THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) Page 13

  “Half a lifetime?” mimicked the haj with astonishment. In his own surprise he didn’t notice that his other guests were equally astounded. “It must be a very long journey, friend, to have lasted so many years …”

  “Longer than you can imagine, haj. Longer than any of you can imagine. Almost from one end of the world to the other. But now,” here he sighed, “the glimpse of the end is all but in sight. And I am most eager for its conclusion, come what may.”

  Something in his last words caused Mariana to shiver. Suddenly she felt very cold; almost as cold as when they crossed the sewers, even though the haj’s fire was still burning brightly. “What lies at the end of your road, stranger?” she asked with trepidation.

  Looking into each of their faces in turn, he said, “Perhaps glory, perhaps death. Either way, I must do what I must do.”

  Burlu gulped down his wine and refilled the chalice. He had met enough travelers and wanderers in his years to know the makings of a good tale when he saw it. He clapped his hands and called for another pitcher. The night was barely begun, and he knew there was nothing in the world better than sweet honeyed wine to loosen even the most reluctant tongue.

  Ramagar stirred, saying, “You once told us your intent to cross the sea. Is that where your quest will finish?”

  “There, and beyond.”

  Beyond? Beyond the great sea? thought haj Burlu. He nervously twirled his emerald finger ring and listened with growing interest. The evening was becoming more entertaining by the moment.

  “And what, if I might inquire, do you know of what is beyond?” he asked, twisting his body so as to fully face his yellow-haired guest. “You are a man of the north, are you not? Your golden hair and fair complexion tell me as much. And by your dress, and you admit you are not a mariner.”

  “I know more than you give me credit for,” came the reply.

  “Ah,” said the haj thoughtfully, “then are you a scholar? Our ships have sailed all the seas for countless centuries. And our sailors have been to every shore from one end of the world to the other. They speak only of desolate lands to be found, many ice bound, others swamp and jungle, inhabited mainly by fearsome beasts and often terrible savages. Tell me, is this not so?”

  The stranger took a small swallow from his chalice and said, “These sailors are wrong.”

  Burlu smiled thinly, one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. “So, you claim to speak with more knowledge than they?”

  All became very quiet as the stranger pondered his answer. Apart from the wind, shrieking like a chorus, there was not a sound to be heard. “Have you never heard the legends of the Lost Empire? Or the Golden Isles?”

  “All these and more,” said the haj with a frown. “They are fanciful tales, to be sure. And had I a sheep or a goat or even a swine for every such tale I have heard I would be a very rich man. Men have quested for these places since the dawn of time. But to me they are wishful dreams and nothing more.”

  The stranger sat straighter and looked his host squarely in the eye. “There are tales, and then there are tales, good haj. Some, such as those I have mentioned, are spun merely for children and the gullible, while others that have been passed from generation to generation reflect only truth.” His eyes narrowed piercingly and the haj blinked. “Some may call them fanciful, while others know better …”

  Burlu ran his tongue over lips that were becoming dry despite the wine. “And do … you … spin such tales?” he asked.

  The cooking fire had dimmed, a few last embers crackling softly, glowing in tones of amber and orange. Dull shadows cascaded across the walls and ceiling of the tent. The stranger’s face was covered by these shadows, and he looked to his companions one by one. “There is only one tale that I tell, good friends,” he said in a voice so low that all had to strain their ears to hear. “It is not a myth or a legend, but the story of a people whose civilization even to this very day has never been rivaled. A people whose beautiful land was the fairest and most bountiful that the world has known …”

  Ramagar leaned forward uneasily, holding his empty cup with both hands. “What land is this that you speak of?” he said.

  Mariana felt her heart thump madly; she could think only of the golden scimitar and the strange runes inscribed on the scabbard. Runes that bore the markings of a land long lost.

  “Have any of you,” said the stranger, “ever heard of the Specian Kingdoms?”

  A strong gust of wind forced itself past the flaps and whipped across the tent, startling them all except the stranger.

  “I have heard something of the legend,” said the haj slowly. “It was said to be a mighty land; powerful, yet peace-loving. Wise men say it vanished from the face of the world centuries ago.”

