Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (24 page)

“The Silent unanimously voted for Ahiram to become a Solitary,” explained the commander. “The Solitary’s peers, those enrolled with him, bind themselves to him as family. If Ahiram, or any other Solitary, commit murder, he curses all his peers, every single one of them.”

“The exalted Temple of Baal is aware of this rule and does not believe that the Silent Corps is dangerous. It grants the Corps, even in these troubled times, the privilege of guarding the castle; they do not commit murder. You see, my dear prince, the sensible course of action is to stay our accusations until someone produces supporting evidence.”

All who were present considered very carefully the implications of the King’s words.

“If not a Silent, then who?” asked the prince. “Who is the killer?”

“This, we shall find out, my dear prince,” said the King. “I assure you, the commander is far more eager to uncover the truth than any one of us. Now, if you do not mind, it is time to retire for the night.” With this, the King descended from his throne.

All present bowed and waited for him to leave. Prince Olothe looked at Commander Tanios for a moment, wanting to say something, but instead, dashed out of the room.

Bahiya eyed Tanios quizzically. “A Solitary. My dear Tanios, I see you have pampered this slave of yours.”

“Do you believe the prince?”

“The King has spoken. What else is there to say?”

“Spare me your sarcasm, Priestess, I have a murderer to catch.” Without waiting for a reply, Tanios left the Hall of Judgment. Bahiya remained alone. Her composure changed. She looked weary and tired. She stood in the room for a moment, and whispered in a sad voice, “Tanios,” before leaving.

Directly below the Hall of Judgment, a short distance away from the Silent’s wing, Ramany stood in the common area shared by the judges. While lying in bed, a thought mushroomed in his mind and would not leave him. He tried to ignored it, but it gnawed at him, keeping him up. One thought led to another, and the mushroom mushroomed. He tossed and turned for a couple of hours before admitting defeat. He got up, coughed a dry cough, filled his large mug with fresh water, and sat comfortably in a chair to think the matter over. Soon, his throat was parched again, something that happened only at night. He felt queasy and flustered, wondering if he had angered a god who plagued him with a nightly parched throat, and if so, which god could it be?

He leaned forward to grab his mug and knocked it over instead. It tumbled loudly onto the marble floor, splashing water on his sandals, but oddly, did not break. Relieved, he picked it up.

“This must be a good omen,” he grumbled softly.

Ibromaliöm, who the judge Hylâz had nicknamed “the Scarecrow,” opened the main door to their quarters and walked in. Ibromaliöm was still wearing his ceremonial toga, even though the Game of Bronze had ended several hours ago.
How odd
, thought Ramany,
but then again, Ibromaliöm is rather odd.

“Up, I see,” said Ibromaliöm jovially. “Something the matter?”

He smiled and Ramany shivered. The tall judge’s white teeth flashed like two rows of fangs, and his black eyes were watching Ramany, the way a spider eyes a fly caught in its web.

“This slave…he is becoming a real headache, you know,” he grumbled looking away.

“Why?”

Hylâz walked in from his bedroom and plopped himself onto a chair opposite Ramany. He struggled for a while, trying to pull his tunic from behind his back, stretching it over his expansive belly.

“Hylâz,” protested Ramany waving his hand, “Could you please comb what little hair you have left? You look like a peacock.”

“Look who’s talking,” grumbled Hylâz, combing his hair with his hand. “Your hair is pressed down on one side like moss, and standing up on the other like a prickly cactus.”

“Gentlemen,” sighed Ibromaliöm, “could we please focus on the matter that keeps our good friend Ramany awake.”

“Yes Ramany, what is keeping you up?” added Hylâz.

“I see you are still awake,” said Garu, walking in from the main door. Hylâz and Ramany were surprised to see him up this late. They knew the lead judge was an early riser, unaccustomed to late nights.

Involuntarily, Ramany glanced at Ibromaliöm, who stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed. He glanced at Garu and felt uncomfortable for no apparent reason.

“You came just in time, Master Garu,” said Hylâz. “Our good friend, Ramany, was about to tell us what we must consider.”

“Indeed,” added Ramany. “Who is first tomorrow?”

“Well,” explained Garu, patiently, “the rule is clear: the winner of the previous Game goes first.”

“And who won the first Game?” asked Ramany.

“The slave—”

“Who, according to said rules, should go last,” continued Ramany.

Garu shook his head. “Judge Bayrul did not make up these rules with winning slaves in mind.”

“Precisely,” said Ramany.

“In your opinions, my dear colleagues,” said Ibromaliöm, “what is more significant? A winner, or a slave? Clearly, a winner must go first. A slave would go last, but a slave that won the Game of Bronze symbolizes most closely our illustrious El-Windiir. We should consider this resemblance very, very carefully.”

Placing his hands behind his back, he started pacing. “The rules apply for a winner who is not a slave, and for a slave who is not a winner. Combining them yields either a winning slave, or a slave who is a winner. You can elevate the slave, or demean the winner. Tanniin holds these Games to honor El-Windiir, so it seems fitting that we should raise the slave, rather than degrade the winner. I rest my case.”

The remaining three men were speechless. Garu stood up and said, “Just what I was thinking. My dear Ibromaliöm, I congratulate you on your well-thought-out argument, and I charge you in repeating all of this to the King tomorrow morning. Good night.” Ibromaliöm bowed and retired. The two remaining judges looked at each other.

“He is a smart one,” said Ramany.

