Lord Kasif's camp
.
The next morning Hagi roused Tutkulu. "It's dawn; I let you sleep."
The young man groaned, "You have a strange idea of what constitutes a lie-in."
"If you wanted soft beds and silk sheets until noon, you should have stayed in Tashbaan," Hagi said tartly.
"Can't a man complain?" Tutkulu asked humorously. "You're a hard taskmaster."
They breakfasted on sugarless Kavi, hard flatbreads and more strips of meat. "Tonight you'll dine in Lord Kasif's camp," Hagi predicted.
"Or be dead," was the glum reply.
"They'd not kill you," the guide said, "You are the nephew of an important man. At worst they'd ransom you."
"Oh, wonderful," Tutkulu replied, ruefully.
"And perhaps lop off an ear," Hagi added, flashing a brilliant smile.
"You are most comforting. I'm somewhat partial to my ears; I've had them since I was little."
It took the pair three hours to go through the pass of M'gog where Tutkulu had the horrible sensation that they were watched at all times. They never saw anyone or heard anything, yet he couldn't shake the feeling. The pass was winding and the sides steep; thick with cover where spies might shelter. "You've heard of the Lion Demon, I assume?" Hagi asked, at one point.
"Of course; it terrorised our ancestors, the folk of B'Koy."
"There's an old legend that it retreated here."
"Really?"
"Tash followed it here then it was driven out of Calormen forever."
"I've not heard that before."
Hagi gave another of his shrugs, "Perhaps it's just a tale. The nights in the Hal Hallim are long and empty. People like to be entertained." Finally the pass ahead of them began to fall away. "See, there is a path down the side of the hill that leads into a plain: the plain of Krallik."
"The fiefdom of Lord Kasif!" The winding path was broad and safe enough for the camels. Below them was a green plain, watered by a stream and diverted into various dikes. What looked like giant mushrooms were in fact hundred of tents. Tutkulu had rarely seen so many horses in one place, except perhaps during great military parades. "That is… amazing," he said out loud, without realising.
Hagi smiled, "You are impressed with the Lord Kasif's following?"
"I… yes, I suppose I am." In truth, Tutkulu was alarmed, for he could see a sizeable army and one over which the state had no control.
A dozen armed men (four horsed) awaited their arrival at the bottom of the slope. "Here I must leave you," Hagi told his companion.
"But I was counting on you for an introduction to Lord Kasif?"
"You think I know the Lord Kasif?"
Tutkulu brought his camel to a halt. "I am sure you know Lord Kasif. In fact, I have at times wondered if you are the Lord Kasif."
Hagi indulged himself in a throaty laugh that seemed to begin somewhere underground. "That truly is a good joke!"
Tutkulu grinned, "You've been a good guide, but you know too much and are far too confident."
"You'd have preferred a less knowledgeable guide?"
"There's no answer to that."
Hagi drew his grey cloak about him and tapped his camel with his stick. "Farewell, Master Tutkulu, may you succeed in your quest."
"They'll let you leave?"
"Oh yes, I believe so."
"Farewell then, Master Hagi, Prince of Guides."
Hagi bowed low in his saddle and manoeuvred his camel about. Tutkulu watched him trot away; the men below paying Hagi no heed. Finally, turning about, Yargi took the final two hundred yards of path sedately. "Halt, stranger," said the Kapud of the guard. The men were all dressed simply like civilians, in robes, sandals and turbans. The thick belts, from which hung swords and daggers, gave them the air of brigands however.
"I beg an audience with the Lord Kasif."
"So you said, in the kavi houses of Toplandi."
"Ah, then the Lord Kasif is expecting me?"
"Yes, Master Tutkulu, if that is your real name, you are expected."
"It is my name, but not my full name. Be so good as to say that Tutkulu Yargi seeks an audience with Lord Kasif."
.
.
Meeting the Tarkaan
.
