deve. The region was the indisputable domain of Khazid. The Ishmali rivaled both the Ramili and the Nasari in numbers, but stood apart from the royal realm. For Kehlal to send his ghirdhi into the region would be viewed as an affront to the zham, if not an outright declaration of war. Not wishing to provoke further hostility, the malek directed his ghirdhi not to venture into the territory claimed by Khazid. Kehlal was less accommodating to the Mephti. His ghirdhi confronted by Zham Mushad shortly after the death of Amil. To the chagrin of the patriarch, Mushad was forced to negotiate a settlement. Intimidated by the massacre of the Dumari, he grudgingly pledged his liege to Sulan Gaghan, permitting the men of the malek to travel freely to Akam and throughout the Mephti lands.
After several hours crossing the windswept sands spanning the interval between the Magash and Riba, Taur guided his weary camel to the top of a low rising dune overlooking the oasis. He paused, studying the long late afternoon shadows cast by the small cluster of palms. Two camels were nested beneath the trees. Nearby, the lone patch of scrub grass supported a single nondescript brown tent, obviously housing the riders of the beasts.
"Riba already plays the host," Taur whispered to his animal. "The tent must belong to one of limited means." Without hesitation, he urged the camel forward, plodding his way down the northern slope of the dune. One of the reclining animals emitted a honking bray, signaling his approach. "They speak to you," Taur murmured to his animal, noting signs of activity inside the tent. He slowly dismounted and stood to one side of camel. "Do you not rise to greet a visitor?" he called out after a modest wait. His words evoked no immediate response. No one sleeps this soundly on the desert, he muttered, placing his hand on the hilt of the scimitar concealed beneath his cloak.
By the cut of the fabric, the coarse cloth structure was of city design, belonging to a member of the chamizi. The tents of the wandering merchants were light and easy to assemble in the portion of the marketplace set aside for transient vendors of various wares.
Pausing near the door flap, Taur leaned forward and peered into the darkened interior of the tent. In the center of the small enclosure, an elderly man lay sprawled across a faded tapestry. From the stiffness of his body, he obviously was dead. He moved to the doorway, permitting his eyes to adjust to the diminished light. Another occupant sat huddled to one corner, totally covered by an oversized blue shawl. "Am I invited to enter?" he asked and stepped through the doorway when he received no reply. "I mean you no harm," he said, noting the diminutive size of the sheltered figure. "I came to Riba to take solace from the desert. I would appreciate it if you would at least speak."
Slowly the shawl parted to reveal the oval face of a young woman. Her dark eyes sparkled in the thin stream of light that swept past Taur, capturing his attention. They projected no hint of fear. "He is dead," the young woman flatly declared, pointing to the body. There was an echo of resignation within her voice. Whatever emotion preceded the arrival of the ruad was now dissolved. She merely watched him, staring with such intensity that he felt her gaze intruding on his mind.
Taur turned away, glancing in the direction of the corpse. "It does appear he has passed from this earth," he said diplomatically, merely to respond. "Was he your husband or master?"
"Father," the girl replied, now revealing the full contours of her comely olive-tanned face. Her cheeks glistened with the residue of tears, casting a ghostly aura beneath her penetrating eyes. Her expression still was noncommittal. Neither sorrow nor concern. She held his gaze, almost without blinking.
"I mourn your loss," Taur said, sinking to a squat just inside the doorway. He stared openly at the woman. Beneath an outward blankness, there was a radiant vitality emanating from her face.
"I would be honored to share your sorrow," he said, offering a sympathetic nod. "What was his name?"
The name of the deceased was a necessity on the Kharan. One would have to voice it in order to grieve properly.
Rising erect on her knees, the young woman edged forward. The crudely woven rug on which she knelt tugged at her thin cotton robe, revealing the full contours of her engaging form. Her right hand remained tucked at her side, thumb pointing downward, obviously concealing a dagger. She was prepared to defend herself. "He was Shalim of the Nasari," she offered.
