THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (17 page)

“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.

“At a small fishing port they came upon a passing ship, a merchant vessel whose captain was a kind and good man. He took them aboard and the young couple sailed away across half the world before their journey at last came to an end.”

“And … what became of them?” asked Ramagar sadly.

“They wed, found new lives for themselves, raised a family. The new land they had adopted was fair and peaceful, yet the refugees knew they could never know peace of their own. Not while Speca lay languid and spoiled under its cruel domination. The lovers, then, never forgot their home; nor did their children, nor even their children’s children. Each succeeding generation was well schooled in the Specian fashion, and each felt the pangs of heartbreak with every passing day. For you see, these grandchildren were now the only true heirs to the Specian throne. And one day, no matter how long it would have to take, one of them would begin the quest to reclaim it.”

The haj rocked back and forth quietly as he listened to and digested all that his guest had spoken. At length he drew a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh of sorrow. He looked deeply at the yellow-haired foreigner, and saw etched out before him strong and proud features shaded in the vague shadows of the tent, features that assured him that this man was neither vagabond nor beggar, no matter what the paltry cloth he wore might indicate. Burlu was clearly bewildered; he looked again at the man, considered the tale, and wondered just how his guest had gathered so many facts of lost Speca’s fate.

“Your story has been most fascinating, my friend,” he said at last. “Vivid and detailed, lacking in nothing. It is worthy of the finest storytellers I have ever heard on such an ill night as this. Truly it is a sad account of a terrible injustice to a people who deserved no such destiny. But tell me, can you—or any man—say with certainty that all of these events did indeed happen as you say? Or is it that the legend has been distorted by the long finger of time, as legends so often are?”

“An understandable question,” replied the stranger thoughtfully. “Any intelligent man would be quick, as you were, to ask it. But, good haj, let me assure you all, all my friends here with me tonight, that each and every event of which I told is the absolute truth. There is no question as to the authenticity of my tale, and I am one to know. Yet let me whet your appetites a bit further; I say that not only is my tale true, but that even to this very day the Specian Kingdoms yet exist. They are not a dead ruin of what once was, but a thriving land waiting for a redeemer. And although it still lies dormant and miserable beneath the Eternal Darkness and the shackles of its conquerors, one day soon all will change. And Speca will again see the sun.”

Burlu’s wizened eyes opened saucer-wide and he lost no time in downing the dregs of wine.

“How do you know all these things you spoke of?” asked Mariana. The answer was brief, but told of much—much yet to come. “I know these things,” he told her, “because of who I am.”

Mariana felt her sudden chills returning again. Sitting tensely, she rubbed at her bare arms. The next question was eagerly anticipated by her companions. “And who is that?”

The stranger raised his hands and opened them to reveal the precious scimitar. “Have you forgotten this?” he asked rhetorically.

The haj froze and marveled at the glimmering dagger. The scabbard caught a glimpse of light from the all but extinguished flames and reflected them dramatically. The tiny jewels dazzled and sparkled their eyes and the haj and his serving girl silently gasped in unabashed awe.

“What is that prize that you hold?” Burlu stammered. “Gold? A blade of solid gold?”

His guest smiled broadly. “Yes, haj, but it is also more. Far more. In my land it is well-known. You see, it was stolen from the kingdom for a special purpose. Some call it the Blade of the Throne,” he looked at Mariana, “but others know it by the inscription it bears: Blue Fire. Forged countless centuries ago, and handed down from king to king, it is a marvel like no other, nor can there ever be another like it. Its elements are unknown in any of the world’s kingdoms; I would venture to guess that some men would quest a lifetime to have it.” And he politely held out the blade for his host to inspect. Burlu took it hungrily.

“Magnificent,” he gasped in awe. “Blue Fire, you say? What is its meaning?”

The beggar smiled. “Perhaps one day you will hear of it, good haj. For now, though, I cannot say. Forgive me.”

“I understand, my friend. I shall not pry into its secrets.” He fondled the blade gently, admiring the craftsmanship, the sparkling jewels inlaid in the scabbard. “Ah, I envy you,” he said truthfully. “I see that your prize is more than just a scepter of kings; my own words cannot do it justice. But tell me, how came this into your keeping?”

The beggar’s eyes glowed as strongly as the jewels. “The dagger is mine and mine by right,” he said. “Handed to me by my father and before that to him by his father. Only our family know and understand its use and meanings. Since my father has died I alone claim its ownership … though others, I fear, would deny me my heritage.”

Mariana listened, reflecting on the riddle he had posed for her to solve and recalling its enigmatic solution. And then she suddenly knew and understood. It was fantastic; incredible. She dared not believe—yet she dared not doubt. “Then you must be,” she whispered, “the true descendant of the royal lovers … the cousins who survived when Speca was conquered.”

