CHAPTER XXV: The Makings of a Misadventure
Suddenly, I was airborne. What a fearful and utterly helpless feeling to be freefalling backwards from a great height towards an unknown and unseen end. In my desperate effort to elude Marfach's errant knife-stroke, I had clumsily toppled from the top of the ridge. Landing on the forgiving sand below with a soft thud, I still laid breathless from the impact, staring helplessly up at Marfach-Suil as he stood triumphantly atop the looming outcrop.
"You cannot escape me, scribe!" he bellowed above the howling wind. "There is nowhere you can run! This is my desert!"
The brigand's bold pronouncement was immediately followed by a tremendous blast of gale-force winds and a behemoth funnel of swirling sand that sucked the unwary Marfach into its vortex and carried him off shrieking and careening violently out of sight. I had little time to reflect on the irony of Marfach's final testament, having barely managed to grab hold of a great boulder at the base of the ridge (which I had narrowly missed in my fall!), and was clinging for dear life against the horrific power of the storm. I heard the horse whinnying in fright nearby, but there was naught I could do for the poor creature or for myself for that matter -- I was blinded and breathless. The sand was swarming and my mind was swimming, then all turned black.
It was night when I awoke and found myself still gripping the boulder. I vigorously shook the stiffness from my dead hands, then stumbled and fumbled to my feet like a drunken sailor on a weekend shore leave. The night skies were once again alive with countless stars and only a slight breeze stirred the shifting dunes. To my surprise, I heard the horse grumbling and snorting in exasperation and pawing the sand with his hooves. Following the sound of the listless creature, I found him as Marfach left him, its reins still tied round a rock ledge in a corner of the camp. I calmed the flighty beast and checked him over thoroughly. He seemed no worse for the wear after such a harrowing experience.
I fed the shaken steed some grain from a feedbag I had brought along in preparation for the journey, then set off to find the well. After an annoying game of hide-and-go-seek, I uncovered the stone lip of the well, piled high with a great heap of sand. Fortunately, the rock slab that covered the lip had not blown off in the storm and the water below was unspoiled. I drank deeply the brackish water as if it were sweet nectar and carefully washed the rind of sand that caked my hair and face, then filled a water skin so that I might share with my horse. After we had slaked our thirst and rested a bit, I carefully considered the next leg of the journey.
The night was getting on and the horrid desert sun would be up soon. It would not do to travel during the day (a dreadful exertion which I had already experienced once), and there was water and shade aplenty here in the thieves' camp; therefore, spending the daylight hours here made sense. But what of Marfach-Suil? Ah, there was the rub! Could he have possibly survived the swirling vortex? I thought such a feat could not be humanly possible, but knowing that tenacious son-of-a-camel, his undying hatred had outlasted the violence of the storm, and even now he was making his way back to the camp! I laughed aloud at the thought of Marfach cursing and crawling over miles of dunes to find me again; yet all I could do was laugh. For good or ill, I would stay here during the simmering heat of the day and strike out again when the sun next set. But the day proved uneventful in any case, and I set out from the thieves' camp in the cool of the evening, heading due east (as that was the only direction I knew to head in with even a pretext of certainty).
The horse and I made excellent time that night and the night after, following the rising sun with dead reckoning and guided by the bright stars that lit our path at night. To my relief, we stumbled upon the caravan route and an oasis on the third day out. As anonymity is everything in the desert, it was my intention to stay only long enough to fill my water skins and spell the horse for a few hours. I had taken the precaution of donning my old robes and discarding the wounded soldier's uniform I had stolen, so I was fairly safe from arrest and beheading as a deserter by the Hierophant's troops stationed in the area. I also did not fraternize with the various merchants, ne'er-do-wells and vagrants who frequented the well, as I was certain to have a price on my head, and any one of those jackals would have given me up for a few silver pennies.
As I stated, it was my 'intention' to stay at the oasis just long enough to rest my horse; unfortunately, weariness got the best of me and I slept soundly for several hours. I was kicked awake in the midst of a pleasant dream, and roughly dragged to my feet by members of the garrison. A rather brusque sergeant-at-arms eyed me with cold suspicion as two other soldiers held me on either side.
"Where did you get that horse?" the sergeant barked accusatively. "It carries the brand of Bajazet!"