Tutkulu looked about him as they walked through the encampment, trying not to appear too obviously interested. He was a little relieved, for the number of potential combatants wasn't as high as he had first supposed (there were many women, old folk and children). The amount and quality of the horses was however exceptional. Clearly the Lord Kasif and his followers valued horseflesh. In places the site had the look of an agricultural fair, bustling with shepherds and butchers. Goats and sheep added to the general cacophony. Undoubtedly, the Lord had his own flocks and herds but, Tutkulu rightly surmised, much business was done with the three towns in the area. "This is most impressive," he offered, in the hope of sparking a conversation. The kapud merely looked at him and nodded. They appeared to be heading for a large, round tent of goatskin outside of which stood an elderly man, a pigeon upon his arm. Tutkulu was fascinated to see him set the bird upon a stand, in the manner of a falconer, and fasten a tiny leather tube to its leg. "Carrier pigeon," he thought, "Kasif can send messages swifter than a bush fire." To his surprise, Tutkulu was guided to a smaller, simple tent beside the big one. It was no different from scores of others dotted about the plain.
"I must search you," the captain said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. He ran his hands thoroughly over Tutkulu, removing his sword, dagger and fruit knife. He was told to wait and the Kapud disappeared into the small tent. Two guards stationed outside watched him dispassionately. After some minutes the kapud emerged and bade him enter.
The inside of the tent was dim, being lit only by two brass lanterns suspended on chains. Two men sat cross legged, swords flat across their knees. They were expressionless and Tutkulu wondered whether they'd cut his throat as happily as serve him kavi. Another man – in his mid thirties – rose to greet the newcomer. He was fairly tall, his hair and beard greying, dressed simply in rustic robes. Tutkulu settled on a tactful bow which was acknowledged by a nod of the head. "I have the honour of addressing the Lord Kasif?"
"You do."
"I am Tutkulu Yargi and I am here with a message at the behest of my uncle, the Grand Vizier Kesin Yargi."
"Everyone knows of the Yargi family; some fear it. Should I fear it?"
"I think not, Lord," Tutkulu told him. "I bear the royal token; if I may I show you?" On receiving a nod, Tutkulu retrieved a leather thong from his neck, on which hung a golden disc. He passed it over, slowly.
Kasif dangled the disc and looked upon it for a few moments. "Very pretty," he declared, "you realise of course that I have never seen such a thing and must trust you?"
"I hope you will trust me, Lord."
Kasif looked at his guards and dismissed them. "Wait outside lest I need you…" Once alone, he told Tutkulu, "You may speak freely; I guarantee your safety. Whether I like what you say is a different matter."
"I thank you, lord."
Kasif held up an admonitory finger. "First; I need to know how you got here."
"We sought information in Toplandi."
"At the Kavi house; this I know."
"You are well informed."
"I have to be. They call me the Thousands Eyes of the Hal Hallim."
"Then you are well named, Lord."
"Where else did you enquire of me, other than the kavi house?"
"We'd asked at a bathhouse and it was suggested that the Oasis might be… more suitable… shall we say?"
"So, to whom did you speak to at the Oasis? I need to know."
"I'd not bring any harm upon them."
"Them; there was more than one?"
Tutkulu hesitated but Hagi had never concealed his identify and had been entirely unconcerned about being seen. "I questioned the landlord but he didn't want to say anything. A few minutes later we were approached there by a man who offered to escort us, by the name of Hagi of A'guar."
Kasif looked puzzled, "I do not know of him, if Hagi is his true name. Nor do I know of A'guar, with any certainty that is."
"It's the name he gave us, Lord."
"I note the distinction. You said your guide; he gave you directions?"
"No, Lord, Hagi accompanied us all the way, from beginning to end."
"You lost men upon the way. At what point did you lose this Hagi?"
"I didn't, Lord. Hagi saw me down the hill path, almost to this plain, in clear sight of your guards."
Kasif clapped his hands at that and called for his guards. He ordered them to bring the kapud back to the tent. "What happened to your men?"
"First, we lost the servants, overnight, before we even left Toplandi. We believe they deserted…"
"You believe they deserted to me?"
"Hagi suggested it."
"Then that is their business, not yours. I'll not answer for your servants." Kasif frowned, "What of your other two companions?"
"Gasim and Nesib; they are trusted officers of the Observances Bureau. If something happened to me they were expected to meet with you, being fully briefed. They disappeared without trace, on consecutive nights. I fear they are dead unless, Lord, you know otherwise?"