Taur lingered, his eyes fixed on her body for a moment longer before turning to view the corpse. The crest of Hashin, the dark twin of the Nasari duality, was embroidered on the robe of the dead man, above his heart. "Hashini," the ruad murmured, twisting his lip at the departed follower of the malek. He held only contempt for the assassins of Kehlal. If the man had not been dead, he would have killed him as he had done with all the other hashini he encountered on the Kharan.
The woman passively nodded. "He did worship Hashin," she acknowledged.
"An assassin," Taur grunted, lacing the words with undisguised disdain. He looked back at the woman, glaring. "To which god do you pray?"
"He was of the kogri," she replied calmly, pointing at the corpse of her father without turning away her eyes. "I favor neither Hashin and Jival."
"The view of a Nasari," Taur suggested.
She had stated the obvious. The city clan held the twin gods as equals. They portrayed them as contrasts of existence, depicting the pair as a balance between darkness and light, chaos and order. Only the hashini chose the perverse, believing in immortal salvation if their god, Hashin, was unquestionably served.
"My mother was Ramili," she responded. "Her gods take precedence in my mind."
"Did you oppose your father?" Taur pressed, skeptical of the response.
She continued to stare directly into his eyes. "My father was of the kogri. I had no reason to favor his god."
Taur slowly nodded, accepting her explanation. The kogri or faithful as they called themselves, were exclusively male. Women were of no consequence to the cult and not privileged to salvation. They had no status beyond being of service to men. In the eyes of the kogri, their wives and daughters were little more than servants or slaves. "Why did you come to Riba?" Taur asked, his face relaxing to an almost sensual smile as he again focused on her body.
For the first time in their encounter, she modestly lowered her eyes. "My father was turned out on the Kharan."
"From Rizhad?"
"From Dekron," she replied, shaking her head. Her lush ebony tresses freed themselves from her shoulders and fell like a vest across her fully developed breasts. "The kogri would not let him die in the city."
"Why not? Wasn't he one of them?"
"Expelled," the woman replied. "He fell in disgrace when he spoke out against the mureh."
"Spoke out?"
The mureh was the absolute ruler of the cult. As its infallible high priest, Kehlal was viewed as the earthly incarnation of its god. None of the faithful dared challenge his decrees.
The woman lowered her head and released a controlled sigh. It was her first hint of emotion. "He complained of his diminishing fortune while in a drunken stupor." She turned and briefly stared at the body of her father. "He drank too much decash and the bahi would not pardon his words."
"Did he flee Dekron?"
She shook her head. "He was sent to the desert to take his life. It is the way of the kogri. He believed it to be the will of Hashin."
"As would be expected," Taur muttered, withholding his true opinion of the man. By custom, he was obliged not to speak ill of the departed in the presence of the corpse, especially to a member of the family of the deceased. The crest on the dead man's robe ranked him amongst the bahi, the select who saw to the whims of the mureh. Even a hint of disloyalty was punished by death.
"What is your name?" he asked, smiling at the woman.
"Shari," she responded. In keeping with the desert protocol, she waited until asked before offering her name. It was the manner in which a woman was expected to behave.
The face of the ruad twisted with an intrigued smirk. "I am Taur," he said, though not obliged to provide his name. However, the coincidence fascinated him. They both bore the names of the primordial parents of the human race. According to Ramili lore, Taur was the first created man and Shari was his first wife. "Your name is Ramili," he noted.
Shari nodded. "It was given by my mother. She was the daughter of a Ramili merchant in Neveh, possessing many skills."
Taur smiled his approval. Through their mothers, both belonged to the same clan, a further coincidence that did not escape his attention. A quirk of Ishmad, he mused, wondering if it was an omen related to his intended trip to Rizhad. "Will you return to Dekron?" he asked.
Shari returned his smile, aware of the significance of his name. She shook her head. "I have no kinsmen in Dekron. There would be no one to see to my keep."
The ruad folded his arms and shrugged; his smile dissolving to a leer as he openly stared at her. "You are pleasing to the eyes," he said softly. "You would thrive plying the trade."
Shari craned her neck, stiffening her spine to an affronted brace. "I will not be given to whoring," she snapped angrily. "There is no place for me in Dekron."
"Then where will you go?" he asked. Despite the curious circumstance surrounding their chance encounter, her plight was none of his concern. He could not delay his trip to Rizhad.
