BOOK II OF III: The Reign of the Sultan

by J. Eric Booker

  Clinging to all the darkest shadows, he slinked his way through the city streets to the top-secret location of the thieves’ guild, which had originally been his “home” for nearly half of his twenty-four years of life.

  After arriving at the all-too-familiar, thirty-foot tall stonewalls that bore the designs of heroes battling dragons and other ferocious mystical creatures, he leaped over the wall itself, and stealthily made his way around the roaming guards that patrolled the tropical paradise inside…

  Not even a minute later and without having been detected by the guards once, Baltor neared the sole entrance to the incredibly beautiful marble palace.

  Secretly this palace had been the Guild’s home for nearly five centuries, but publicly, it had been the home for two decades to an ambassador of the Sharia Empire, an elderly and fat man that Baltor had only met the prior night who went by the name Rolsch. Whoever owned the palace before this man, Baltor did not know, nor did he really care.

  Just as always, he observed that there was a guard stationed on both sides of the double doors made of mahogany.

  Once he began to near those doors, he pulled back the hood that covered his face, and boldly walked up to the guards—guards who bore a look of shock because this man looked exactly like the new Sultan! After all, they had attended the public welcoming ceremony the night before.

  With a bit of both shock and disbelief, the guard-in-charge asked, “Are my eyes deceiving me, sir, or are you the new Sultan?”

  Baltor replied, “No, your eyes are not deceiving you—I am indeed Sultan Baltor Elysian the Fifteenth, your Ruler.”

  “If you really are the Sultan,” the guard asked with doubt in his voice, “why have you come alone during the night, and without previous notice, as Ambassador Rolsch is sleeping in his bedchambers and certainly not ready to see you? Where is your escort, sir?”

  Even though Baltor recognized the fact that the guard still used the stripped-ambassador’s title, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he answered, “All good questions… wake Ambassador Rolsch up immediately, and tell him to come here in his pajamas and all, as I shall be waiting right here for him to arrive. He will know that it is me soon enough—we had a private chat but last night in my palace!”

  Just in case this person might truly be the Sultan, the guard replied, “Yes, my Sultan…” He opened the door, entered the palace, closed the door, and ran at top speed to Rolsch’s bedchambers!

  Once that guard had arrived, five minutes later, he informed the guard in charge stationed at the entrance, “Sir? We need to wake up the ambassador immediately! Whether it is true or not, I do not know, but there is a man standing outside who claims to be the very Sultan, and though he is alone, he does strikingly look just like him with face, crown and all—oh, he appears unarmed but that is not yet confirmed, sir!”

  With a nod, the guard-in-charge replied, “Thank you, corporal…” He opened the bedroom door, entered the room, and hurriedly walked over to the king-sized canopy bed where the ambassador and his wife were currently sleeping.

  Perhaps a minute later, he arrived on the ambassador’s side of the luxurious mahogany bed. He then began to lightly shake the ambassador’s foot, while saying, “Ambassador, oh ambassador… I hate to interrupt you through your sleep, but Corporal Saxon has just reported that there is a man outside both looking and claiming to be the Sultan of the Sharia Empire, and wishes to speak with you right away.”

  “Wh-what’s that, Lieutenant Lou?” Rolsch asked, while trying to sit up in bed. This ambassador was an old, balding and fat man with a trimmed white beard; his nighttime attire consisted of white cotton pajamas with gold seam ... after a few attempts he finally met with success in sitting up in bed, grunting or yawning all the while.

  From all the noise, Rolsch’s old and obese wife opened her eyes, and though she sleepily looked over, she said not a word.

  Only then did Lou report, “Sir, there is a man outside who is claiming to be the Sultan and wishes to speak with you right away.”

  “This better not be a joke—let me change real quick and—”

  Saxon, the guard who had been standing outside and listening, interrupted, “Ambassador Rolsch, not only is this not a joke, but the man commanded you to arrive at the main entrance in your pajamas right away.”

  Rolsch looked quite upset at hearing this information, and his words confirmed, “If this is some sort of joke from an imposter, this man’s head will roll! Perhaps even yours, Corporal. But just to be on the safe side, I want two dozen guards to be in the entrance hall before I arrive to meet this supposed….Sultan!”

  “Yes, ambassador,” the guards replied. They hurriedly left the room to retrieve more guards.

  Rolsch gave a quick kiss on his wife’s cheek. He then said, “I’ll be back in bed momentarily, Rica.”

  “Okay,” Rica sleepily replied, “Love ya.”

  “Love you, too,” Rolsch answered, as he slipped on his slippers, stood, and then made his way toward the exit of the room and the main entrance as fast as his fat legs would allow him…

  By the time he had arrived, nearly twelve minutes later and slightly out of breath, Rolsch was relieved to see that there were already two-dozen guards standing in formation nearby, too include the officer-in-charge. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone else hanging out in the room, either, especially any of the thieves.