Kasif shook his head, "It is not of my doing, nor have there been any sightings. They are important men?"
Tutkulu shrugged, "Moderately."
"But not as important as the nephew of the Grand Vizier," Kasif said with a wry smile. "You must excuse me," he rose and left the tent. Tutkulu was left alone, to fidget with his shabby travelling clothes and wonder how things would turn out.
The Lord soon returned and sat down. "This guide, Hagi, describe him?"
"A tall man, sleek in the manner of a cat. He had the white hands of a bureaucrat. Middle aged but dark of hair, with a curled moustache and beard in the old fashioned style."
"Old fashioned?" Kasif looked quizzical.
Tutkulu allowed himself a smile. "In Tashbaan perhaps; fashions go in and out like the seasons."
"Tell me more about Hagi, of his home, his people."
"I cannot, Lord. Not because I am disobliging but because he would never discuss such things." Kasif asked Tutkulu about the disappearances of Gasim and Nesib and was interested to hear Hagi's comments. "I don't know what to make of it," Tutkulu concluded.
"Are you a… um… metropolitan man, Master Yargi?"
"By birth, yes, but I've recently come from the Coral Islands. Three years as deputy commander of a small garrison. It gave me added seniority on transferring to the Observances Bureau."
"A hot place, as I understand?"
"Hot as the pit of Ashanguar," Tutkulu used a well known phrase.
"I wonder how hot Ashanguar is?" Kasif asked rhetorically. "Certainly the ground is warm enough, above. Do the people of Tashbaan still believe in Djinn?"
"Hm.. Well, yes, of course!"
"That's good, because it's easy to scoff at the supernatural in the streets of a city. Out here, in the Hal Hallim, one can sense it all around." Tutkulu didn't reply. "You were observed – at times – there have been more pigeons flying in and out of this place than Falimar ever owned. There was no guide."
"But, Lord, there was a guide!" Tutkulu protested.
"There was no meeting in the Kavi house after your rather clumsy questioning of the landlord. Yes, you were watched there too."
"Hagi approached us in the kavi house and then accompanied us," Tutkulu said stoutly.
"How did he find this camp?"
"He just knew, Lord. He took us on the Shifting Road." Kasif looked startled at that, so Tutkulu explained.
"The Shifting Road, my friend, is a thing of legend. It is a tale for nomads and the credulous. It doesn't exist, it's impossible, except…"
The pause grew so long that the visitor prompted his host, "Except, Lord?"
"It could only be possible if one were a sorcerer, or a Djinn."
"A Djinn?"
"It's no insult if I say that you'd have difficulty finding this camp. You talk of a Shifting Road; an old legend unlikely to be the talk of Tashbaan (or the Coral Islands). Then you talk of Hagi…"
"Um… yes."
"Now and again, over the years, travellers have met a so-called guide, of similar description. The name – Hagi – perhaps - I'm not certain - I can't remember. Was it Hagi, maybe?"
"It was Hagi we met," Tutkulu maintained.
"Then you are privileged, a liar or a madman."
"I am neither of those last two!"
"Then you are privileged because you have been helped by a genie."
Tutkulu looked dazed, "But… is that possible?"
"A man dared offer to guide you, in full view of all at the Oasis kavi house, unnoticed? A man guided you here, by an impossible road? My agents made no mention of a guide. You say that he escorted you down the hill path to the very edge of this plain yet the guards saw him not. How do you explain it?"
"I… I can't."
"Tash smiles upon you, it seems," Kasif said, "Unless, of course, you are mad. You do not seem mad. Tell me then, why are you here? It seems a propitious moment for you to speak frankly."
"The Tisroc (May he live forever) has a problem. Repairing the Second Fleet, under a new Kapud'sha, has resulted in additional taxation. It's necessary but unpopular. The Orvam is inclined to resent it and insists that certain domestic issues are resolved to – um – plug the gap, as it were."
"And I am one of these domestic issues?" Kasif asked.
"You are the de facto lord of these parts."
"I'm lord of the whole Hal Hallim."
Tutkulu nodded. "You are Lord and yet you have no official status. You are called Tarkaan by the rustics but are not recognised as such in Tashbaan."
"I see; this could be rectified?"
"It could."
"Why?"
