Akiri: Sands Of Darkness

by Brian D. Anderson

  “You are Akiri?” he asked in a deep baritone.

  He nodded.

  “You have been disarmed?”

  “I have. Your captain has assured me that my weapons will be safely returned when I leave.”

  “They will. You can count on Captain Soleem.” He looked Akiri up and down, lingering on the spots of blood spattered on both his shirt and trousers. “Did they tell you who you are here to see?”

  “They did.”

  The general grunted. “Then they should have allowed you to change.” He heaved a sigh. “Too late to do anything about it now. Come, outlander. The Vizier is waiting.”

  Beyond the gates, the grounds had been sculpted into a magnificent garden. Thousands of manicured shrubs and hedgerows created a labyrinth of marble-paved walkways, along which a succession of great fountains and statues gleamed in the light of silver lanterns shining down from ivory pedestals. Flowers were equally abundant. Vast beds of vividly colored blooms were so diverse in their display, it would take even an expert days to pick out each separate variety. Closer to the palace, the approach was split neatly in two by a reflecting pool adorned with white lilies that shimmered like starlight as they passed.

  Akiri noticed more guards patrolling the gardens. “Do you know why I have been summoned?” he asked.

  “I do not question the Vizier,” the general replied. “You would be wise to do the same.”

  Akiri decided to forgo questions and keep his own counsel. This was not a man who was about to divulge anything he did not wish to.

  The gold door at the top of a massive white marble staircase stood twenty feet high and was guarded by twelve spear bearers, all dressed in identical silver uniforms. The door was opened as they approached; no doubt the general’s presence was enough to avoid them being challenged

  The interior was equally impressive. Smooth marble columns climbed to a high ceiling, every inch of which was covered with impossibly intricate artwork. The highly polished floors were veined with gold, and imposing statues of the gods lined the walls. Some of them were familiar to Akiri; others he had never seen before. Great beasts and mighty heroes of legend were also featured prominently, crafted in such detail it was as if they had been frozen in a moment of time. Every aspect of the décor was clearly crafted to proclaim the enormous wealth and power of the Rahaji.

  “You have been in the palace before, outlander?” asked the general.

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Most people are overwhelmed the first time they pass through the doors. You don’t seem all that impressed.”

  Akiri shrugged. “I have been in other palaces. Though admittedly, this is the most elegant I have seen.”

  Granau eyed him over his shoulder. “You are certainly no lord to have frequented royal dwellings. A soldier, then? One of some rank, I would have to assume.”

  “I was a soldier, yes.”

  The general chuckled. “You say little. And that tells me much. But I have no interest in whatever shame has brought you to this pass.”

  Akiri did not care for the fact that the man had made such an assumption about him. He felt no shame at all over what had driven him from his home, only sorrow. Nevertheless, he held his tongue. There was nothing to be gained from protest or explanation.

  They continued through a series of immense chambers and broad hallways, each one more magnificent than the last. Lords and ladies dressed in fine silks and covered with jewels strolled casually about, without any apparent reason for their presence in the palace. Most made a show of pretending not to notice the general and a blood-covered foreigner.

  Granau must have read the expression on Akiri’s face. “Yes. As useless as they are rich. Why the Rahaji puts up with them is beyond my understanding.”

  “Are you noble born?” asked Akiri.

  Granau coughed a laugh. “No. My father was a baker. I served under the last Rahaji. He was the reason I’ve been able to reach such a high position. Times were simpler then. The palace was less burdened by politics, and I was in the field with my men most of the time. A warrior has no place living in a palace.”

  “You didn’t choose to be here?”

  “Did you choose to be a sell-sword?”

  Akiri did not answer. He was remembering what the young guard at Lord Varin’s manor had told him of his experience and suspicions. It was a culling; of that he had no doubt. But why would the Rahaji force out those whose families had served for generations? These were the very men he could trust the most.

