The Rise of Aredor

by Claire M Banschbach

  “Thank you, Nicar,” he replied.

  * * *

  Hamíd was able to eat more the next morning with Nicar's assistance. As he finished, Nicar announced that Ismail wished to speak with him. Hamíd had to assure him that he was strong enough for a visitor. Nicar frowned but helped him into a fresh shirt and settled his arm into a sling.

  Hamíd pushed up against the pillows under Nicar's watchful eye, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the man's overbearing concern. Nicar finally declared himself as satisfied as he could be and allowed Ismail entrance to the room.

  Ismail took a seat by the bed. “I wanted to thank you properly for saving my life. But why did you do it? You didn’t have to.”

  Hamíd toyed with the blanket’s edge before looking up to meet Ismail’s gaze. “This may sound strange, but your brother told me to.”

  Ismail frowned in confusion. “My brother?”

  Hamíd nodded and related his dream. “I’m not sure if jumping in front of the lion was the smartest idea, but it seemed like the only thing to do at the time. I couldn’t save him, but I could try and protect you.”

  “Well, I thank you again. I am deeply indebted to you now. I hope a day comes when I’ll be able to pay you back in like manner.” Ismail extended his hand to Hamíd, who hesitated a moment before clasping it firmly.

  Hamíd’s companions also visited throughout the day as their duties and Nicar allowed. They relayed news of the upcoming campaign. In addition, Emeth brought news of Zephyr. Hamíd was relieved to hear Emeth was caring for the stallion.

  “You seem to care more about that animal than you do about us,” Emeth complained with a grin.

  “That’s because he doesn’t talk back like you do,” Hamíd retorted.

  Emeth barely managed to put on a wounded expression. “I thought you cared. I suppose not. Not a friend in the world. That’s me.”

  Hamíd threw a pillow at him. Emeth caught it deftly. He crossed his arms over the pillow and propped his feet up against the bed.

  “How long do you have to stay here?”

  “Nicar told me two months. Says he’ll tie me down if I even think about trying to leave before then,” Hamíd answered.

  Emeth gave a low whistle. “Two months! Well, I hope you enjoy lazing away in a comfy bed while I’m off fighting.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Hamíd grimaced. “I’d give anything to be able to go.”

  “Don’t worry, mate, I’ll try and save some for you.” Emeth laughed.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Hamíd rolled his eyes with a grin.

  “Let’s see, a castle would be fine, half your lands, you could even find me a princess….”

  “Shut up! What’d I tell you?” Hamíd exclaimed.

  “A thousand pardons, Your Highness!” Emeth bowed with a flourish. Hamíd half rose threateningly from the bed.

  “Ah, you’re not supposed to move, remember?” Emeth scooted the chair back.

  “For you, I might make an exception.”

  “Are you bothering my patient, Emeth?” Nicar asked as he came into the room.

  “Me? No,” Emeth said.

  “Actually, he mentioned he wasn’t feeling too well and was looking for you.” Hamíd attempted to keep a straight face.

  Nicar turned on Emeth. “Really? What’s wrong?”

  “What? Nothing.” Emeth edged away from Nicar.

  “You call overtiredness and a slight fever nothing?” Hamíd shot a malicious grin at Emeth.

  “You’re right. He’s does look a little pale,” Nicar replied. “I have just the thing for you.”

  “Touch that, and you might lose a hand!” Emeth threatened as Nicar reached for a beaker of medicine.

  Nicar laughed. “All right, all right! I can’t argue with that.”

  “Good. I shudder at the very thought of your ‘medicine.’ I’m sure you tried to poison me last time,” Emeth said.

  Nicar’s smile faded into sudden seriousness. “I did what was necessary to keep you alive.”

  “He keeps telling me that.” Emeth turned to Hamíd. “I’d just be very careful from now on.”

  Nicar tried to hide a new smile. “Enough, before you ruin my reputation for good! Oh, Azrahil wants you, by the way.”

  A look of horror crossed Emeth’s face. “Now you tell me! He’s probably ready to kill me by now! Don’t drink anything!” he yelled to Hamíd as he ran from the room.

  Nicar shook his head as he began to change Hamíd’s bandages.

