Nicar rode close to Lord Rishdah. “Sir, that young man won’t make it much farther, especially in this heat. I suggest we make camp and let me look after him,” he said.
Hamíd was losing the strength to care. He gripped the saddle in front of him and focused on their words.
“Very well. Find a camping place where we can spend the night. We’ll wait here,” Lord Rishdah said. Ismail took hold of the stallion from his place behind his father as Nicar cantered off.
“Why did you take him?” Ismail asked his father.
Hamíd didn’t know if he wanted the answer. It was one he most likely knew anyway. Slaves weren’t sold for their own benefit. It was only a matter of time before he found out what kind of master Lord Rishdah would be.
“He’s been overworked and mistreated, but there’s still fight in him,” Rishdah said. “That shouldn’t be kept behind a forge. And certainly not with Balkor.”
Emeth wrapped an arm back around Hamíd as he swayed. The unexpected reply hadn’t helped the confusion he’d been living in since they’d left.
Nicar was back minutes later. “There’s a small oasis of sorts up ahead, sir. Trees and plenty of water,” he reported.
Lord Rishdah gave his approval, and Nicar led them forward to the chosen campground. Once they reached the cool shelter of the trees, Nicar dismounted and spread some blankets on the ground. He helped Hamíd down from the horse and made him lie down on the blankets. Hamíd obeyed out of instinct, fists clenching in an attempt to keep the fear away. At least with Balkor he knew what to expect. But Lord Rishdah was unlike any other lord he’d seen.
Emeth and Ismail dismounted and began setting up camp. Lord Rishdah tethered the horses nearby and began building a fire. Nicar scooped water from the pond and set it on the fire to heat before he took one of his knives and cut Hamíd’s shirt off. Hamíd shuddered as the deep, ugly gashes were exposed along with the faint stench of festering wounds. Nicar swore under his breath causing Hamíd to tilt his head up in a wary glance.
“Easy, lad, I’m just going to clean up your back,” Nicar said, catching the pack Emeth tossed to him, pulling out bandages and a pouch of herbs. Hamíd took the cup that was thrust at him.
“Here, drink this. It’ll help a little,” Nicar ordered.
Hamíd raised himself up on an elbow and took a few sips, almost choking as he swallowed the bitter liquid. Once Nicar forced him to finish, he lay back down on the blankets. Nicar took the hot water from the fire and began washing the cuts. Hamíd stiffened and tried to twist away, but Nicar held him down and continued relentlessly.
When he finished, he took out a needle and thread and began stitching the worst cuts. He then spread ointment on Hamíd’s back and placed bandages over it. The pain had faded away by the time he had finished. Hamíd’s eyes slid closed against his will and he relaxed into sleep, his head pillowed on his arms.
Nicar gently placed his cloak over Hamíd and joined the others at the fire.
“How’s he doing?” Emeth asked him.
“He’ll be all right with some rest and proper food,” Nicar answered.
“Speaking of which, Emeth, you’re on cooking duty,” Lord Rishdah broke in.
Emeth tipped his head back with an exaggerated groan. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to appeal, is there, sir?”
“No,” Lord Rishdah replied.
“Didn’t think so.” Emeth picked up the food packs and took the fish Ismail had caught.
They lingered at the pool as Hamíd slept all that night and most of the next day. Nicar woke him only to take some food. On the second day, color had finally come back to his face and there was a new alertness in his eyes. Nicar declared him well enough to travel again so they began to break camp.
Emeth brought Hamíd a fresh shirt he had rummaged from his pack. Hamíd pulled it gently over the bandages and stood slowly. He found he could move easily and with almost no pain, thanks to Nicar’s ministrations. He watched in silence as the men began packing and saddling their horses, still bewildered by the strange turn of events that had taken him away from Lord Balkor. The two guards were friendly enough, but he dreaded to think what might happen to him when they finally reached their destination.
Within an hour, they had broken camp and were back on the road, Hamíd once more mounted behind Emeth. They rode quietly for a few hours before Emeth broke the silence.
“So where are you from, Hamíd?” he asked in Rhyddan.
