THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (38 page)

“AH-CHOO!”

Homer’s hand tugged the blanket away from the stores, and he gasped at what he saw. Huddled beside the boxes of food and weapons a slight figure of a man drew away, seemingly trying to slither unnoticed under the nearest slat bench.

Mariana groaned. “It’s Oro!”

The hunchback lifted his head and smiled wanly at the angry faces pressing in at him.

“And what are
you
doing here?” demanded the thief.

Oro stood meekly, with his knees shaking. “I—I was hiding from the Dragon Ship,” he said unconvincingly. “I thought it would be the only way I could escape—”

“He’s lying,” growled Ramagar. “More likely he still thinks he can wrest the scimitar away from us and do some double-dealing with the Druids himself.”

Oro stuck out his hands, palms upward, and shook them nervously. “No, no! Please, believe me!”

“Let me have him,” growled the haj. “I’ll get the truth out of him yet!” He turned to Argyle and reached for the ax. “May I?”

The lord of Aran smiled wickedly. “My pleasure, good haj.”

The hunchback paled and backed up, tripping as he stumbled into the provisions. The haj drew menacingly closer, holding the weapon with both hands.
“Well?”
he asked.

Oro was shaking all over. “All right! All right! You win! I
was
plotting to steal the blade …”

“As usual,” commented Mariana dryly. Then she looked at the thief and the Prince.

Ramagar threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Shall I remove his head, and settle the matter once and for all?” said the haj.

Although as angry as the others, the Prince was also somewhat bemused. Oro’s gall and tenacity had been a thorn in their sides for so long that life without him would somehow seem lacking.

“We might as well let him alone,” he said.

“And leave him here to scheme against us?” rattled Ramagar, aghast. “The sneak’s been listening to every word we’ve been saying!”

“It seems to be either that or taking him along with us again,” observed the dancing girl.

The thief heaved a sigh and looked to the Prince, who merely shrugged in reply. “All right,” Ramagar grunted after a hasty moment’s decision making. “Perhaps it is best if we do take him with us. Just so that we can keep our eyes on him.”

With a mutter and a frown the haj returned the ax to Argyle. Then he shook an angry finger at the trembling hunchback. “None of your tricks, mind you,” he warned severely. “Remember, we can always see to it that the Druids use you for target practice.” And the look in his eyes warned Oro that this was no empty threat.

“I agree,” mumbled Oro.

“Now
can we get moving?” said the thief, scooping up supplies and stuffing them into the knapsacks Captain Osari had provided.

The rain had begun as the small band gathered up their belongings, dragged the skiff safely out of sight behind some nearby rocks, then slowly began the trek, making their way first along the base of the hills and heading in the direction of the barren plain that would lead them to their destination.

They had been on the move for less than an hour when Argyle, who had taken the lead, stopped, kneeled, and ran his fingers across scattered pebbles and mud. The tracks discovered were plain enough; horses had passed this way only recently. Druid soldiers, it was a fair bet, and an even better one that they would sooner or later pass this way again.

Pressing on with growing concern, they skirted the path of the tracks and took a long route across a wide dale. Skeletons of trees, branches twisted and broken, swayed slowly in the wind. Shadows greeted them everywhere, enormous and shapeless, harmless perhaps, but a glum reminder of where they were and what the rest of the world could one day expect should the Druids grow restless.

Whether the hour was day or night no one could tell; but they felt as though they had walked forever, and unless shelter were soon found they might well drop in the mud from exhaustion.

Keen-eyed Argyle saved them from that fate. Cunningly surveying the land, he caught sight of a small grotto halfway up the face of a boulder-infested hillock. He led the way up the mound and everyone followed eagerly. Right now even a hole in the wall seemed a palace.

The cavern proved low and narrow, but large enough to accommodate them all. Everyone stretched out wearily and amid long sighs prepared for a good rest. They could not build a fire for fear of its being seen by nearby patrols. Yet the grotto was warm and dry. That was enough. So here, sheltered from the starless sky of the Eternal Dark, they spent their first night in Speca.