  “What were you two talking about just now?” Hamíd asked curiously.

  “Before he joined the Guard, he served in Lord Rishdah’s army. He was good friends with another young man about his age then. They were both so wild and reckless in battle, like berserkers. Azrahil and Jaffa couldn’t stop them. One day, we stormed a fortress, and afterward we found both of them. Emeth was holding his friend. The young man was dead, and Emeth was nearly there himself.

  “We almost lost him, and it took days before he finally regained consciousness. Even after that, I wasn’t sure what he would do. He was so quiet and depressed. Azrahil took care of him and trained him. He would make Emeth so angry trying to bring back his old fire. He finally succeeded, and that’s when Emeth joined the Guard,” Nicar finished.

  “But something changed? He’s not like that anymore,” Hamíd said.

  “Aye, he finally learned to control himself. It was a hard lesson for him though. Do me a favor, Hamíd. Don’t tell him I told you that story. He too keeps a lot of memories to himself.”

  “One more thing,” Hamíd said before Nicar left the room. “What was his friend’s name?”

  “Emeth.”

  * * *

  Late that night, Lord Rishdah came to visit him. He sat down in the chair by the bed.

  “Are all warriors in the north as reckless as you?” Lord Rishdah asked.

  “It seems to run in my family as I remember, sir.” Hamíd could recall wild tales of his father and grandfathers in battle.

  “Do you remember much of your family?” Lord Rishdah asked.

  “Only vague memories, sir. But after this long, I’m dead to them. This is the only life I have now,” Hamíd said.

  “How old were you, Corin?” Lord Rishdah’s question caught him off guard.

  He looked up in shock. “How…?”

  “Emeth told me your name when I asked.”

  Hamíd pushed himself upright, wincing a little. “I was twelve when the slaver ripped me away from my country, my family, and everything I knew.”

  “Would you go back?” Lord Rishdah asked curiously.

  “To what, sir? No, there is nothing for me to go back to anymore. You couldn’t let me go anyway.” Hamíd froze as his suppressed anger at the invasion broke through for an instant.

  “What do you mean? Who are you?” Lord Rishdah pressed.

  Hamíd trusted Lord Rishdah with his life, but he still hesitated for a long moment before answering softly, “I am Corin, second son of King Celyn and Queen Elain, prince of Aredor.”

  * * *

  Lord Rishdah sat alone in his chambers, still reeling over what Hamíd had told him. For once he was at a loss. What do you do with a prince whose country you have just invaded? A prince who hasn’t seen his country in eleven years? he thought. He’s given me two and a half years of service, saved my son’s life, fought by my side many times, and protected me. Do I reward him by turning him over to the Sultaan? No. He stared into the fire for a long time.

  “I’m dead to them. This is the only life I have now.” Hamíd’s words echoed in his mind.

  A dead man, Lord Rishdah mused. No one knows who he is. He’ll be safe enough. After the campaign is finished, I will give him his freedom.

  Chapter 12

  The wedding took place the very next night, and at first light of the following morning, Lord Rishdah departed to meet his army. Lord Jamal and Ismail would follow later with the remainder of the force. Ni
car left Hamíd in the charge of Lord Jamal’s healers after making him swear to stay until properly healed.

  The days passed slowly for Hamíd as he gradually felt his strength coming back. His leg had been placed in a splint to ensure it healed as best as it could. The news that messengers brought of Lord Rishdah’s successes in the campaign only increased his restlessness.

  One afternoon, the garrison captain came to see him.

  “The healers say you are restless,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Hamíd answered. “It’s frustrating to just sit here while everyone is off fighting. I feel so useless!”

  “I know how it is, lad,” Captain Hatim said. “They say you can get up and move around a little.”

  “Somewhat, sir.”

  “Well, get down to the armory if you can. There’s always plenty to do down there.”

  Shortly thereafter, Hamíd sat in the armory, re-fletching arrows with his leg stretched out on a chair in front of him. Hampered a little by the heavy bandage still on his left arm, the task took all of his concentration. The armory was quiet and deserted; only the minimum number of soldiers had remained behind to guard the castle and surrounding lands.