"As a true Tarkaan you would govern this area wisely. It's clear that you are already respected. You'd have no need to hide; you could build a legacy for your heir."
"And what would the Tisroc require in return?"
"With status comes responsibility. That means a pledge of allegiance, which would quieten the Orvam. It means taxation and – on occasion - troop drafts."
"And if I say no?"
"You can't expect to hold this area unchallenged forever."
"You forsee a need for conflict?"
"Nobody wants that, Lord Kasif. No man can expect to operate for long, however, without Tashbaan taking a… dim view of it."
"What if I say we'd fight?"
"I've seen your forces, Lord and they are not unimpressive. They aren't invincible however; they don't rival the grains of sand in the desert."
"A highly mobile force, in favourable, familiar terrain, can last long," Kasif suggested.
"You could risk a pitched battle: perhaps you'd win, perhaps you'd lose. You could hit and run instead, then flee back into the desert, but what sort of legacy would that leave your son? What of the safety of the towns under your control? At some point you'd be undone."
"You speak very frankly."
"I speak as you bade me to, Lord. Personally, I see no need for any such unpleasantness."
"You can see me as the Tarkaan Kasif of the Hal Hallim?"
"Indeed; why not have Tashbaan recognise what men already know to be true?"
.
.
.
"With me along the strip of herbage strewn
That just divides the desert from the sown,"*
.
The Asha Hal Farl had been high but sluggish, a sullen river alive with a million insects. The fertile strip along the banks was lush and verdant. Guzelkoku grew as tall as a man, a mass of leaves with trumpet like blooms a vivid orange. Several miles up-river lay Ashakoy, an old village with a long connection to the distant capital, Tashbaan. Once home to Flaima Khal-am, greatest poet of the pre-imperial age, Ashakoy had been in decline for some years. Earlier generations had farmed some miles along the strip, but now it had reverted to the wild. A basket lazily made its way downstream from Ashakoy, turning slowly with the current.
Had any children of Adam been present, they might have noticed the silence. Certainly, it was a still day, with hardly a breath of wind fluttering across the Hal Hallim desert. The silence was deeper than that though, for birds neither flew nor sang. Snakes and scorpions had the sense to keep very still rather than seek the warming sun. Only the insects carried on regardless, in an aerial ballet. Sometimes we speak of the genius loci, the atmosphere of a place, but more rarely (in modern times) of the actual, presiding spirit. Tash, that fallen creature of the undying lands, was abroad, in lands he considered his own. Perhaps though I ought to have said genii locorum for another preternatural being was also present.
Keyfi had lived for centuries. He had known the forefathers of the Calormene, when the people of B'Koy lived in ignorance, without thought of gods or devils. He'd been attracted and repelled by man, in equal measure. He'd taken many names over the years (one such being Hagi) but rarely strayed from the Hal Hallim and its surrounding districts. He was a Djinn but of the order created when the world was formed. Others, more wicked, had been banished to the dying lands and resented it bitterly. Humans, not knowing the difference, labelled them all Djinn. There was an uneasy peace between both kinds but few could stand another's company for long. Keyfi stood, in mortal form, by the water as the basket drifted towards him. With arms suddenly unnaturally long, he scooped the thing from the river. "Hullo," he whispered, "A child of Adam." The tiny creature looked at him without comprehension. He lifted the baby out – it was no more than a few days old – and noted it was swaddled tightly. "Now, what shall I do with you?" Keyfi wondered.
"An unwanted child?" said a harsh voice, like cracking glass, behind him.
"Perhaps," said the genie, turning. He had no fear, even though the scent of death hung in the air.
"A sacrifice to me," Tash suggested. The horrid, vulture-like thing stood on two legs like a man (yet a little above the dirt). He sounded eager.
"There's no way of knowing."
"Then it's mine," Tash insisted.
"There's no way of knowing," Keyfi reiterated.
"Then how do we settle this?" Tash said, frustrated. With most other creatures his very presence would have been enough, but not with a genie.
Holding the baby firmly with one hand, Keyfi turned to break off a reed, which he proceeded to snap into two parts. His hands were a blur and even Tash couldn't see exactly what he did with them. "Choose the short piece and the child is yours."