Mariana knew she was dreaming, but what a marvelous dream it was. There were golden sands beneath a hot summer sun, blue sky, the laughter of children running barefoot along the beach. Palm and date trees swayed in a gentle eastern breeze, and cool waves of an aquamarine sea swept softly onto the shore. She was walking along the beach, with Ramagar at her side holding her hand. Far away domes and spires glimmered in the morning light. She felt the rush of sea wind against her face and glowed with contentment. This place, wherever it was, could only be home. And she was safe at last.

Home, she thought.
Home!

She woke abruptly, and the illusions shattered like glass. It was very cold in the bleak grotto and she rubbed at her arms as she sat up. Her companions were still fast asleep, Ramagar close by her side, his hand resting on her thigh.

For a few minutes she sat motionless, listening to the strange noises caused by the ever-howling Northern winds outside. She mulled over recent events and wished to herself that this adventure would soon be over. Oh, it was not that she was unhappy with her new friends; quite the contrary. Nor even that her brushes with death made her question her reasons for coming in the first place. It was just that she was tired. Tired of running, tired of living from day to day. All she wanted was all she had ever wanted. A home, a family, and Ramagar. And right now, all of that seemed farther away than ever.

A small cough made her snap from these thoughts and cast her glance toward the mouth of the cavern. She had not noticed before, but the haj was also awake. He sat with his back resting lightly against the rough wall, his knees slightly up, and his arms buried within the folds of his flowing Eastern robe. He seemed as deeply lost in his own thoughts as Mariana had been in hers.

The haj heard her soft shuffle as the girl got up quietly and, careful not to disturb the others, made her way over to sit by his side.

“Is something the matter, Mariana?” he asked in a whisper. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she told him, smiling. “I woke up, that’s all.” She shifted her weight and made herself comfortable on the pebbly dirt. “But what about you? Why aren’t you fast asleep like the others?”

“I rarely sleep much these days,” he replied with a sigh, and Mariana was sure she saw sorrow flicker in his eyes. “Perhaps it is because of age,” he went on after a moment of reflection. “At least some would say so.”

Mariana dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. You’re not so old—”

The haj smiled. “Old enough, at any rate. But you, Mariana, are so young. So very young…”

“Over twenty,” she admitted.

The haj’s smile deepened. “Ah, twenty. Yes, a good age. Let me see.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “At your age, if I recall properly, my own wife had already delivered my second child. My second son …” Burlu inhaled deeply and bobbed his head up and down as if to confirm his memory.

“You must have been very proud of your sons.”

The bejeweled haj twirled his finger ring and nodded. “Yes, very proud of them all. The first left home to sail the seas, you know. And never have I heard from him since. My third died while yet a youth, gored to death by a wild beast. He was a brave lad.” He shrugged, grew silent.

Mariana looked at him curiously. The haj had spoken of his first son, and of his third. The middle son had purposely been omitted, and she wondered why.

“And what of the second?” she asked.

At this the haj frowned. “Another sad tale, Mariana. Why speak of it?” He took her small hand in his own and pressed it gently. “It’s time you had children of your own,” he told her in a fatherly tone. “Your
own
family and sons …”

Mariana flushed. “I hope to,” she confided. “As soon as this
business
is ended.”

He squeezed her hand harder. “Promise me, child, that you will. I must know it before … before I die. Promise me!”

She was startled by him. With a gasp, she said, “Die? What do you mean? What is this morbid talk? Why are you saying such things?”

Burlu sighed again. “Because I suspect what lies ahead for us, and I know I am old …” His smile returned; he touched her cheek, brushing his fingertips toward her mouth. “But you shall live, Mariana. I vowed it long ago. Even should every man among us be lost to the Druids, you shall live.” He leaned in closer and looked at her sternly. “Now promise me you’ll keep your word.”

“Of course I promise,” she replied, taken aback and feeling frightened. “But why even ask it?”

“Because it’s important to me. Very important.” He shut his eyes, and she watched in surprise as a single tear rolled down his face. She wondered why he was telling all this to her now.

His eyes opened again; he gazed at her fondly. “You still have no idea of why I say these things, do you?”