Shari lowered her eyes in thought, relaxing slightly. The death of her father left her stranded upon the Kharan. If she left Riba, she would be lost in the desert within the night. "To Neveh," she finally blurted. "The city of my mother."
Taur passively nodded and arose. "You have two camels to see you on your journey," he said, glancing outward through the opening of the tent.
"Are you leaving?" she asked, also rising.
"As soon as I have eaten."
"I'll prepare your meal if you will escort me to Neveh," she quickly offered.
"I have my own provisions," he said, tersely declining. He turned to step from the tent.
"I will pay you to escort me," Shari persisted, stepping forward and halting within arm's length. She still clutched the dagger but her hand now loosely dangled at her side.
Taur turned back toward her, brandishing a censuring frown. "A woman without a protector on the Kharan is in enough danger," he scolded. "Don't add temptation by announcing you possess wealth. Such foolish words could forfeit your life."
"I protect myself," Shari said brashly, twisting her wrist away from her body to bring the blade of a foot-long dagger into view. It was the traditional weapon of the kogri, taken from her father after he died.
Taur grunted an unimpressed harrumph, peering down at the blade. "Do you intend to attack me?" he asked, smirking at her from beneath an elevated brow.
"I will pay for your escort," she responded, ignoring the obviously facetious query. She quickly padded over to the body of her father. Stooping, she removed a silver chain from around his neck. "This, for my safe escort to Neveh," she bartered when she returned, holding out the chain to display the medallion and ring it held.
"Worth no more than thirty dinai," Taur suggested, casually appraising the jewelry from afar.
Shari stepped closer. "My father has worn these for more than twenty years. They were of great value to him. He would not trade them, not even for decash."
"No more than sixty dinai," Taur said, doubling the price to appease her. If a drunk would forego a gourd of the alcoholic beverage, there would be a certain value to the pieces.
"An adequate price for an escort to Neveh," Shari persisted. "For forty, one can gain passage on a caravan."
"Then wait for a caravan," he said, stepping out of the tent. Her company would prove to be entertaining if he was not on his way to Rizhad but, at the immediate moment, he had no desire to dally in pursuit of carnal pleasure. The ruad sought out a woman only when he felt the need and was otherwise unoccupied.
Shari followed him from the tent, reaching out to tug at his cloak. "They won't barter with a woman," she pleaded. "Without a man to safeguard my honor, I would be given over to a brothel as a whore."
Taur glanced down at the hand still clutching his garment. "You have your blade to protect you," he said, nudging his chin toward the weapon in her hand.
Shari scowled, releasing his cloak. She dropped the dagger. "There. Now I am defenseless. A man of honor wouldn't leave me in here alone."
"A man of honor," Taur repeated, glancing down at the discarded dagger. Her words reverberated within his mind. Honor was the only thing he held as truly divine. It was prized amongst the desert clansmen. The merit of a man was gauged by the soundness of his word. He lived by his honor and, for honor, he would readily die. "You gave up your weapon too easily," he muttered. "I could be a ruad who would take your flesh, your wealth and your life."
"I'll lose everything anyway if I stay here," she said, methodically blinking as she stared into his eyes. "I have chosen to let Fate decide."
"They call it Ishmad on the Kharan."
"Fate?"
He gave an affirmative nod. "Everything is guided by the hand of Ishmad."
"Your arrival," she suggested.
"And your presence at Riba," he conceded with a nod.
"Ishmad," she said smugly. "You were destined to be my escort. Can you deny it?"
Taur passively shrugged. "I'm going to Deve not Neveh."
"Then escort me there. I will hire an ishmal to see me the rest of the way."
"To Deve?"
She nodded. "Deve."
He reconsidered. It would be no great imposition having her accompany him. In fact, it would help pass the night. Although the trinkets she offered were of little importance to him, there was a certain appealing boldness about her and her voice was pleasing. Possibly, it was the will of Ishmad. Turning slightly away from her, Taur raised his eyes to the desert, re-evaluating her request.
Noting his hesitancy, Shari persisted. "I won't be a bother," she promised, offering a helpless smile. "If you leave me alone here, I'll be defiled or even murdered. My fate is in your hands."