“Aredor, sir,” Hamíd answered, finding he had to force the answer in Rhyddan.
Emeth laughed. “You don’t have to ‘sir’ me. We’re about the same age. Just call me Emeth.”
“Fine. Then where are we going, Emeth, and what exactly am I in for?” The desperate question tumbled out before he could stop it.
“We’re headed home to Lord Rishdah’s castle. We should get there just after dark,” Emeth said. “Don’t worry, Hamíd. He’s a good man, treats everyone fairly, soldiers and servants alike. As a result, he’s one of the richest men in Calorin and one of the Sultaan’s chief advisors.”
Hamíd found that hard to believe as the only other Calorin lords he had encountered were as cruel as Balkor.
“How did you come to be in his service?” he asked instead.
“Ran away from home in Braeton when I was sixteen, too much like my father to get along with him. I’m his third son, so I figured he wouldn’t miss me much. Picked up a ship in Aredor and went to Gelion. That’s where I learned to use these.” He gestured to his double swords. “Two years ago, I made my way to Calorin. Lord Rishdah found me, and I fought my way up to his personal bodyguard, and here I am. What about you?”
“I was taken from my home eight years ago and sold to Lord Balkor, and I’ve survived ever since.”
“I never thought I’d run into another northerner here. Makes me think of home again,” Emeth said. “What happened to your family?”
“They probably think I’m dead.” After this long, he hoped they did.
Nicar dropped back to ride with them. “How are you holding up, lad?” he asked Hamíd.
“I’m fine, sir.” Hamíd dropped his gaze.
“Good. I’ve been talking to Lord Rishdah. He’ll give you a week to get your full strength up, and then your training will begin,” Nicar told him.
“What training?” Apprehension rushed through him as he waited to hear what his new master had planned.
“You’re to be a soldier, and if you’re good enough, you’ll become one of us, the Phoenix Guard,” Nicar said.
That was the last thing Hamíd expected to hear. “Why? I’ve never used a weapon before in my life. Why should he trust me? How does he know I won’t run away the first chance I get?”
“Something tells me you won’t,” Nicar said. “Lord Rishdah saw something in you. He thinks you can make it.”
“Who’ll be training him?” Emeth asked.
“Azrahil mostly,” Nicar answered.
Emeth whistled softly. “He’s the captain of the Phoenix Guards,” Emeth informed Hamíd. “I hope you’re not easily intimidated. He still has some unexplainable grudge against me after two years.”
“He hates those double swords of yours. You know he’s dedicated himself to beating you.” Nicar’s laugh told Hamíd it wasn’t as competitive as it sounded.
Emeth laughed. “I’m not about to tell him how either.”
“How many are there in this guard?” Hamíd asked.
“Four, including Azrahil. You’ll meet Ahmed tonight. Be warned, he’s a little hard to get along with at first,” Nicar said.
Hamíd spent the rest of the journey in silence, half-listening as Emeth and Nicar discussed what he would need to know to begin his new life at Lord Rishdah’s castle. He watched Lord Rishdah riding some distance ahead of them. In a way, the lord reminded Hamíd of his father—stern, shrewd, and commanding, but with a kindness hidden not too far under the rough exterior. Hamíd didn’t know what would happen in the days to come, but he cou
ldn’t ignore the fact that the lord had saved his life. If what the guards were saying was true, then it was his duty to do his best to repay that.
* * *
Hamíd rose early several days later. He had been quartered in a small room in the Guard’s barracks where Nicar kept a close eye on him. He had spent the past few days getting to know the castle and surrounding lands. Emeth had been a willing guide on his off-duty hours. Hamíd couldn’t help but like the cheerful young guard. He almost made Hamíd think he could trust the people in his new home.
The night before, Nicar had declared him healed and ready to start training. Azrahil, the fierce captain of the Guards, had ordered Hamíd to meet him in the training court outside the barracks. Hamíd dressed in fresh clothes and stepped out into the cool morning to meet the captain.
Emeth met him as he crossed the courtyard, greeting him and giving some last minute advice. Hamíd only nodded in reply. He still only spoke when he had to. Emeth had tried to get him to speak more, even smile, but it had been years since he really had. It was only through great effort that he met people’s gaze when he was addressed. Eight years of forced habit were hard to break.