Dark curls fell over her eyes as she shook her head.

The haj smiled. “Then perhaps it it time we spoke, Mariana. And when we are done, many mysteries will be explained.”

She hadn’t an inkling of what he meant; she began to wonder if some fever had overtaken him. In all the time she had known haj Burlu, she had never seen him act or speak so strangely. This sudden change left her feeling uneasy.

“Where were you born, child?” he asked suddenly.

“In Kalimar. Outside of the city, somewhere. Or so I have been told.”

“And your parents?”

Mariana sniffed. “Both dead. My father when I was an infant, my mother when I was four. It was then that I was taken to the Jandari and raised by an old woman I called my aunt, though she really was no family at all. In fact, except for Ramagar, I have never had any family to call my own.”

“None?” questioned the haj.

Mariana shrugged. “At least none that I knew of. Why?”

Burlu made no attempt to answer her question, only asked another of his own. “Your mother, what was her name?”

“Rhia. Those who knew her say she was a very beautiful woman.”

“She must have been,” reflected the haj. “Very beautiful indeed. And you very much like her. Except for the eyes, those could only be his. I would know them anywhere …”

A strange sensation was growing and spreading through Mariana’s body. She shivered as goose bumps rose down her neck. “I don’t… understand. What—what are you saying?”

The haj’s eyes were wet with tears now; he could not stop the flow, nor did he want to. “Do you still not know?”

She shook her head.

“I have known it since the first night you came to my tents,” he admitted. “Known for certain since the very instant I saw you. There could be no question of it. Now now, not then.”

She was staring blankly, and the haj gently ran his fingers through her silky hair. “Your father, Mariana. Do you know his name? Did your mother tell you that much?”

The girl swallowed and nodded.

“And that name, was it… Etron?”

Her heart leaped to her throat and she gasped. “Yes! How did you know?”

The old haj lifted his shoulders, putting his hands to his face while he cried. “Etron was my son, Mariana. My second son, gone to Kalimar to seek his fortunes.” Then he looked up at the astounded girl and tried to smile. “And you are my
… granddaughter.”

Mariana opened her mouth to speak but could find no words. It could not be true! But then, she hoped it was, for she had already come to love the haj as if he were her grandfather. Yet the news was so sudden, so unreal, that it left her head swimming.

“Is … is all this
really
true?” she asked with a sniff, her eyes wide and bright. “Or… are you just teasing me?”

The haj drew her close, cradling her against him as they both shed tears. “Never would I lie to you, Mariana,” he said. “I swear it by all I hold dear. The blood that flowed through Etron’s veins flows through your own. You
are
my granddaughter …”

For a time they both sat in silence. Mariana’s heart was filled with joy, yet also with sorrow for the father she had never known.

“What was he like? My father, I mean,” she said after a while.

The haj sighed; he gently toyed with her dark locks, twisting little curls around his finger. “Etron was a … a father you would have been proud of, child. Tall, handsome, valiant. Even as Ramagar is. It broke my heart to see him leave home and set out for Kalimar. Yet, young men must follow their destinies, be they for good or ill. Alas, after he left my tents I never saw him again…”

“What happened to him?” asked the girl.

“A trader from the city sought shelter one night, several years after Etron had gone. By chance he had heard of my son, and he told me that the lad had taken a wife and been given a daughter. But then my guest’s eyes grew dull, and he cast his glance away, reluctant to speak further. But I entreated him until he told me how Etron had died, died not more than three weeks before of a terrible fever that had swept the city.” Here the haj paused to reflect on that crushing hour, to relive the pain that had never quite ceased.

“Not long after,” he began anew, “I sent to the city two of my most trusted and able servants. They combed Kalimar high and low for Etron’s wife and their baby daughter. But the city is so vast, and there are countless thousands to be found there with tales equally as sad. At last my servants came home. As I waited with eagerness beside my tents I saw the long faces they wore, and I had no need to hear them speak the words. Etron’s widow was lost, never to be found. And likewise the young daughter whose name I did not even know …”

“If only my mother had stayed,” whispered Mariana.