I cursed my stupidity, for the horse's flank bore the graven mark of Bajazet: a were-worm in the shape of a crescent moon partially encircling a five-pointed star (just as the monstrous desert attempts but fails to engulf the great city and its five gates). For all my cleverness, exhaustion had gotten the best of me: I had forgotten to hide the telltale brand! Remaining outwardly calm, I produced the forged document that had aided my escape from Bajazet. The gruff sergeant gave a cursory glance at the parchment (it was obvious he was unable to decipher its contents), glared at me dubiously as I offered an explanation, and then commanded his troops to take me thither to the only literate person presently within the environs of the oasis. The horse and I were led to a sumptuous encampment at the far side of the well, and I was brought to the grandest tent of the assemblage. The sergeant grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me through the tent flap, he following after with a more dignified soldierly disdain.
My surprise at meeting Imrim ar-Cam again was perhaps only slightly less than he looking up to see me once more. But whatever his reasons, the wealthy slaver kept his composure, and rather than letting on that he knew me and my state, he instead addressed the sergeant-at-arms. "Ah, the bold sergeant of the garrison!" Imrim said with his usual joviality, "Pray, what may I do for thee, dear friend?"
"We have captured this man, who may well be a horse thief, or worse, a deserter from the army," the sergeant offered bluntly, but with a bit more congeniality towards Imrim ar-Cam, obviously deferring to the slaver's greater status. "The prisoner claims this document grants him leave to travel abroad. I humbly request you read this document as I…that is, I cannot…"
"No need to trouble yourself with further explanation, sergeant," Imrim interrupted quickly, thus assuring the sergeant did not divulge a weakness before his subordinates. "I would be more than happy to read the document."
With a grunt, Imrim lifted his great bulk from the silken pillow upon which he sat, and took the parchment from the sergeant with a courteous nod. He then pored over the page with great interest, occasionally glancing up at me with mirth in his eyes. After an inordinate and exhausting examination of the document -- punctuated every so often by "hmmm's" and "ahhh's" -- Imrim at last rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the soldier. "I must commend you on your diligence, sergeant," Imrim intoned gravely, "the Hierophant will hear of your good work here." Imrim ar-Cam paused briefly and considered me for a moment (during which my heart sank), but then he added, "However, this man is indeed who he claims to be, and is on a mission to the Khanate of Geas-Geata at the Hierophant's command. It would be in your best interests if you did not hinder him further. He may stay here with me for the present."
The sergeant's surly demeanor suddenly changed towards me and he bowed. "A thousand pardons, sir, I was only doing my duty," the sergeant said with some humility and handed me back the document.
"Think nothing of it, dear friend," Imrim interposed, "again, I commend thee on a job well done -- and here, take this as a token of my esteem." Imrim reached into his robes, pulled out a small pouch of coins and pressed it into the sergeant's waiting hand. Hefting the pouch with evident glee, the sergeant then bowed to Imrim and quickly left the tent with his men, leaving me alone with that crafty old slaver, Imrim ar-Cam.
When the soldiers were out of earshot, Imrim nonchalantly offered me a goblet of wine, which he poured without waiting for a reply. He then sat back down with a great effort and a sigh. He looked up at me with a smirk and a cock of his eyebrow. "Greagoir of Caladh, you are a marvel, make no mistake -- it is a great pleasure to see thee again!"
I glared at Imrim with a bit of amused exasperation. "Imrim ar-Cam, it is you who are the marvel…and a wonder!" I grumbled. "I am not sure whether to thank you, or to slit my wrists now and have done with it!"
Imrim merely laughed and replied, "Ah, young master, 'tis not as bad as all that, truly. That you somehow managed to escape the palace of the Hierophant is laudable in and of itself; I congratulate thee on such a remarkable achievement!" He chuckled and added, "Your forgery is a work of art as well; I can see why the corsair Attar Kiryatin has thee as his envoy. But please, sit thyself down and enjoy the hospitality of my tent for a bit."
I sat down rather incredulously, unsure of Imrim's motives (as the man surely had an underlying motive for anything he had ever done). After an uncomfortable silence where Imrim contented himself by eating dates out of a silver bowl, I plucked up the courage to ask about my fate.