“Aye,” chimed in Ramagar, now grasping the matter for himself. “You are yourself a prince—and the heir to Speca’s lost throne!”

The stranger bowed his head graciously, placing his hands in a pyramid and touching his fingertips to his forehead.

“I am my father’s son, master thief. First in line to our throne and the reclaiming of my kingdom and all its usurped lands. Now you all understand the urgency of my task; why I cannot delay even a single day while bondage and suffering bleed my people as well as my heart. And by the will of the Fates I shall succeed in this long, difficult quest. Succeed in all this, and more.”

“No wonder you were willing to die to regain the dagger,” said Ramagar with perception. “Without it you would have no proof of your heritage.”

“Rightly so. Without the scimitar I am like a sailor bereft of a ship. A herder without a staff. Or,” he grinned, “a thief without cunning. But with the blade I can do many things; in my grasp will be the power to lead my people from their oppression.”

“Well put, gentle Prince,” said the haj. Then he looked at his guest with a perplexed stare and sincere worry in his eyes. “Your cause is as noble as any I have ever heard. And only a man pure of heart and soul would even contemplate taking on the task. But I fear that living up to these ambitions will be far harder than speaking of them tonight. Are you not one man alone? And do you not face, by your own admission, a force of men who will be more than eager to get their hands on Speca’s last true surviving prince? What of these black arts your adversaries so skillfully practice? Recall—this magic brought your whole empire to its knees, slaughtered your people, made wreckage of your fleets and your royal family. Is this not so?”

“I have never claimed that my task would be an easy one,” the beggar prince replied gloomily. “The barbarians have turned my land into one so forebidding that men who hear my tale sometimes recoil in terror at the spoken word. To this day mariners who pass Speca’s shores are said to quiver and pray until the dark coast is a hundred leagues from sight—and even then they speak, of it only in whispers.”

“Yet still you are not deterred?” said the haj with some amazement.

“Nothing can deter me. Tell me, are you not willing to fight for your own homes, if you must? Good haj, if bandits swooped down from the mountains and claimed all your land, your swine, your sheep, your tents, would you not face them boldly and fight?”

Burlu nodded firmly. “What man would not? But your own plight is very different, I fear.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned in closer to his guest. His lips were pursed and he rubbed his palms in a slow, circular motion. “Ah, good friend. We know each other not. But now I speak to you as though I were your father and you my favorite son. Give up these dreams to regain the throne. There is only a cold and lonely grave that can wait at the end of your journey. Death and death alone.”

“Too many voices from the past cry out to me, haj,” sighed the beggar Prince. “I cannot turn from them. They count on me to free my people, and what is a king but the servant of his flock? A humble servant.”

Mariana put her hand to the Prince’s shoulder in a sisterly fashion, her eyes pleading and distraught. “We are your friends,” she told him with a ring of sincerity in her voice. “And the haj is right, you know. When your journey is finally complete and you have reached the land where the sun never shines, what will you do? How will you overcome the fearful odds against you? Banish these black powers from your kingdom? You must be a very brave and noble man to do what you say you must. But I am frightened for you. You are a man alone, with no one to share your burden.”

All were silent for a time. The haj leaned forward and handed back the scimitar to the Prince in rags. The Prince took it without a word and stared sullenly at his fabulous prize.

“Speca had many allies once upon a time,” he said at length. “I will seek out the boldest of them and try to bring them under my banner. Once they believe who I am, understand the worthiness of my cause, perhaps together we shall find a way …”

“And do these allies from days past know of your kingdom’s fate?” asked Ramagar.

The Prince sighed. “They know it well. They have seen the dark enemy and given them a name: Druids. Men of Shadows. The land of my allies lies perilously close to Speca’s own shores. It would be best for them to aid me in ridding the world of this scourge.”

“Are they themselves knowledgeable in such black sorcery as the Druids possess?” asked the haj. The Prince shook his head ruefully, and the haj added, “Then have they armies so vast and strong that they can overcome Druid magic?”

Again the woeful Prince was forced to admit they did not.

“Then why should they fight for you? Surely they must know their own land will suffer for such folly. They will likely as not be forced to share Speca’s fate.”

The Prince sat thoughtfully, then said, “Perhaps not. The bonds between our peoples once ran strong; but I will offer far more than the memory of our ancient friendship. I intend to offer them wealth in return for their assistance—wealth beyond belief. Enough gold and jewels to fill every purse and every coffer. The riches of Kalimar and all the Eastern Kingdoms combined would look pale when compared to what I am offering.”

Ramagar’s brow knitted with surprise. “And you actually have all this wealth to offer?”