.
.
"Oh, Wilderness were paradise enow!"*
.
Kasif grew up adored by the elderly parents that adopted him. They were employed as shepherds and as such were socially insignificant, even despised. The biggest regret of their lives was that they'd been unable to have children and, by their late forties, that seemed unlikely to change. The baby left on their doorstep, with a small purse of coins, was the greatest thing that had ever happened to them. Driven by conscience to make enquiries of a missing child, they were vastly relieved when nothing came of it. Kasif loved Nazim and Kutlu in return, being much upset, at the age of ten, when Kutlu passed away. Four years later Nazim died and Kasif found himself homeless and unemployed. He could have approached his parents' employer but he had no intention of being a shepherd boy or labourer. Instead, he walked into the small town of Baslama with a bag full of food and his father's life savings jingling in his purse.
By the age of nineteen Kasif was the undisputed chief of a band of youths (mainly orphans and the unwanted). They would turn their hand to casual labour and their numbers ensured they weren't taken advantage of. At other times they undertook less lawful commissions, such as using their fists to right perceived wrongs. The Beldi-Baskni of Baslama harboured a dislike of the gang but was unable to prove anything against them. The fact that they lived in an encampment in the waste, outside the town, put them outside of the mayor's jurisdiction.
One day Kasif, returning alone from Toplandi, spied a distant wanderer. He judged him to be some sort of holy man. Prophets, ascetics and holy fools often sought the clarity of mind they required in the wilderness. It had been a successful day and Kasif was inclined to be generous (such wanderers generally appreciated the goodwill of others). A labour dispute with a recalcitrant farmer had been resolved with a minimum of intimidation and violence. To Kasif's surprise he saw the stranger was female, which was uncommon. He wondered if she was one of the Lions Cubs, a strange, suppressed sect that persisted in small numbers. They were reputed to attract a large number of women and runaway slaves. The 'good news' of that long dead preacher, Arzulu, hadn't been entirely forgotten. "Greetings Mother," he said with due reverence, "The Blessings of Tash be upon you." That was something of a test but she responded in kind.
"And may the blessings of Tash be upon you." It was hard to say just how old she was. Bronzed by the desert sun she looked ancient but might only be in her middle years. She wore robes perhaps elderly when Kasif was but a babe.
"Where are you going Mother?" he said, trying to sound polite rather than challenging.
"Toplandi."
"It is some miles away," Kasif said.
"It's of no matter; I get there when I get there."
"Will you take some food and wine from me?" he asked and she nodded. He got off his mule and rummaged in his pack.
Taking the proffered food the woman said, "Thank you, my son. You have the mark of the Blessed Sebokht, beloved of Tash." Kasif made polite noises (for he didn't set much store by the ramblings of wandering prophets). He had half remembered Sebokht from a folk tale he'd heard as a child. Had he not gone to live with Tash forever? He remounted and wished her well on the journey when she said one last thing, "Watch for the afternoon."
"I'm sorry Mother?"
"Watch, for the afternoon," she said, over her shoulder, as she began to trudge away. Kasif pondered but could make nothing of it. When night fell he decided it wasn't worthy of further consideration.
"The leaves of life keep falling one by one"
.
Enough of this history, for we must move forward and look in again on Tutkulu, now a Director of Security for the Observances Bureau in Tashbaan. Things had changed much in the capital but not, as far as he was concerned, for the better. His uncle, Kesin Yargi, to whom he'd been sincerely attached, had died two years earlier. Tutkulu hadn't had sufficient time to establish himself in court circles and so there was no prospect of succeeding Kesin. Hakim Yargi, a distant cousin, was now Chief Vizier although he had no direct control over the Bureau. Tutkulu's branch of the family despised Hakim's. They considered them sly, rapacious and sycophantic (qualities that had evidently served Hakim well).
Five years had gone by since Kasif Hal Hallim had been made Tarkaan of that region. It had raised eyebrows in the Orvam but the unusual move had proved effective. The Lord Kasif maintained the peace and the rightful sum of taxes flowed into the imperial coffers. Tutkulu hadn't given him a thought for several weeks, being much occupied with the search for (and arrest of) 'heathens'. There had been yet another revival of the Father Sun and Mother Moon cult, in a rural district beyond the city. "What news from the wheat fields?" he said jovially, as his deputy entered the office.