  “Whatcha doin’?” a small voice asked.

  Startled, Hamíd looked up to see a small boy watching him with wide, curious eyes.

  “I’m fixing these arrows so they can fly,” he answered.

  “Like a bird?” the little boy asked hopefully.

  Hamíd laughed. “No, not exactly like a bird. What’s your name?”

  “Me be’s Makin, and I’m five. What’s your name?”

  “Hamíd,” he answered.

  “Can I help, Ahmid?” the boy asked.

  Hamíd was a bit taken aback at the request. “I suppose, Makin,” he said to the delight of the little boy.

  He set Makin to sorting out feathers and handing them to him as he needed. They worked together as Makin chattered away.

  “Did you get hurted, Ahmid?” Makin watched as he rubbed his aching arm.

  “Yes, I did,” Hamíd answered.

  “I remember. I saw you. You were sick, and everyone was worried. You were like my mother before she went away.” Makin lapsed into silence as he mussed a feather.

  Hamíd quickly changed the subject. “Do you like animals?”

  He soon had Makin happily expounding upon the merits of various animals. As Hamíd finished the last of the shafts, the captain came in.

  “There you are, Maki! I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

  “I helped Ahmid make arrows fly like birds, Da,” Makin said importantly.

  Hamíd fought back a smile. “Yes, sir. He was a big help.”

  Makin beamed at him in delight. The captain lifted Makin into his arms.

  “Thank you for looking after him. He doesn’t have much to do here, and I can’t properly look after him all the time,” Captain Hatim said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

  “Can I come tomorrow and help?” Makin asked Hamíd.

  “That’s up to your father,” Hamíd answered. “I don’t mind, sir,” he reassured the captain.

  The little boy turned to his father. “Please, Da, please!” he begged.

  “Yes, I suppose you can,” the captain consented, wincing a little as Makin yelled in excitement.

  Every afternoon from then on, Makin would sit with Hamíd as he sharpened blades, fletched arrows, or repaired chain mail coats. Hamíd would tell him the stories he could remember of the heroes of Aredor and Calorin or of great battles.

  Time now passed quickly; his arm healed enough to be taken from the bandage and the splint to be taken from his leg. He could move slowly but without the aid of crutch. He knew Nicar would be furious with him if he found out, but he began with basic training maneuvers, eager to regain his strength, especially as reports continued to arrive.

  Makin shadowed Hamíd everywhere. They now visited the stables regularly to take care of Zephyr. The stallion was overjoyed to see Hamíd again. Makin displayed prudent caution around the stallion at first, but did not take long to become friends. He would sit on the stall door, feeding treats to Zephyr as Hamíd brushed and cleaned him.

  * * *

  The afternoon sun shone down brightly on Hamíd as he stood in the center of the arena behind the stables. He held a long line, the other end of which was fastened to Zephyr’s bridle. He urged the stallion up into a trot in a circle around him. The stallion moved easily as Hamíd put him through the different paces.

  As he slowed to a walk again, Hamíd led him over to the side of the stables and threw the saddle on. As he tightened the buckles, he wondered how well his leg would hold up. It had healed but he now walked with a pronounced limp, something he was still trying to get used to. It would occasionally buckle under him if he tried to do something too fast or when he tired. A reminder that he would never be the same.

  “Well, we might as well give it a try, right, boy?” he said softly to the stallion as he put his foot in the stirrup iron and climbed into the saddle.

  He eased Zephyr into a trot again, then to a canter, and then began putting him through various maneuvers. When he was satisfied, he and Zephyr were both coated in sweat. As he rubbed Zephyr down inside the stables, the captain found him.

  “I just received word from Lord Jamal. They expect to be here in a week. You will be able to rejoin Lord Rishdah then,” he told Hamíd.

  “Thank you, sir,” Hamíd said.

  “I see you’ve taken up your weapons again,” Captain Hatim commented.

  “Yes, sir. It’s slow right now. Hopefully, I’ll be back up to speed by the time Lord Rishdah arrives.”

  “Good. From what I’ve seen and heard, they can use you out there.”

