Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (33 page)

“But, Banimelek, if anyone wants to attack me, they’ll do it inside the mines.”

“Assuming that the attackers know there way around the caves,” retorted Jedarc. “The priestess has stationed soldiers along Royal Road from the castle to the mine.”

“These guys are slower than a slug,” grumbled Ahiram, biting off a massive piece of bread. “They can’t catch me.”

“They don’t have to,” replied Banimelek. “they only need to slow you down. If they can do this, it’ll be all over for you.”

Ahiram conceded the point. He finished his breakfast in silence and a short moment later, the three friends reached the plaza in front of the Mine of Bronze.

The crowd was twice as large as yesterday’s.
At least seven thousand people
, he thought.
I wonder how big it will be for the Game of Meyroon tomorrow.

“Are you ready for this?” asked Banimelek, standing behind him.

“As ready as I can be,” said Ahiram, smiling.

Banimelek nodded. “We will keep an eye on you inside the caves,” he said before slipping away with Jedarc, just as the trumpet blasts signaled the start of the Game. Immediately, the procession formed, headed by the King and his retinue, followed by the four judges, and the athletes. Two rows of Silent kept the people at bay. The sun peeked over the mountaintops in the bright blue sky, and the crowd cheered three times. Ahiram stood behind the King. Hiyam’s team was in second position, followed by the team from Quibanxe, the team from Marduc, and the team from Togofalk. Ahiram glanced at Bahiya’s daughter. She stood forlorn, as if she had lost all interest in the Games, and for once did not laugh or jeer at him.

With the third trumpet blast, the procession lurched forward, moving along the western path leading to the Bridge of Evergreen. Just as they passed it, someone in the crowd started chanting Hiyam’s name. Soon, others joined the lone voice and the chorus grew loud. Someone else picked up Ahiram’s name and many joined him. The singing grew louder as each camp tried to drown out the other, until a strident shriek rose over the din. The crowd parted, forming a circle around a man lying on the ground with a bloodied face. The mass became agitated. Another man leaped into the circle, crouched next to the wounded man, and started screaming, pointing an accusatory finger at Hiyam. He stood up, raising a closed fist to the heavens. The crowd surged toward Hiyam. Immediately, several Silent moved forward and faced the angry mob, which threatened to lynch the Junior High Riders. An arbitrator managed to alert the King, who had not noticed the commotion. King Jamiir lifted his hand, and the trumpets sounded authoritatively above the crowd’s fury. Everyone calmed down.

“My dear people,” said the King in a loud and clear voice, “I share your excitement and I am pleased to see many of you have decided to support the team of Baal, while others chose a different champion. I am proud of you and would like to encourage you to keep this highly competitive spirit. Today’s Game is harsh and fraught with dangers. The teams will need every ounce of courage and strength to make it through the Mine of Gold. Therefore, can we count on your warm but dignified participation?”

A rumble went through the crowd, then quieted
. Like a scolded child,
thought the King with satisfaction. He smiled and added with a loud voice, “In the name of the participating teams, I thank you.” The trumpets sounded once more and the procession moved forward.

A few hundred yards past the bridge, a set of stairs carved into the slope led to a flat promontory overlooking Lake Renlow. Known as the “Lake of Hiding”, its quiet surface hid a submerged grotto. Eighty feet inside this cave lay a narrow, vertical siphon, easy to miss in the ambient darkness. However, if a diver were to enter it and swim upward for a distance of twenty-five feet, he would break through the waters inside a vast, upper chamber. Allegedly, El-Windiir had hid there for ten days and fooled his masters into believing he had run away from the mines.

Reaching this cave was the first challenge for the contenders. Since an icy, subterranean river flowed into the lake, the water’s temperature was bitterly cold. Players in former Games had died of hypothermia, and the arbitrators had retrieved their bloated bodies from the River Renlow.

In the past, the players would begin their swim from the shore, but diving from the edge of the promontory, fifty feet above the lake, had turned the Game into a show the crowd enjoyed. From that height, the divers would hit the water at a speed of thirty eight miles per hour, swiftly submerging to a depth of thirty feet. Any miscalculation could prove deadly.