"I have the daily report from the Yuzbhas." The lieutenant in charge of the hunt sent regular couriers. "Hm; they raided a farm. Four prisoners: the farmer, his wife and two sons. They confessed to paganism, after robust questioning." Robust questioning was a Bureau euphemism for any level of violence used during interrogation. "The Yuzbhas got the name of six other heathens; he should have closed in on some of them by now, I suppose."
"Good. Is that all?"
"From the Yuzbhas? Yes. There is however a letter for you, from the Lord Kasif Hal Hallim."
It was, sadly, common practice for the children of Calormene notables to be used as sureties for good conduct. The authorities frowned upon the word hostage but that is what they were. Kasif's seventeen year old son had been in the care of Tutkulu's aunt and uncle for the past five years. "Ah, Lord Kasif has permission from the Tisroc (May he live forever) to visit Tashbaan and see his son. He looks forward to seeing me too. Well, well! That's not an unpleasant prospect. I have an illuminated Flaima Khal-am anthology I've been meaning to send him. I must root it out."
.
.
.
"The flower that once has blown for ever dies"*
.
The Lord of the Hal Hallim had set out from the encampment at Nihai in good spirits; after all, he was about to see his only child for the first time in two years. He still felt uneasy at leaving such a hostage to fortune and wondered what his late wife would have said. It was, unofficially, his fortieth birthday too. It was forty years since he'd been left on a doorstep to be adopted. It would be fun to celebrate middle age with a pleasurable trip to the capital. The straight forward journey had gone wrong very quickly indeed though. He'd set off in some style, accompanied by twenty warriors and ten servants. He fully intended most of them to return home when he was safely ensconced in Tashbaan. The cost of keeping thirty men – and their mounts – fed and housed was prohibitive. He needed to make a good impression on arrival however and their clothes, plus the trappings of their camels, were of the finest silk. Two banners bearing the new device of his house were carried proudly up front.
Kasif had lived all of his life in, or on the edge of, the desert. It was said that he could detect a whirlwind when the first grain of sand shifted. The sudden, violent sandstorm shocked even him though. Buffeted from side to side, blinded by the sand, they were separated, torn apart like a child's toy by the teeth of a ferocious hound. It was all anyone could do to stay mounted; one by one they tumbled to the ground. They could hear each other calling yet more distantly with every passing moment. Kasif attempted to wrap his scarf about his head but the fingers of wind were malicious; they taunted him, tugging it from his grasp. His cheeks felt raw, chapped. It was all he could do to lie on the ground, huddled into his cloak as best as he could.
How long he lay there, he had no idea. It felt like hours but was perhaps mere minutes. Finally, as he started to come out of his daze, he could only give thanks that he hadn't been buried in the sand. Struggling to his feet, he could see no sign of his fellows or his camel. "That's… most peculiar," he said out loud, looking about him. Not far behind him were, undoubtedly, the two hills through which lay the pass of Mgog. He'd been some miles away, when the storm began and couldn't possibly have travelled more than a few hundred yards. There was a ridgeway of exposed stone which, he assumed, could only have been exposed by the sandstorm. There'd be no great encampment on the other side at present, but certainly plenty of horses and herdsman. He decided he'd head in the direction. It would be hard going but he'd been in worse situations. He might even meet some of his own people en route.
Kasif walked and the weather was forgiving. Kindly clouds shrouded their heavenly companion making its heat less fierce. He judged it to be still mid morning (from the position of the curtained sun). He'd not walk through any part of the Hal Hallim near noon by preference, but he was confident that he'd reach the shelter of the hills within three hours. He'd been walking for an hour before his growing fears were confirmed: the ridge along which he walked had definitely shifted. It had undoubtedly led straight and true to the hills. Yet now there was a great loop to the west and he either followed it or floundered in the sands. There'd been no further gusts so this was a most unusual and worrying development.
"The afternoon of life is a time of appreciation and sorrow," wrote the great poetess. "Well I'm not appreciating this; what a birthday!" Kasif thought. He fretted about his men: they too were born of the sand but might now lie under it. He'd send search parties out when he reached his destination. "Now, what is that?" he wondered, for ahead of him, where the path turned, was a dark shape. "Man walking or a rider on camel?"