  After nearly half an hour, they arrived at an enormous, circular-shaped library with a domed ceiling. The bookshelves were as high as four men, each of them filled with tomes and scrolls. Several tables and chairs were set about for reading, and in the very center of the room was a cordoned fire pit – though it was unlit. Standing beside it and reading a small, leather bound book was a tall, thinly built man dressed in a red and black robe. His long chestnut hair fell down the middle of his back, held out of his face by a silver circlet atop his brow.

  As they entered, he glanced up and flicked his wrist. “You may go, general.”

  Granau stiffened his back and saluted. “Shall I –”

  “Now, general.”

  Though he said nothing, Akiri saw the contempt in Granau’s eyes. After nodding briefly to Akiri, he exited the room.

  “So, you are the man to whom we owe so much,” the Vizier said.

  “I am not sure what you mean, Your Grace,” Akiri replied.

  The Vizier placed his book on the lip of the pit and smiled. “Please. My lord will do. My name is Mirza Al’ Mohani. As you are probably aware, I am the Rahaji’s chief advisor.” He crossed over to a table and took a seat, gesturing for Akiri to do the same.

  After carefully folding his hands on the table, Mirza regarded Akiri. “Well, you certainly look the part. And unless my ears deceive me…Acharian?”

  That the man could divine his nationality from the few words he had spoken impressed Akiri. It also warned him that he must be careful with one so clever. “Yes, I am, my lord,” he confirmed.

  “Then tell me, Acharian: How did you manage to kill four Sal’ju and walk away without so much as a scratch?”

  “They were unprepared to encounter a determined foe,” he replied flatly. “The Sal’ju depend on fear for their success. Their reputation clears the way of any potential adversaries.”

  “An interesting observation. I take it that you have experience in these matters.”

  Akiri nodded. “I’ve dealt with such men before. They are dangerous, but true assassins are nameless ghosts. The Sal’ju made sure that Lord Varin knew they were coming. This cleared out the cowards among his staff and left an easily manageable number of guards to overcome. It was a simple matter for me to lie in wait for them.”

  Mirza raised an eyebrow. “A simple matter? You are far too modest. As I hear it, you ended their lives with no effort at all. You even managed to get one of them to talk…albeit a little messily.”

  Akiri said nothing, hoping the conversation would soon end and he would be allowed to go on his way.

  “I suppose you are wondering why I wanted to see you,” Mirza continued.

  “I assume it has to do with what happened at Lord Varin’s manor.”

  “In a way, yes. What do you know about the Cult of Hajazar?”

  “Not much. Only that they have been giving this city some trouble recently.”

  “Indeed they have. And I am sure you are aware they were the ones who sent the Sal’ju.”

  Akiri nodded.

  “This cult has been a thorn in the Rahaji’s side for many years. It’s only recently, however, that they have become a threat to his reign. A few years ago, we discovered that they had been converting many of Rath’s nobles to their foul religion, as well as a large number of our officers. We’ve tried to stamp them out, of course, but it hasn’t been easy. It seems that killing one of those bastards simply causes three more of them to spring
up. The attempt on the life of Lord Varin’s son is only the latest instance of their brazen defiance of the Rahaji. We must eradicate them now, before they grow too strong.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” asked Akiri. He could already feel where this was going, but he wanted confirmation.

  “You have proven yourself to be a man of great skill and courage. The Rahaji was impressed by reports of your actions on behalf of Lord Rashid. He is now hoping to retain your services on our behalf.”

  It was exactly as Akiri had feared. “I am sorry, my lord. But once I collect what I am owed, I intend to leave Rath to seek opportunities further east.”

  The Vizier frowned. “Perhaps you misunderstood, Acharian. One does not reject an offer from the Rahaji.”

  “I understood perfectly. And I still say no. Whatever plagues your land, I have no intention of becoming involved.”

  Mirza rose and turned his back. “I think you would be wise to reconsider. The Rahaji’s arm is long. He could make your life difficult…and quite short, should you choose unwisely.”