Presently, the King and entourage sat on a raised platform. Since this side of the hill sloped gently downward, the contenders had to jump twelve to fifteen feet out, to avoid slamming against the lake’s rocky bottom. To gather speed, they ran the forty-foot stretch from the back of the promontory to its edge.

The trumpets blasted, and Ahiram moved to the starting point, waiting for the King’s signal.

King Jamiir glanced at Bahiya sitting by his side. She looked worn out and tense. Knowing that he was not the only one who had spent a sleepless night gave him a grim satisfaction. He glanced at her once more. Her sunken features were visible, despite the expensive kohl she artfully used to accentuate her almond-shaped eyes. Ostensibly, she was looking at Ahiram.
I would not want to be in his shoes,
thought the King,
I wonder what she has planned for him. Nothing good, I suppose.
He imagined the slave dead and managed to curtail a grin of deep satisfaction. He resented the slave and blamed him for the recent murderous events even though he knew that Ahiram was innocent. As far as Jamiir was concerned, preserving his crown justified the Silent’s death. Should the priestess decide that he must die, then so be it. The King looked at Hiyam standing among her men and sighed. A second member of her team had disappeared in the early hours of the morning, and incredible as it seemed, no one had noticed anything until the team assembled for the third Game.
I hope I will not have to deal with a third victim when I return to the castle,
he thought, shuddering. Tanios was already on the case, but the damage had been done. The crimes of the past few days had heightened the tension between Taniir-the-Strong and Babylon. This was the last thing the King wanted.

“Will her Majesty the Queen grace us with her presence?”

Bahiya’s crisp voice startled him, but he managed to keep his countenance. “Unfortunately, not. Her Majesty is not feeling well. The news of the two killings, especially the ghastly discovery in the Queen’s Ballroom, distressed her much, and being delicate by nature, the Queen fell ill during the night. Her Majesty prefers to rest and avoid any further commotion. Nevertheless, she should be with us tonight.”

Bahiya nodded out of customary politeness.

The final trumpet blast called everyone to attention. By now, the rumor that the slave would fulfill Layaleen’s prophecy had spread south to Beit-Windiir and northeast as far as Tan-Aneer. The constant stream of the newly arrived swelled the ranks of the already dense crowd, ringing the bend of the western road all around the lake.

The King stood up, holding a white handkerchief. Judging from its fluttering, Ahiram determined that the wind blew from the east.
It’ll be at my back if I veer slightly westward,
he thought, relieved. The King dropped the white cloth and the Silent leaped forward to the cheers of the crowd. His feet pounded the dry ground as he gained momentum, keeping his gaze focused on the edge of the cliff across the lake, as if he wanted to fly. Looking down would orient his jump along a descending arc and he would not reach the deep waters of the lake. Fixing his gaze on a flock of geese passing by, he quickly pumped his arms and legs and leaped—gliding for a second—then flipped and dove headlong into the icy lake below.

The water slapped him like a giant fist, and the cold whip nearly sent him into shock. He let the momentum of his dive carry him as far down as possible, and then transitioned to a vigorous swim that led him straight ahead to the mouth of the underwater grotto. His lungs began to burn and he felt his head ready to explode. Looking up, he saw the circular hole leading to the upper level and kicked his legs hard until he slid effortlessly through the two-foot-wide hole. A few seconds later, he finally broke through the water, gasping. But the hot, smoky air nearly choked him. Coughing and sneezing, he looked around and saw that the rim of the small lake was on fire. Fumes billowed up and his eyes stung. The pool was getting hotter, and he wondered if he was going to drown in boiling water.

Soon, the members of the four other teams were treading water with him. Ahiram started to feel dizzy. The flames surrounding them were rising. The air was steadily growing hotter and heavier. Fumes rose from the fire and Hiyam felt as if her lungs were about to explode.

Ahiram looked at the ceiling and saw stalactites. They were huddled in a narrow space, but the leftmost pillar was slightly distant from the rest and it looked sturdy enough to hold a man’s weight.