He turned to face her squarely, grinning at the expectant twinkle in her eyes. "An awesome responsibility," he said facetiously. "I'm not sure I am up to the chore."
"You will survive it," she said spontaneously then immediately recanted her words. "Please don't leave me here," she pleaded.
Tilting his head, Taur pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll escort you to Deve," he magnanimously declared. He pointed to the chain in her hand. "For those and an adequate meal."
"A barter struck," the woman agreed, handing him the chain. As he accepted the jewelry, Shari peered back at her dead father. "His body must be buried," she softly declared.
"A chore for a digger of graves," Taur responded, placing the chain about his neck. He tucked the medallion and ring beneath the collar of his tunic, and readjusted his cloak.
"I can't just leave him there," she pleaded, forlornly staring in at the cadaver. "It is a matter of duty. He has no other kinsmen to see to his burial."
"You press the barter," Taur muttered, slowly nodding. "For the sake of your honor, I shall cover him with sand. That is the best I can do without a spade to dig a pit."
"It will serve as a grave," she smiled, politely dipping her head. "Thank you."
"You are welcome," he said, waving her toward the rear of the tent.
"No more demands," he grumbled, as she seemed about to speak. "Get in there and see to my meal."
"Boiled goat meat?" she asked, pausing in the doorway.
He stared at her and frowned. "Cook whatever you like but do it quickly. I would like to leave here before dark."
"Boiled goat meat," she said, returning a weak frown before vanishing into the tent.
She prattles more than my mother, Taur sighed as he stared through the opening. Together, the two of them could talk a man to death." Quietly picturing the two women engaged in conversation, he smiled then laughed, turning to take his camel closer to the muddied water of the oasis. "It must be the Ramili blood," he said to the animal. "No wonder there is such a din in the bazaars. They built them to give their women a place to vent their tongues."
Chapter 3
Swallowing the last of the goat meat Shari prepared, Taur curled his lips, grimacing at the distasteful fare. The woman possessed no skill with the cooking pot, he concluded. She merely immersed the salted meat in water and brought it to a boil, adding no seasoning or herbs. Its briny concoction was sure to expand his thirst. Scowling, he tilted the bowl and poured the broth on the ground.
"You waste food," Shari grumbled, visibly displeased.
"A libation to the krel of the desert," he muttered, shaking the last drops from the bowl. "It is the custom of my clan."
"Not of mine," she frowned. "We only discard food not fit to eat."
"You described it perfectly," Taur said, peering at her from beneath a lowered brow. He leaned forward and set the bowl at her feet. The woman hovered over him throughout the meal, incessantly chattering about the desert, the oasis and a host of other inconsequential things obviously to distract his attention from the poorly prepared food.
Ignoring the bowl, Shari looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the cloudless sky as the sun settled beyond the mountains. "There will soon be a full moon to light the night," she offered. "The animals will not stumble in the dark."
Taur heaved an audible sigh. "Camels do not stumble. They have eyes for the desert, even at night." He looked up at her, shaking his head. "You speak too much for a woman," he grumbled, more to himself.
Shari simply smiled. She stooped to pick up the bowl, deliberately permitting the loose collar of her robe to pop downward, providing an unobstructed view of her ample breasts. A pleasant distraction, she inwardly snickered, noting the erotic vista had not escaped his eyes. Sufficient to turn his mind away from the miserable meal. She hesitated a moment longer, pretending to snare the elusive bowl.
"You expose yourself," Taur said, realizing the intentional nature of her actions.
Shari modestly blinked and placed her palm to her chest, pressing flat the robe, as she stood erect. "A chance occurrence. A man of honor would turn away his eyes."
Taur elevated a brow and squinted at her with his other eye. "There isn't that much honor in any man," he laughed. "Only a eunuch or a fancy boy would ignore a set of well formed breasts."
"Speaking from experience?" she asked with a taunting smirk.
"From experience," he replied.
Shari giggled. "As which? A eunuch or a fancy boy?"
"As a fool who was snared by your double-sided question," he sighed, curling his lips to a twisted pucker and frowning at her. "You know exactly what I meant."
"That you appreciate beauty," she suggested.