  “Not vanished, good friends. But enshrouded in Darkness. Eternal Darkness, so that other men can never find it and set it free.”

  Mariana shuddered. “Are you saying that Speca yet flourishes?”

  The stranger’s eyes burned with dark, smoldering fires. “Not flourishes, but yet exists. Crying out in whispers to be freed. Their voices carry across the sea, across the deserts. My dreams are filled with these cries, terrible nightmares that haunt me and will not let me rest until my quest is done.”

  The haj looked quickly to Ramagar, then to the girl. He wondered if his third guest had drunk too much honeyed wine or was demented.

  “These things you say,” said the haj, “make little sense. Would you have us believe that your journey is to reach this fabled land?”

  “Yes—and to regain it.”

  “Regain it?” The haj was stunned beyond words. Ramagar listened incredulously, unsure if the wine had not altered his own senses as well. Only Mariana listened with calm and understanding, while even faithful Homer looked at his friend with uncertain disbelief.

  The mysterious stranger smiled briefly and then sighed. “I know you think me mad,” he told them wearily. “And I suppose I can’t blame you for it. Whenever I have told my story my listeners have considered me to be a raving lunatic. Once I was nearly dragged to an asylum for speaking these matters. They tried to bind me in chains and lock me away forever.” He began to rise. “Perhaps it would be best if I left you all now.” He looked at his host, head lowered in respect. “I thank you, haj, for all you have done. All I ask is that you do not allow your views of me to reflect upon my companions. They are honest folk, kind and gentle. They know nothing of me or my task.”

  Burlu raised his hands, palms up. “Please, do not leave. Stay with us as you intended. And tell us your tale from the beginning. Then maybe we can all understand.”

  Mariana reached out and took the stranger’s hand, gently pulling him back toward his place. “The haj is right,” she said. “Tell the full story. We will not laugh; nor call you insane.”

  The stranger glanced at his companions with surprise. “You will listen?” he asked. “Hear all I have to say?”

  “Every word,” said Burlu, gesturing for him to sit. He called for another pitcher of wine, and everyone sat quietly while the serving girl refilled the goblets.

  And then the stranger began. “The kingdom of which I speak was like no other. Lofty and amazing were its cities; fashioned of stone and polished marbles and fine woods. Its temples and palaces were splendorous, its kings and princes benevolent. The people tilled their soil and knew no hunger. Its craftsmen and merchants traded the finest handicrafts and art, while its engineers constructed a network of roads and dams that have never been surpassed. Specian mariners sailed the oceans upon vessels swift and sturdy, too numerous to count. Their goods were eagerly received at ports of every continent, including your own. Science, above all, flourished as nowhere else. There was hardly a sickness in the world that its physicians did not have herbs to remedy. Proud and noble, Specian men were handsome and the women beautiful. For twenty centuries and more they knew only peace …”

  “It must have been a wondrous land,” sighed Mariana.

  “And
it was—until the Dark came and overshadowed all, turning a dignified people into cowering wretches forever watching the black sky and waiting for the sun to return.”

  The haj felt the palms of his hands dampen. “What disaster befell them so?” he asked. “Was it a plague of locusts? Perhaps terrible drought?”

  “Alas, it was none of these things—nor any other that your mind would conceive. Sadly, their fate was far, far the worse; for at least drought and plague know an end, the plight of Speca does not.”

  He paused here to let his words be grasped, and then with a sigh he drew the scimitar from his cloak and turned his gaze to it. The jewels seemed to brighten and glow as his eyes became murky and dark. And he stared, stared deeply into the tiny baubles as his tale began to unfold.

  “It was on a grim and starless night that the ship came upon Speca’s golden shores. A strange ship, flying a black velvet flag with no marker or seal. Its great crimson sail swelled as if with wind, although that night was calm and there was none. Carved into the sprithead was the image of a dragon’s head, terrible and fearsome. Jewels had been set for eyes; dark rubies that glowed malevolently. And upon its head were horns, great, twisting hulks of bone or ivory carved with ominous runes. The mouth of the beast spit fire. Yes, true fire; although what powers or trickery were used to summon it I cannot say. The sailors were broad, grim men. Hairy and savage. And as they slipped into our harbor they sang a low, rumbling chant in a tongue no man or woman in Speca had ever heard even though many of her citizens had traveled far and wide across the world.