This would require others to cooperate. He winced at the idea, but their situation was precarious and precluded diplomatic negotiations.

“I need someone to hold me while I throw a dart,” he yelled. Sharp streaks of pain ran through his lungs.

Immediately, the Quibanxian athletes drew near and offered to help. Ahiram saw Hiyam glaring at him. “I give you the word of a Silent that I will not leave anyone behind,” he said. This mollified her, but neither she nor her teammates offered to help.
She is too proud
, he thought. Two men from Quibanxe treaded water side-by-side, and Ahiram climbed onto their shoulders.

He reached for his belt and took his crossbow, a looping dart, and one of the compressible, thin ropes that he carried with him. Thankfully, his belt was waterproof, for his crossbow’s critical midsection was susceptible to long immersions in water. He cranked the crossbow, clipped the rope to the dart, and locked the dart in place. He aimed and was about to shoot, when Hiyam interrupted him.

“Are you crazy?” she shouted, “You can’t possibly hope to tie this rope up there. You do not have enough leeway. The stalactites are too close to one another.”

“Do you have a better idea?” answered Ahiram sharply.

“Can you kill each other later?” cut in one the Quibanxian supporting Ahiram. “We’re drowning here!”

He focused, trying to compensate for the constant movement beneath his feet and pulled the trigger. The dart ripped through the air, the rope in tow. Ahiram lost his balance and fell backward into the water, but managed to keep his crossbow from also falling in. Ahiram saw his rope drop lazily next to him. He picked up the dart, climbed back up onto the men’s shoulders and tried again; and again he missed but managed not to fall. He repeated his attempt another five times and was ready to give up, when on the seventh attempt, he heard a slight popping sound as the dart coiled around the stalactite forming a tight knot.

Everyone cheered, including Hiyam. Ahiram was stunned. He could have sworn the dart’s trajectory had changed, as if an invisible hand was guiding it.
Is this another of Hiyam’s tricks?
he wondered.
Probably not. I must be imagining things.

“You can’t climb on such a thin rope,” objected Hiyam. “It will cut through your hands.”

He gave her a cocky smile, the kind that said, “You are not a Silent.” Before she could snap back, he unlocked the two hinges holding his crossbow together, folded it, and stowed it safely away in its pocket. Then he pulled out two steel handles, each with a hollow, thin compartment. He released a small latch, and the handle opened along its length. He inserted the rope inside the hollow compartment, snapped closed the handle, and locked the hinge back in place. Hiyam, who drew close, noticed a clamp protruding from each handle. Ahiram verified that the two handles slid freely along the rope. Then, grasping them firmly, he rose over the water with a few quick movements.

“Grip the handles,” he instructed them. “Grip them hard, and they will clamp in place. Release and slide to move up,” he explained. “Do one hand at a time. It’s a bit awkward but works well. Once up there, release the handles and they will roll back down freely.”

“Then what?” snapped Hiyam, resentful. “What will we do up there?”

Ahiram contained his mounting irritation and forced himself to respond calmly. “I will figure out something once I am up there.” And without another word, he quickly climbed.

He reached the top without much difficulty and looked around him. The fire was at least fifteen feet wide; yet to survive, they would have to cross it. He looked farther into the large cave and saw another cluster of stalactites beyond the zone of fire. He clipped the two handles to his belt to free his hands, took an arrow dart, clipped the second rope, loaded it in his crossbow and aimed. He knew he had one, maybe two chances, because each failure would land the rope in the middle of the fire. The rope might resist the fire once but not twice. He pulled the trigger. The arrow slammed into a stalactite, shattering it. Fragments of rock fell to the ground in a cloud of dust. Quickly, he yanked the rope back, hoping to save it from the fire. Instead, he managed to land the dart and the top section of the rope in the flames. He yanked at the rope again, and it fell into the water. Ahiram reeled it up, reloaded his crossbow and focused, ignoring the tightening in his muscles and the strain on his injured shoulder. He fired. The rope zipped through his fingers, and this time, the dart sank into a second stalactite; it did not explode. He pulled on the rope and tied it to the stalactite he was hanging from, creating a bridge over the fire.