As Kasif pressed on, his feet steady on the firm stone, he became less and less easy, for the figure was not that of a man. It was dark, somehow both corporeal yet a thing of filthy smoke. It had four arms and four hands, with claws like knives. It was roughly the height of a son of Adam but there the resemblance ended. The head was that of a vulture with a most horrid beak. Most uncanny of all was the way in which the thing seemed to hover just above the ground. Perhaps it was too unclean to despoil even the fallen world with its feet? Kasif had never seen the thing yet knew it immediately; it was depicted so often in Calormene art. He continued walking even though his feet were blocks of stone, reluctant to move. When he got within ten yards of Tash, Kasif flung himself to the hard ground and remained there, prostrate. "My Lord Tash, mighty one, most high, I am the humblest of your servants." Kasif had never grovelled before anyone in his life yet, instinctively, he was as the meanest sycophant before the worst of all tyrants.
"Truly, thou art the least of my servants," Tash declared.
"Hail, Lord Tash," Kasif whispered miserably.
"Finally, we meet," said the demon, to the man's surprise.
"It's a pleasure," the Lord of the Hal Hallim said weakly.
"Why does the least of my servants keep me waiting?"
"Lord; I…I fear I do not understand."
"Forty years you have kept me waiting," said Tash. Kasif ventured a look and wished he hadn't. The tongue that flickered momentarily through the open beak wasn't pleasant.
"I regret… I don't understand?"
"Forty years, this very day, thou wert abandoned, unwanted, were you not?"
"So I understand, most gracious Lord."
"You were undoubtedly dedicated to me."
"W.. Was I?" Kasif was entirely in the dark.
"And yet I – I – have been kept waiting, by a meddler." Tash's various arms moved in agitation.
"Were you?" asked the mystified, trembling Kasif.
"I have been hampered, but he dare not wholly thwart me," Tash said, pride sounding in his voice. "Thou hast lived thy length like the longer reed, but now thou art cut, like the short." The black whirlwind that was Tash fell upon Kasif, snatched him up in his arms and then vanished entirely. The Tarkaan's truncated scream hung momentarily in the air.
The Lord Kasif of the Hal Hallim was never again seen in that world.
"Behold ye are of nothing, and your work is of nought;
An abomination is he that chooseth you."
Isaiah 41.24
THE END
.
Glossary
Arzulu: See my short stories: Riddle of the Lion, Slaves for Calormen and
Tempted by the Djinn
Blessed Pigeons of Falimar: Became a Calormene oath / expression
Cin: Trans. genie (Calormene, like Turkish)
Durzu: Trans. scoundrel, traitor (Calormene, like Turkish)
Guvensiz: Trans. insecure, distrustful, unconfident (Calormene, like Turkish)
Iri: Trans. corpulent (Calormene, like Turkish)
Kapud: Trans. Captain (Calormene)
Kapud'sha Grand Admiral (Calormene)
Kasif: Trans. explorer (Calormene, like Turkish)
Kaynak: Trans. rock (Calormene, like Turkish)
Keyfi Trans. arbitrary (Calormene, as Turkish)
Koloni: Please see my short story 'New Calormen'
Krallik: Trans. kingdom (Calormene, like Turkish)
Monkeys of Gevezelik Calormene folk-tale about a village council that turned out to be monkeys in disguise
Nihai: Trans. final, ultimate, eventual (Calormene, like Turkish)
Oyuk: Trans. pits (Calormene, like Turkish)
Orvam: City council, or any council governing a settlement (Calormene)
Sahipli: Trans. owned (Calormene, like Turkish)
Sharur: For more please see 'Lilith daughter of Sharur'
Taal-intkhalam: For more please see my short story The First Temple of Tash
Tarkaan: Trans. Little emperor (Calormene)
Toplandi: Trans. gathered (Calormene, like Turkish)
Tutkulu: Trans. passionate, ambitious, warm-blooded (Calormene, like Turkish)
* From the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 11th century, Persian.
Some fictious quotes from the wholly imaginary Flaima Khal-am