  “Needless to say there was great unease in Speca. The barbarians stepped upon our land and in a mighty procession marched toward the gates of the palace itself. In the lead, wearing a black cape and a crown of skull, came a shaman. A sorcerer, a wizard. Few could bring themselves to gaze upon his cruel face, and those who did watched speechlessly and breathless. Soldiers, even captains well renowned for their courage, trembled at the sight of him. And the shaman laughed, mocking and scorning them, and demanding to see the famed Specian king.

  “The message he brought was a fearful one: war and destruction would ravish their fair land, he said, if his own king’s terms for immediate surrender were not met at once. The Specian king and his advisers were knowledgeable men, not easily given to fear of things they did not fully understand. In Speca, as in many other lands, magicians abounded. Their tricks, though, were harmless; mainly employed for carnivals and feasts or the amusement of children. The king believed that this man, as fearsome as he seemed, was no more powerful than these others. Average citizens might perhaps be awed by his presence, but he was not.

  “So the king laughed in the shaman’s face. ‘Do you take us for idiots that we would hand over our kingdom because of your threats?’ he scorned. ‘Do what wizardry you will. Speca stands firm. Now begone while your head still sits upon your shoulders.’

  “The wizard held his ground, spitting foul oaths and daring the Specian king with his contempt. ‘Laugh not,’ he warned, ‘lest your land and your people suffer for it.’ The king was inflamed. He rose to his full height and ridiculed the man, calling him a clown. To this the shaman made no reply; he turned with his companions, his black robes flowing, and strode quickly from the room. ‘You have been warned,’ he shouted. And then he was gone, leading his procession back to the ship. Word of the king’s bravery spread through the city. Where before there had been fear now there was none. The citizens harangued the shaman, taunting him amid great hilarity. Speca was resolute. The people would neither cower nor bow either to him or to any other would-be conqueror. And rightly so; for Speca was indeed the mightiest nation on the earth. A hundred warships would be built if need be. A thousand. With her science and her great knowledge she would repulse any who dared threaten her shores. Yes, even the mightiest of wizards could not make her falter.

  “So it was that the ship set sail and left. And for fully a month thereafter life in the Golden Kingdom and all its domains carried on as peacefully and serenely as ever before. The incident was fully forgotten. But then, one dismal rainy morn at the outset of winter came the storm. And what a terrible storm it was! The sea itself seemed to rise up against us as never before, swelling and rolling with such force that the seawalls, holding fast and sturdy for ten centuries, now began to crumble. And then they broke, the sea lashing out in fury and washing over the land. Rivers flooded high beyond their banks, dams burst, whole villages and valleys washed away before all eyes. It was horrendous; all of Speca’s princes, all of her generals, all of her engineers and scientists looked on in frightful wonder. For seventy-seven full days and seventy-seven full nights the land suffered beneath a constant barrage until only despair and gloom filled every heart. Even her sages and her finest scientists were unable to find a solution to remedy the havoc that raged like a demon from one end of the land to the other.

  “On the seventy-eighth day the waters began to recede. Losing no time, the king ordered his ministers and his soldiers to set to the awesome task of reclaiming the land. But so much had been lost, it seemed a hopeless task. Yet Speca remained determined. It was that very morning, while the people came out of their homes and gasped at the destruction, that the king himself was urgently summoned by his aides to come to the highest tower of the palace. From that lofty height they frantically bade him to look again upon the sea. It was as still as glass; not a ripple of a wave could be seen. But on the horizon, distant and dark, came a host of ships. Crimson-sailed ships of war, all flying the dreaded black flags of the wizard and his king, all groaning under the weight of catapults and other machines of war, all filled with hundreds of the swarthy, chanting barbarians.

  “Above the Specian palace the sky was blue and clear, the sun brightly shining. Yet above the distant ships, moving with similar speed and with the same purpose, came an all-encompassing shroud of black clouds. Dense and low, they swirled in the conjured wind and slowly fanned out to cover the length and breadth of Speca. What magic had brought this, the king did not know; only that without question it was a result of the foulest sorcery he had ever seen. Ominously the clouds moved in, blotting out all sunlight, bringing with them a damp and cold that chilled the very bones.