“Smarter than you think,” answered Hylâz. “I have known him since he was four years old. If he puts his mind to it, he can convince a king to sell his kingdom for a cow on the verge of dying. Anyway, have a good night, Ramany; tomorrow will be a long day, a very long day indeed.”

Ramany spent most of the night reflecting on Ibromaliöm’s words. The argument was brilliant, but Ibromaliöm bent the rules, which forbade the judges from playing favorites, even in an exceptional case such as this one.

Seeing Ibromaliöm bend the rules so subtly makes me wonder what this man is capable of,
he thought
.
Ramany shivered and decided he had best go back to bed.

Ahiram woke up with a strange feeling. This new room was larger than his cell. The floor was covered with shiny, laminated oak slabs and the walls were paneled with rosewood. A large mural of two Silent sparring with training staffs covered the wall opposite his bed. The two young women stood in a golden field against a backdrop of snow-covered mountains. An iron-beaten statue of the god Tanniin—all six wings extended—was embedded in the marble ceiling above. Its ruby-red eyes gazed at him in the darkness.

How odd,
thought Ahiram.
No window.

He got up and performed his morning regimen, then left the room. Commander Tanios’ door was closed.
He may be still sleeping, or maybe he left,
thought the Silent. Regardless, he would not dare disturb his master. Quickly, he walked out the main door into the eastern hall, and went down the staircase located inside the Garden Tower. He reached the first floor just in time for the changing of the guards. Taniir-The-Strong could host a garrison of three hundred and twenty soldiers with their captains and commanders, but King Jamiir had cut the number of soldiers by half. Ahiram knew the barracks closest to the Garden Tower were empty and the servants now used the northeastern dining area for storage. Ordinarily, nothing disturbed the peace of the first floor, aside from the familiar noises from the kitchen. Standing in the shadow of the spiral staircase inside the tower, Ahiram could tell that something was different. Guards stood along the wide corridor of the Lone Tower. A mute tension suffused the air, as if an invisible hand was changing air into lead
. Something evil took place here, I am certain of it.
He could not pinpoint the source of his certitude, but it overwhelmed him, as if he had witnessed the evil himself. Suddenly, he felt relieved that Noraldeen was gone.
At least I don’t have to worry about her.

Just then, Master Habael and Commander Tanios came out of the royal kitchen. The commander was talking and the old man was listening intently. They went past the Lone Tower and disappeared behind the soldiers’ quarters.
So, the commander was up before dawn
, he thought.
This must be serious
.

He strolled into the corridor with poise, just as the guards would expect. The granary’s door was wide open, and he saw a group of soldiers conducting searches inside. Two Silent barred anyone from entering the royal kitchen, but the servants’ kitchen was open. Leifa, the head female servant, hollered, motioning Ahiram to sit at the table.

“Master Habael asked me to look out for you and to make certain you ate your breakfast before you leave.” She set an omelet before him with two thick slices of bread, goat milk, and six dried figs.

“Thank you, Frey Leifa,” replied Ahiram.

Leifa grinned and ruffled his hair. “Always polite, this one,” she said to no one in particular. “He called me ’Lady Leifa’ the first time we met. Look at him, a Solitary with eyes to melt an Empyrean heart, and he calls me ’lady.’ May El give me long life to meet her.”

“Meet who, Frey Leifa?” asked Ahiram.

“The Empyrean, silly, the beautiful Empyrean whose heart will melt when she sees you.”

Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “Do you know what happened during the night?” he asked, gulping down his food.

A twinge of sadness cast a shadow over her bright eyes. “Soldiers found one of the guests dead in the storage room,” she said softly.

“Dead? Who did it?” Ahiram’s mind was racing. No doubt the prince must have accused him. This would explain why Commander Tanios wanted him in the Silent’s quarters.

“No one knows yet, my boy,” she said, wiping the table. “Don’t you worry about it now. You have a Game to win today.” Leaning forward she whispered mischievously, “We’re all counting on you.” She straightened her posture and continued with a normal voice. “Leave the rest to your commander. He will find out who’s behind this. He always does.”

Ahiram smiled and said nothing. He finished eating in silence, thanked Leifa once more and slipped quietly out of the kitchen.

When he reached the circular plaza in front of the Mine of Silver, the crowd had already filled the stands and were showing signs of impatience. The participating teams were already in place.

Many considered the Game of Silver, also known as the “Game of Bridges”, to be the first
real
Game. To win, the contenders had to cross several dangerous bridges. Its entrance was high up the mountain face, across the ravine, reachable only by the Bridge of Evergreen, a suspended bridge which stood six hundred feet over the Renlow River. It measured four hundred yards long and linked the two sides of the path that Ahiram had taken the day before, shaving two miles off the length of the rocky road. Unwary travelers who chose this crossing invariably ended up stuck midway trying to survive the bridge’s wide and deadly swings caused by the capricious northwestern wind.

Those who were rescued suffered severe bouts of dizziness, even days after, and those who were not rescued were carried away by the river into the swamps.

The first salvo of trumpet blasts filled the plaza. The crowd cheered and applauded expectantly. King Jamiir’s carriage had just arrived, followed by the royal retinue. The teams stood at attention by their posts. Ahiram was surprised to see a second flag above his own, attached to his post. No one had bothered to tell him about the decision the judges had reached the night before. The second trumpet call echoed in the valley. An arbitrator ran to him.

“As the
current
champion, your first flag must be the highest, and your second, the lowest to match your…state.”