Dark Empress (15 page)

Samir answered with a grin, his heart racing now. This was the time.

“There is one more thing, though.”

Ghassan shrugged.

“Yes?”

“I have something else to do before we go and it could be dangerous…”

The taller boy frowned.

“What?”

Samir winked and touched the side of his nose.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you yet, Ghassan, but I will reveal all later.”

“How am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what you’re doing?”

“You’re not supposed to help,” Samir countered. “Sorry, Ghassan, but I’m doing this alone. Go to the warehouses in the Street of Running Dogs as soon as the sun sets. There are three buildings in a row. The central one was a grain warehouse and has the best access to the wall. There’s only a jump of about four feet. We can do that in our sleep, and there should be a lot of rope in there for us to use.”

Ghassan held up his hands to object, but Samir pushed them out of the way.

“This is not a negotiation, Ghassan. I will meet you at the warehouse before the moon sets and we will run for Calphoris. But… and this is important… if anything happens and I cannot get there, you cannot afford to wait. If the moon sinks and I am not there, you must go. If I can, I will find you in Calphoris later.”

The taller boy was still shaking his head and objecting vehemently.

“Ghassan,” Samir said quietly, “you must do this, as must I. Do not panic. I will in all likelihood be there.”

Ghassan continued his refusal.

“How in the name of the seven faces of Ha’Rish would you find me in Calphoris? There are more people there than anywhere else on this continent!”

“You know me, brother. I could find a single rock in all of the deep desert if I set my mind to it. Now promise me: wait for me, but only as long as you can. When there is full darkness, whether I am there or not, you will run for Calphoris.”

Ghassan remained silent, his eyes locked on his brother.

“Ghassan!”

“Alright. But you had better be there, or I shall curse your name to the Gods.”

Samir grinned.

“Tonight we end the curse, Ghassan. From tonight, we will be blessed. Changes. Things will be better, remember?”

Ghassan took a deep breath and nodded.

“Then I will run to my errand and I will see you by moonlight in the grain warehouse on ‘Running Dogs’ yes?”

Ghassan nodded once again and the pair clasped hands.

With a smile, Samir hoisted his pack over his shoulder, cast one last look at his brother, and then walked slowly to the front door and left the house.

In which we look to the future

Samir strode down the empty, dark street a hundred yards from the house without looking back. At the corner, where the Street of Dancing Fools ran back up the hill toward the gate that faced Akkad and Pelasia, he crouched and withdrew a bag, a cloak, and a sheathed sword from behind a stack of boxes.

He took one last, sad look back up the street.

It was sad, for certain, but Ghassan would never understand or approve. Life in M’Dahz would change sooner or later and Samir knew with certainty that he was one of very few souls who could survive this and prosper. He would find a way to live in the town and eventually to turn things around.

But the way ahead of him was, for the foreseeable future, a life of running and hiding, of consorting with thieves and murderers and living on the very edge of the law until the laws were once more worth abiding by.

Ghassan was too noble in thought for that. He was too straight and would never even think of what Samir was proposing to do. His brother would be safer in Calphoris with his precious militia, wearing a uniform and living to a code of duty.

One day, when everything was put right and the wounds that had been torn in their home had been healed, he would find Ghassan and they would return to the house of their mother. After all, they were family.

With a sigh, he hefted the sword and tore his eyes from the house where his brother waited before making his way down the street toward the port.

* * *

The last rays of the sun had left the streets of M’Dahz almost an hour ago.

Ghassan crouched in the rafters of the grain warehouse, peering out through the hole in the roof at the city’s defences and leaning on his pack for support. The Pelasian soldiers patrolling the wall passed every ten minutes or so and there would be plenty of time for him to sling over a rope and drop to safety. If he placed it right, the rope would remain unnoticed at least until sunrise.

It saddened him a little that the walls of his hometown were patrolled like a prison, the watchful guards directing their gaze inward more often than out, preventing their captive populace from fleeing the clutches of the twisted satrap Ma’ahd.

He sighed and fought back the panic once more.

He knew with cold certainty that Samir would not come. Whatever his brother was planning it was clear to Ghassan that he had no intention of meeting at the warehouse. The dividing of the purses; the enforced promises; most of all, the look on the smaller boy’s face as they had clasped hands that last time. Samir would not come.

But Ghassan knew with equal sureness that he had to go. He had to do this, even if he never saw Samir again. Someone had to find a way to bring the hand of Imperial justice at Calphoris against this Pelasian butcher who had destroyed everything and murdered everyone that they had loved.

Ma’ahd would pay for his crimes.

* * *

The desert nomads have a saying.

“When something is broken it should never be discarded. So long as the pieces remain, the whole can be remade.“

The moon set slowly over M’Dahz and a new day dawned.

Part Two: Making Ends Meet

In which Samir’s plans are changed

Samir shook his head to free it of the fuzziness and regular pounding. Stupid really. He should be more careful. He’d end up in trouble one of these days.

Six months had passed since he and Ghassan had gone their separate ways and Samir would have to admit to himself eventually that he had squandered and wasted most of the time. The first few nights he had frequented some of the less reputable areas of the port district, hoping to make contacts or even friends among the criminal classes.