  “Aye, sir. I’m anxious to do my part.” Hamíd hoped he’d be allowed to return to duty when they arrived. He wouldn’t be the first soldier with a limp, but in the Phoenix Guard there was no room for error. He pushed the thought away. He would keep training. He would be strong enough to return. Captain Hatim left, and Hamíd’s attention was caught by a rustling over in a corner. Curious, he went to investigate.

  One of the stable cats had cornered a large bird. The cat hissed and moved in, only to retreat from the talons of the bird. The cat tried again, jabbing out with its claws. The bird retaliated, slashing with its beak. Hamíd took pity on the bird and chased the cat away. He crouched in front of the bird as it retreated into the corner again.

  “Whatcha got there, Ahmid?” Makin darted up to peer over his shoulder.

  “I think it’s a hawk of some sort, Maki.”

  “Ooh! A birdie! Is it hurted?”

  “Yes, something’s wrong with its wing, see?” Hamíd pointed. One of the hawk’s grey wings hung awkwardly beside it. “You remember that big windstorm two days ago? It must’ve gotten trapped in here then.”

  “What are you gonna do with it?” Makin asked.

  Hamíd shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can fix real live birds.”

  Makin brightened at that. “We can ask Nasim!”

  “I guess that means I’m staying here.” Hamíd watched Makin run off. A short time later, Makin was back, dragging another man with him.

  “See! See! The birdie hurted!” Makin bounced excitedly, pointing at the bird.

  “Hmm. It looks like it’s dislocated,” Nasim said, looking at the wing. “If you can catch it, young man, I’ll fix that wing up,” he said to Hamíd.

  Nasim held Makin back as Hamíd began to edge quietly toward the bird, talking soothingly all the while. The hawk eyed him warily but remained motionless. Hamíd quickly bundled it up in an old saddle blanket. The young hawk struggled for a few moments, then subsided in exhaustion.

  They took it to Nasim’s rooms where he pushed the wing back into place and bound it with strips of cloth to hold the wing against the bird’s body. Filling a dish with water, he placed it in front of the bird. It drank thirstily as Nasim sent Makin off to the kitchens to
get some meat.

  “It wasn’t out of place too badly, so I’ll be able to take the bandage off in a few days,” Nasim said. “Meanwhile, you boys can keep it fed.”

  Hamíd gave a wry grin. “Thank you, sir. You’re too kind.”

  After the bird had eaten, Hamíd and Makin took it to Hamíd’s chamber where it perched on the windowsill.

  Over the next few days, the hawk came to accept Hamíd as part of its surroundings. It would even perch on his arm as he and Makin fed it. The morning of the fourth day, Nasim removed the bandages and they took the hawk outside. It perched on Hamíd’s arm and spread its wings. Makin watched breathlessly as Hamíd threw it in the air and it flew away with a wild screech. They watched it until it was out of sight.

  A commotion at the front gate caught Hamíd’s attention. He made his way over to where Captain Hatim was anxiously questioning a soldier.

  “How many were there?”

  “About two hundred, Captain. They were flying a blue standard with a black panther, sir,” the soldier replied.

  “Are you sure, Imran?” Captain Hatim demanded. Imran nodded. “It’s Lord Numair. How long do we have?”

  “Not long. An hour maybe,” Imran replied.

  “Take two men with you. Tell everyone out in the fields to gather supplies and the livestock and get behind the walls now. Alim, I want those battlements well stocked with arrows and javelins. Kadir, I want everyone not fighting inside the keep. Now!” Captain Hatim began issuing orders, and the garrison sprang into action.

  “Captain, what are my orders?” Hamíd asked.

  Hatim stared at him for a moment, clearly holding a debate with himself.

  “Get yourself ready for a fight. We’re going to need you on the walls,” he said.

  Hamíd threw him a quick salute and hurried to his chamber where he donned his battle uniform and pulled on the short-sleeved mail coat that reached almost to his knees. Then he fastened on a long, red leather tunic, emblazoned with a phoenix, overall. A thick black belt completed the uniform into which he thrust his scimitar and knives. He took another smaller knife and put it in his boot and then buckled the heavy vambraces over his arms. He took up his bow and quiver and pulled them over his shoulder. He was ready—a Phoenix Guard once again.