  Akiri cursed silently. Even with his firm intention to leave, he knew he was being inexorably sucked into this mess. An angry Rahaji was certainly powerful enough to cause him a serious problem. With King Zemel already seeking him elsewhere, the two of them together could shrink his world to an intolerably small size.

  He hated the words that came out of his mouth even before he spoke them. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  The Vizier spun back around, a wide smile now splashed across his face. “Nothing that is beyond a man of your talents. The Cult of Hajazar is led by a man known only as Dabo, though I suspect that may not be his real name. We want you to find out who he is and kill him.”

  “Surely you have spies who would be better suited to such a task.”

  “Our spies have been trying to get close to Dabo for years. So far, we have been unable to catch even a glimpse of him. He manages to see us coming every time.”

  “Clearly he has eyes and ears among your people. His spies are probably better placed than your own.”

  “Which is why we think you might succeed where we have failed. You are a foreigner and a mercenary with loyalty to no one but yourself. They would not expect us to use a man like you.”

  “Where should I begin my search?”

  “The Cult of Hajazar lives in the shadows of society. I would start there.”

  “And what do I get for my efforts?”

  The Vizier laughed softly. “My dear fellow. Rid us of Dabo and I will personally see to it that you have enough wealth to last a lifetime.”

  Akiri stood. “Then we have an agreement.”

  “Good. Once he is dead, return here immediately.”

  Mirza clapped his hands together and General Granau entered almost instantly. “Show Akiri out,” he instructed.

  He started toward the door.

  “By the way,” Mirza called after him. “I wouldn’t consider leaving the city if I were you.”

  Akiri did not bother to look back or respond.

  As they made their way from the palace, General Granau began to chuckle. “So they’re sending you after Dabo, are they?”

  “You were listening?”

  “Of course not. But there could be only one reason to bring a man like you here.”

  “What do you know about him?” Akiri asked.

  “No more than the Vizier, I’m afraid. Some people don’t even believe that he exists; or that he might even be several people, and the name is nothing but a deception.”

  “And you?”

  Granau shrugged. “There is no way of knowing for sure. My guess is yes, he exists.”

  “And do you have any idea where I should start looking?”

  “I would start in the southern district. That’s where the city’s less fortunate dwell. If there is anyone who knows where he is, or can lead you in the right direction, then that’s where you’ll find them. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Men like Dabo don’t make mistakes. He’s more likely to find you first. And believe me, you do not want that.”

  As promised, Captain Soleem was waiting patiently at the gates, Akiri’s weapons at the ready. The general gave Akiri a respectful nod as he handed him over into the care of the captain and then started back to the palace. Such a man had no business running errands for the nobility. Despite the pride with which Granau presented himself, Akiri could see through to the fury and frustration that lurked just below the surface. How long could a leader of men live such a trivial life and remain sane? How long would it take for the pride in his step to become sullen and defeated?

  Akiri declined the captain’s offer of transportation back to Lord Varin’s manor. The walk would give him time to think. Despite all his intentions, he had ended up exactly where he didn’t want to be – once again entangled in the affairs of kings, the meddling of gods, and the curse of demons.

  Rashid jumped up and down with delight when Akiri returned, but his joy was short-lived once he learned that his hero would not be staying. Mahir agreed to hold the bulk of his reward until he returned; and given what he was about to do, carrying a thousand gold coins would not be wise, let alone practical. He was already holding enough to cover any living expenses and to bribe thieves and prostitutes for information.

  Neither Mahir, Ommar, nor any of his men knew of anything useful that might help him locate Dabo. They had heard his name whispered, of course, but that was all. And they knew of the disappearances. Akiri knew that it was the hushed whispers and nervous conversations which could build a reputation and paralyze people with fear. But he had yet to encounter anyone who lived up to their own legend. Even the Dul’Buhar’s exploits were exaggerated. Dabo would be no different. He would find him, and he would kill him. And once he was done, he would leave Rath behind for good.