  “Still, the king rallied his loyal troops and managed to instill courage. Speca’s brave sailors hastily mustered the pitiful remnants of her once proud fleets and prepared to meet the invading host head-on in battle. And soon the battle was joined. Each and every Specian fought with skill and valor, and although they were outnumbered in ships at least three to one they carried the fight so bravely that at every turn a new, shattering blow was dealt to the enemy. Again, though, the enemy called upon their black arts to aid them. And the sea itself became a terrible maelstrom, a frightening whirlpool that dragged each and every defending ship down into the black while the ships of the invaders remained unscathed.

  “The Specian king watched these events aghast. Shouting for his ministers, he bade them draw all citizens into the city and to prepare for siege. Submission, even in this bleakest hour, was still unthinkable, the word ‘defeat’ never once even contemplated. All Specians agreed; they would rather fight to the last man than surrender and become slaves under the domination of this beastly host.

  “When the enemy ships reached shore the barbarians lost no time in rampaging through the countryside, looting, stealing, and wantonly ravishing the precious little that was left. Fires raged freely, destroying what had been beautiful forests and fields, harvests and gardens. While above, the black clouds descended, settling slowly like a fog until at midday the sky was as black as on the darkest night. And the people knew that this Darkness would remain—remain until the vile host was wiped from the land.

  “With no sources of food and the enemy in complete control of all the kingdom save for the walled city, the king and his followers waited helplessly. Starvation was quick to come—and with it the scourge of disease, new and strange ailments that left the physicians baffled and discouraged.
Men, women, and children were dying each day by the score, then the hundreds. And so, after nearly a half year of valiantly resisting, the Specian king admitted to himself that his kingdom was lost. He wept bitterly; not for himself or his titles, but for his people, a people who had put all their trust and faith in his ability. Now, he had let them down. Speca had new masters. Vile, evil men, ruled for millennia by a line of deranged dwarf-kings and wizard advisers. For a century and more these men from a distant island had coveted the kingdom, plotting and scheming and practicing their nefarious magic until the skills were perfected. Now, Speca was theirs: her women defiled, turned into slaves and whores, her men shackled and put under the yoke as if they were beasts of burden and nothing more.

  “The brave and righteous king of Speca was imprisoned in a high tower and there forced to watch while members of his own family were humiliated and tortured before his eyes. One night, unable to live with his agony, he flung himself to his death—to the amusement of his Dwarfking advisory, who ordered his corpse left near the desert lands where the carrion could feast on his flesh. And then, one by one, the many members of Speca’s large royal family were themselves put to death.”

  The stranger paused, tears welling at the corner of his eyes, and with a hand that was shaking with emotion put his chalice to his lips.

  Mariana lifted herself from her shocked silence. The story had affected her deeply, as it had the others. Face paled, voice a whisper, she said, “And did not a single member of the family somehow manage to escape such a dastardly fate?”

  It was a cold thin smile that passed the stranger’s lips. “Yes, incredibly so, two did escape. A young prince and princess, second cousins to each other. It was under the cloak of the everlasting accursed Darkness that somehow they were able to slip past their guards and flee the palace and the city. They hid within the fields for weeks, daring not even to breathe while the search for them covered the land. But Fate and Fortune accompanied them, it seems, and one day while the Dwarfking held a religious celebration they caught horses and fled far inland to the borders of another land. And what a sight it was for them. How can I possibly explain? Where they stood, before a shallow river, the sky was black, the air cold and damp; while on the other side of the water, perhaps a hundred meters away, they saw sunlight, could feel the warmth of summer radiating, see birds fly and hear them sing. It was a stirring moment, I promise you. They waded across as fast as they could, and at last they were free. Only once did they look back, and when they did they shuddered. All to be seen was the night; and the gloom of their experiences tore at their hearts. They could never come back, they knew. Never again gaze upon peaceful Speca. With longing sighs and tears, they made their way to a new life. Crossing mountains they made friends with the hill tribes, who, although they feared the dreaded sorcery one day being brought down upon their own lands, agreed to help the two Specians find a new home.