At the age of twelve, Samir was still small for his age, though the events of the preceding years had given him a slightly drawn and haunted look that advanced his years somewhat. In addition, dark facial hair had begun to manifest recently, surprising Samir somewhat. It had taken some work, regardless of these developments, to gain and maintain access to the drinking and gambling pits of the port. Even with the Pelasian control and a seriously diminished population, these establishments managed to survive. In fact, given the level of misery in M’Dahz, their patronage had actually increased rather than falling off.

At first, Samir had been content to sit and take in the general atmosphere, trying to work out the associations and connections between the various unsavoury patrons he had selected as likely contacts and listening intently to any snippets of conversation he could catch.

Soon, however, he came to realise that someone such as he stood out in these establishments, and not because he was small or young; given the state of M’Dahz these days there were many waifs and strays that made their way here looking for work or a handout. No, what made him stand out was the way he always sat on his own, never drank and was seen to be paying too close attention to things that did not concern him.

The issue had become clear to him after he was dragged from one bar and beaten repeatedly in an alleyway. He had not returned to that establishment, turning his attention to alternative locations. And in what he thought of as ‘phase two’, several weeks after Ghassan had left, he began to throw himself into the part, learning some of the games that went on in the gaming pits and trying several of the drinks on offer until he discovered what was palatable and what was not. And, as he had gradually become accustomed to the drink and the games, and experienced a little success in the gambling dens, he had finally begun to fit in. Two months into his new life, he had at last reached the point where people paid no attention when he entered or left a bar.

Soon he found he was being offered work by some of the other occupants; just small things to begin with; the running of an errand; delivery of parcels or messages. He began to carry his sword with him where he could and a sharp knife everywhere else. Gradually, he became indistinguishable from those other young men who performed small tasks for the underworld of the district.

But what had begun as an attempt to ingratiate himself into the habitat of the criminal classes had quickly grown beyond his control. As the weeks passed, Samir found that he was so busy running dubious errands, making money and maintaining his persona as a small time crook that he had no time to apply what he was learning to any of his grand plans for the future of the town. There was simply not enough time to try nudging these people toward his goal: guerrilla activity against the Pelasian masters.

And yet, with this new life came a certain respect, albeit from the lowest orders of the town. And money and influence, of course. Only two months down the line, Samir had already reached such a stage in his career where he now had three boys running errands for him; he had unquestioned access to most places in the port district and the ear of some of the most dangerous men in the town.

What came along with this as baggage was the carousing. The late nights, gambling and drinking were changing his habits and he had become more or less nocturnal, having to allow at least two hours of an afternoon to clean himself up and let the thumping hangover fade before looking to his daily tasks. He had sought to infiltrate the criminal classes in M’Dahz. Half a year later, however, he had become the criminal class of the town. Ghassan would never have recognised his brother now.

And yet, with all his late night forays and sessions, last evening was unquestionably the worst he had yet suffered. He couldn’t even remember leaving the last place. There had been a fight over a purse of coins. He remembered that and felt his upper lip, wincing as he found the bloody cut and the missing tooth. That explained some of the throbbing. Even wincing made his head hurt. His entire body ached as though he had been attacked with branches, which was distinctly possible given the events of the night that he could remember and the length of time as yet unaccounted for. He tried to smile to himself, but the pain this brought in his gums, lip and head made a smile beyond hope.

He was obviously still somewhere close to the port from the briny smell. At least the gulls were being silent, which was a blessing. The usual morning squawking of a thousand gulls might just have killed him this morning.

Samir shuddered and, very slowly and with great care, pried open his eyes, trying to ignore the fresh waves of pain and nausea that light and colour brought with them.

“He’s awake.”

Samir blinked. A face several feet away from him grinned a malicious grin, showing several missing teeth. The pain in his mouth, face, head and screaming muscles forgotten in an instant, Samir’s reactions took over. Scrambling from his side onto all fours, he backed away and felt himself bump into a wooden structure. What in the name of the great mother was going on?

His eyes became accustomed to the low light, and he focused on the face before him as the other figure came up from floor level into a crouch. The lad was younger than him, though probably bigger regardless. He had clearly seen the losing side of several fights by the marks and old wounds evident on his face and arms. He wore a cloth wrapped around his forehead and a leather waistcoat that allowed him to display the several gold chains hanging round his neck and the bronze armlets and bracers he wore.

“Who are you?”

The boy ignored him and grinned again.

“Awake and conscious.”

“Good” replied a voice from the shadows behind the boy. Samir squinted and tried to make out the shapes in the shadows. There were more than one. Perhaps a dozen people.

“Who are you and where am I?”

There was a chorus of laughter.

“This is not as funny as you think” Samir barked. “I’m an important man. There are some very dangerous people who will miss me and be extremely unhappy with you.”

The laugher moved up a notch and for the first time in many months Samir’s confidence foundered. He licked his lips nervously and winced as his tongue touched the fresh cut.

Slowly, the other figures moved forward out of the shadows. In other circumstances, Samir might have laughed, they were such an assorted bunch. He had once seen a carnival when the great religious festival had been celebrated to mark the millennium of Imperial foundation. His father had called it the ‘freak show’ and this reminded him so closely of it that he found it impossible to avoid smiling. Tall, fat, short, thin; some missing limbs, some with one eye, some with misshapen body parts. Not a one of them older than fifteen at a guess.