Emeth clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck before leaving to replace Ahmed on guard duty. With Emeth’s last encouragement still ringing in his ears, Hamíd walked through the courtyard and into the practice ring where Azrahil waited.
* * *
Hamíd stood unmoving, hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast as Azrahil studied him in silence. His gut twisted with nervousness, but many a harsh lesson had taught him how to keep his face expressionless. He had experience with men in Azrahil’s position, none of which had been good. He wasn’t expecting the burly captain to be any different.
“You ever handled a weapon before?” Azrahil’s sudden question caught him off guard.
“No, sir, other than for repairs at the forge.” Unless he counted trying to pick up his father’s sword when he was young. He forced the memory away.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“I was told that I was to be trained, sir.”
“It doesn’t sound like you believe that,” Azrahil commented.
There was no point in avoiding the truth. “No, sir.”
“Hamíd.”
His eyes flashed up in surprise as the captain used his name. There was an unfamiliar compassion in Azrahil’s face as he met his gaze.
“Let me see your hand,” Azrahil ordered.
With another surge of apprehension, Hamíd slowly brought his right hand forward and unwound the strip of cloth he always kept around his palm. As Azrahil took a sudden step forward, Hamíd tensed involuntarily.
“It’s all right.”
Hamíd looked up again at the softness in the captain’s voice. Azrahil gently opened Hamíd’s hand to reveal the brand. He pushed up Hamíd’s sleeve, uncovering the scar encircling his wrist. Hamíd didn’t care as much about that scar, averting his gaze instead from the brand and the shame of having it exposed.
“We’ll get you a proper glove for this.” Azrahil released his hand.
Hamíd met his gaze. He knows, he thought. He knows at least part of what I’ve been through.
“How long?” he asked.
“Two years, after an ambush went wrong,” Azrahil answered. “I’ve never told anyone that. Someone helped me. I’d do the same for you if you’ll let me.”
Hamíd closed his hand around the brand, wondering if Azrahil truly meant it. He met Azrahil’s gaze again with an effort and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Are you ready to begin?” Azrahil asked.
Hamíd took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, preparing to meet the challenges of his new life.
“Yes, sir.”
That night, Azrahil joined Emeth in the Guard’s common room as he cleaned his saddle. Azrahil threw his own saddle onto a rack, grabbing a cloth as he took a seat.
“Anything wrong, Captain?” Emeth noted the pensive expression on his face.
“You’ve spent some time with Hamíd, haven’t you?” Azrahil wiped the girth clean.
Emeth refolded his cloth and began to polish the leather. “Yes, sir.”
“What do you think of him?”
“I don’t know yet. He doesn’t say much.” Emeth bent his attention to the stirrup irons, buffing them clean.
“So I’ve noticed,” Azrahil commented wryly. “You talk to him much?”
“Not much more than what he needs to know to get around. I figure he’ll open up when he’s ready. He’s just not ready to trust anyone yet,” Emeth said.
“After what he’s been through, I’m not surprised.” Azrahil worked soap into the leather. “We’ll see how he copes with the training.”
“He notices small details, like any good warrior or commander should. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s in the Guard before the year is out. And then I’d hate to be his enemy.” Emeth tossed the girth over his saddle.
Azrahil remembered Hamíd’s expression as he first held the scimitar, and he couldn’t agree more with Emeth.
Chapter 4
“Block! Now strike! Move your feet! Watch my sword. Parry! Good!” Azrahil said as Hamíd finished the exercise. “Now we’ll try it with the scimitar.”
Hamíd handed him the wooden practice sword he had been using and accepted the scimitar Azrahil handed him in return.
“Remember to watch my blade. This’ll go quicker with the swords. Ready?” Azrahil asked.
Hamíd nodded and took up his stance. Azrahil lunged, and Hamíd brought up his scimitar to block. Swords flashed in the sunlight as they sparred. When they drew apart, they were both breathing heavily. Hamíd had been training for three months and was slowly mastering the Calorin scimitar. Azrahil found him an able and willing student and had proceeded to teach him all he knew.