"Fate?" Imrim mumbled in between licking his fat fingers, "Why, Greagoir, you are not fated to return to Bajazet, if that is what you mean. If you believe I would be so crass as to sell thee back to the Hierophant after so marvelous an escapade as yours, you are sorely mistaken." Feigning indignation, he said, "After all, even we slavers have a code of ethics; although not as refined perhaps as those practiced in Caladh." He smiled wryly and plucked another date from the bowl. "Besides, the Hierophant cheated me out of two hundred gold pieces. Given his treachery, I would have to say my business transaction with that lying son of a cur has concluded most agreeably...for myself in any case."
Imrim's protestations of good will and his smug satisfaction at one-upping the Hierophant did not placate my sense of unease. "Then…I am free to leave?" I asked hesitantly.
"Ah, now that question gets to the heart of the matter, does it not?" the slaver laughed heartily. "What am I to do with thee, eh?" He placed a pudgy finger and thumb on his chin and began debating the various aspects of my predicament: "I suppose I could ransom thee back to Attar Kiryatin, but the miles are long and there is no surety of recouping my investment from such an undertaking; and then there is Mharu-muc, the Great Eunuch of the East, perhaps striking a bargain with him could prove advantageous."
Crestfallen, I stared at the wine in my goblet. Having nothing clever to add to Imrim's monologue, I dejectedly drained the cup down to its bitter dregs.
Imrim halted his debate and eyed me sympathetically. "But selling thee to Mharu-muc would most certainly mean thy death sentence. If I remember correctly, that is why he handed thee over to Marfach-Suil in the first place, was it not?" He stroked his beard while waiting for a reply, but as none was forthcoming, he then took the last date from the bowl. He held the fruit up in the air for a moment, studying it carefully as if it were an augur presaging my fate. He then greedily gulped down the date and concluded while still chewing: "Nay, I shall not sell thee to the fat castrato, for thy death would be a crime. There are far too few literate men in the East, young master, and it shall not be said that I, Imrim ar-Cam, was merely a greedy barbarian."
Before I could reply, Imrim continued in a mixture of malice and mirth, "However, there is the matter of the precious books you stole from me. For that heinous theft I expect some form of recompense." He gave a sly glance out of the corner of his eye. "I request that you accompany me on my journey east. I have business on the Gold Coast to attend to, and the trek is most tedious without someone to converse with in an intelligent manner." He looked about cautiously and whispered, "My guards are naught but trained apes, and their speech consists mostly of grunts and grumbles. So, what say you? Do we have a deal?"
What could I say? It was the proverbial 'offer one could not refuse'. In a matter of a few short hours, Imrim ar-Cam and his men had broken camp and we were heading eastward once again. This time, at least, I was not fitted with collar and chain, which certainly made the trip more pleasant, and I must admit that Imrim ar-Cam, for whatever his faults (and there were many), proved to be an excellent host. We spoke of many things, but he showed a particular delight in the tale of my escape from Bajazet, and took grim satisfaction in the demise of Marfach-Suil (evidently not at all pleased at the services the brigand once rendered unto him).
We traveled with surprising speed (due mainly, no doubt, to the caravan not yet being encumbered with wains full of slaves), and I was much relieved when we finally passed the marge of the desert. Here the land convulsed in a succession of hills covered with long, deep-rooted grasses that stubbornly blunted the desert's omnivorous need for expansion. To the south lay the great steppes of Hildor and far to the north rose the frost-laden moors where only tenacious lichen and heather managed to grow; however, my thoughts marched forever forward -- to the east – to those sunny lands of verdant green that nestled along the Eastern Sea. I laid down my head on a saddlebag and stared up at the stars. At our current pace, we should arrive in Geas-Geata in perhaps a fortnight. I closed my eyes and pictured Leannan as I last saw her -- I heard her soft voice and tasted her final kiss – and together in vibrant dreams we strolled the jasmine-scented paths that wended languidly through the prodigious groves and graceful gardens entangling the sainted Sepulcher of Cui-Baili...
Tatya quietly placed his parchment and quills on the bedside table and pulled the coverlet up to his dozing master's white tufted chin. Tatya stretched and yawned and splayed his constricted fingers like a cat newly roused from sleep; but he was not tired -- the apprentice no longer desired sleep. He smiled and gazed fondly down upon Greagoir. Perhaps he was becoming more like his master in some respects.