  Just as Akiri was preparing to leave, word arrived that Lord Varin’s body had been found. Rashid was in his room, so Akiri quickly saddled his horse and departed, leaving the matter to Mahir. He had enough to think about without dealing with a distraught child as well.

  The southern district was startling in its squalor. While the rest of the city was colorful and well maintained, this was a place full of dilapidated dwellings and filthy avenues strewn with refuse and debris. Most of the people who appeared in the streets had a vacant-eyed and beaten look about them. They reminded him of prisoners who had long forgotten the taste of freedom, confined to their abject poverty by an invisible cage.

  An old woman hobbled up from the walkway, pawing at Akiri’s saddlebag. “Spare a copper? Please, my good lord.” Her voice was weak and timid.

  Akiri grimaced, then reached into his pouch to retrieve a silver coin that he tossed down into her waiting hands. As he looked back up again, he felt a firm grip take hold of his leg.

  “Mishna is watching you,” said the old woman. Her voice was suddenly clear and level, and her eyes those of a much younger woman.

  Akiri recoiled, pushing her away. She fell onto her backside and crawled to the curb.

  “What did you say to me?” he demanded.

  The woman was clutching the coin to her breast. “Nothing, my lord. Only that Mishna should bless you.” She looked frightened, and her original cackling voice had returned.

  Akiri spurred his mount to a trot, nearly running down several people as he went along. The old woman’s face was burned into his mind. And her voice… Mishna can watch me until hell rains from the sky, he thought. All she’ll ever see is me cursing up at her.

  Only one inn he came upon had a stable for his horse. Akiri saw to it that the innkeeper caught a good glimpse inside his pouch when he paid. The room was, as he had expected, little more than a moldy closet, barely large enough to accommodate a small rickety bed and a single stool.

  Unlike the room, the food was not as bad as he had anticipated. It reminded him of the simple meals he had eaten when serving in the Dul’Buhar. The ale, on the other hand, was sour-tasting
swill. He saw several patrons eyeing him as he ate – street thugs, sizing him up. The innkeeper would not have kept his mouth shut about the gold and gemstones he had seen. Akiri could expect trouble later. In fact, he was counting on it.

  It was still some time before dusk, so Akiri wandered around the southern district to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Occasionally he stopped to ask a vendor or shopkeeper about the local rumors and goings-on. The mysterious disappearances were clearly what concerned them the most. Recently, there had been at least one disappearance every single night. From what he gathered, it was the impoverished districts that were the most frequently targeted.

  “Damned demon worshipers,” said one particularly outspoken cloth vendor. “And the Rahaji hasn’t done a thing to stop it.”

  “Are you sure it’s the Cult of Hajazar who are behind this?” Akiri asked.

  “Who else could it be? They’ve been at it hard for months. Two a night, sometimes. Hell, my cousin lost his wife just three weeks ago. One minute she was in her kitchen. The next…gone.”

  “They’re breaking into people’s homes?” This was interesting, something Akiri had not even considered. It showed a fearlessness that cults like this rarely possessed.

  “Sometimes. You can bet if they were snatching up nobles, the Rahaji would do something quick enough.”

  “And Dabo? What do you know about him?”

  The man’s posture stiffened, and his eyes darted from side to side. “Enough not to go around asking questions about him, outlander. You don’t want to attract his attention, if you take my meaning.”

  “But if he’s the leader of the cult who abducts your people, shouldn’t you want to find out who he is?”

  “You don’t find Dabo. And you had better pray he doesn’t find you.”

  Akiri pressed further, but the man refused to say any more. Whoever Dabo was, he’d done a good job of instilling genuine fear into the hearts of the people. He could take as he pleased, and they would be too frightened to stop him.

  As he expected, none of the people Akiri spoke to over the next half an hour had anything useful to add to what he already knew, so he finally made his way back to the inn.