Besides training with Azrahil, Hamíd spent two days a week with Jaffa, captain of Lord Rishdah’s small army. Jaffa taught him how to use the light javelin and to fight from the back of a horse. Surprised at how well Hamíd could already ride, Jaffa showed him various battle maneuvers and techniques for overpowering an enemy on the ground.
He learned how to engage more than one enemy at a time, to move silently, and to use his surroundings to disappear. Another warrior taught him to fight without weapons, honing his reflexes in the intense and aggressive style of hand-to-hand combat. Emeth, a highly skilled tracker, showed him how to read the tracks left by animals or, more importantly, the signs left by any enemy they might have to follow. His days were filled with fighting and riding from dawn to dusk, and he would tumble into his bed, exhausted, but strangely content.
“Come, Hamíd,” Azrahil said. “I told Jaffa we’d meet him down on the training grounds. More archery practice.”
Hamíd couldn’t help but grimace. Archery was the one thing he couldn’t seem to master. It didn’t help that Jaffa was now having him shoot from the back of a moving horse. Reluctantly, he sheathed the sword and followed the captain out of the courtyard and down into the open training grounds outside the castle walls.
“You bring it down?” Azrahil asked Jaffa as they approached.
“Yes, I sent one of my men for it. He will be back shortly,” Jaffa said.
“Bring what, sir?” Hamíd couldn’t help but ask.
Azrahil smiled, which meant no more information was forthcoming. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Jaffa handed Hamíd the archer brace. He had just finished buckling it on when a soldier came up, carrying a long object covered in a cloth. Jaffa unwrapped the object and handed it to Hamíd. A shiver of recognition ran through Hamíd as he ran his hand down the smooth curve of the longbow.
“An Aredorian war bow. Where did you get it, sir?” he asked.
“A merchant from Gelion had it. Lord Rishdah was intrigued by it and bought it. No one has been able to use it effectively yet, so we thought you might as well give it a try,” Jaffa said.
Ha
míd bent the bow and smoothly strung it and tested its draw. The longer, more powerful weapon fit more easily into his hands than the light Calorin bow. Or maybe it was just knowing that he was holding a piece of home. Azrahil handed him the quiver, and Hamíd slung it over his shoulder. Drawing an arrow, he knocked it to the string. Stepping forward, he took aim at the target and let fly. The arrow hit almost dead center, better than his normal aim even though the pull was greater than the Calorin recurve bow. Jaffa nodded in satisfaction. Hamíd fired four more arrows before Jaffa called a halt.
“Well, I think we’ve finally found you a bow,” he said. “All right, you can stop smiling now. I had Inzi brought up for you.”
A fiery, restless chestnut mare was led up. Hamíd mounted her without hesitation.
“I thought you said no one could ride that horse,” Azrahil said quietly to Jaffa.
“That’s what I thought until he picked her out a few weeks ago. Just watch,” Jaffa told him.
Hamíd moved the mare in a small circle, and then suddenly, she stopped and reared. Hamíd leaned forward, adjusting easily. As they landed, he pushed her into a trot, moving out on the circle. Again she reared, and again he rode it and resumed the circle. Finally, the mare quieted, and he nudged her into an easy canter. Slowing, Hamíd rode over to the two captains and halted.
“We’re ready, Captain,” he said.
Inzi stood quietly, sides heaving as she licked and chewed at the bit. He rubbed her neck in reward. It had taken him weeks to get her this calm when he rode.
“The usual targets, Hamíd, and watch her over the ditch!” Jaffa said.
“Yes, sir,” Hamíd replied and spurred Inzi onto the field.
The “targets” were stuffed sacks mounted on poles and scattered all over the field. Hamíd pushed Inzi into a canter and headed toward the first target. Dropping the reins, he fitted a shaft and fired before grabbing the reins and heading to the second target placed to the left. Nocking another arrow, he turned and fired. He shot at two more targets and then went for the last. It was placed to the right of a long ditch, which forced the rider to jump the ditch after firing. Hamíd loosed his last arrow then prepared for the ditch.
The Rise of Aredor Page 3