  Rolsch, once halfway in the room, immediately commanded, “Open the doors and allow our visitor to enter—I wish to see him in the light.”

  The interior guards stationed at the double doors opened their respective door—in walked Baltor, who had once again donned his hood that enshrouded his face under dark shadows.

  “Hail, Ambassador Rolsch,” Baltor called out from under the hood, “how fare you at this late night?”

  Instead of answering the question, Rolsch looked at his commanding officer, and called out, “Captain Proviso, someone’s head will roll for this!”

  “That someone’s head may well be yours,” Baltor countered. He first removed the hood, untied the knot that held his cape on, and allowed the cape to fall lightly to the ground.

  With a whole lot of suspicion in his eyes, Rolsch asked, “How do I know that you are not a look alike imposter who bears a forgery crown, and ring, of the Sharia Empire?”

  “You know I’m ‘the real deal’ because of the particular information I privately revealed to you just last night at the party about someone-in-particular’s demotion,” was Baltor’s answer.

  Immediately Rolsch’s eyes filled with fear, as he no longer doubted that this man was indeed the Sultan!

  His hands and knees dropped to the ground at the same time, and while still looking at the ground, he pleaded, “My Sultan—I did not know it was actually you, but perhaps a prank pulled on me—I sincerely apologize...”

  “Apology accepted, Ambassador,” Baltor replied without emotion.

  “Wh—what is the reason for you coming at such a late hour, and unannounced, my Sultan?” Rolsch asked while daring to look up.

  While pointing his left index finger directly at Rolsch, Baltor answered, “You and I need to speak in private right now, without anyone else present, including your guards—as you can clearly see, I am unarmed, but if you wish, you can have your guards check me for weapons.”

  “Not necessary, my Sultan,” Rolsch cried out, just before he rose onto his feet, snapped his fingers, and ordered, “Guards, leave us immediately!”

  Every guard hurriedly shuffled their way out the doors outside, and then the two guards stationed outside closed those doors behind them.

  Once the two were alone, Baltor began, “The reason why I have come is because I know what is going on in your little basement.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, my Sultan?” Rolsch asked with a whole lot of surprise. “I have no basement.”

  “Do not lie to me,” Baltor replied, “because I know all about the thieves’ guild, and how rich you’ve b
ecome as a result of harboring them. Perhaps you’re not aware, but I once belonged to them myself until but a few years ago…”

  “Yes, my Sultan, I am all too aware of these trivialities,” Rolsch came back, unsure of where the young man was going with this.

  Baltor revealed only a moment later, “Most likely you’re not aware of this fact, but the Guild has a bounty on my head, dead or alive—last I heard it was fifty thousand parsecs. It is solely because of this bounty that I cannot permit them to continue existing as they are.”

  With a shocked tone of voice, Rolsch answered truthfully, “No, I was not aware of this, my Sultan. What do you suggest?”

  Baltor again pointed his index finger at Rolsch as he said, “I command that when I am done saying what I got to say, you locate and inform the Secret Chief, as well the High Council, to disband the Guild permanently, or they will find huge bounties for their own heads!”

  After taking a deep breath through his nose, he added, “From now on, I will secretly be using the training grounds below to create an elite task force of soldiers. Those former students, instructors and masters who wish to enlist within the Sharia Empire’s ranks will be allowed to do so, and will even be given honorable ranks and generous pay!”

  “I see…” Rolsch responded with a bit of hesitance.

  “Additionally,” Baltor continued, “I want the two halves to an ancient world map, which is in the Guild’s possession but actually belongs to me…”

  Perhaps five seconds later, Rolsch finally replied, “I see…”

  Baltor said, “My final command is that all of this must be kept ‘top secret!’ For your efforts in accommodating every one of my commands, I will reward you quite handsomely…should you implicitly prove your loyalties, I may consider reestablishing you your ambassadorial rank. Do you have anything to say, Ambassador?”

  The ambassador’s answer was to cast his gaze down to the ground, and with his left hand, begin rubbing his beard in a downwards stroke … he was thinking out his options. “I see… Umm, first of all, when exactly would you like me to have all your commands accomplished by, my Sultan?”

  “Right now,” Baltor said without hesitation or emotion.

  While waving his left-index finger around in the air, Rolsch stated in a slightly nervous tone, “My Sultan, first of all, but I do not know who the Secret Chief is, nor do I know any of their High Council members.”

  Now waving two fingers in the air, he added, “Second, neither my guards nor I know how to get down there into the basement, whatsoever! After all, the Guild constructed and decorated the fountain room centuries ago, shortly after the engineers finished building this palace—all I cared about was that their accountant delivered the rent on time yearly. Two million parsecs!”

  Baltor’s right eyebrow rose upon hearing that expensive figure for rent, but for only a second, before neutrally replying, “I see… Continue.”

  After waving three fingers around in the air, Rolsch concluded, “Third, my Sultan, none of us have a clue as to where the Guild stores any of its treasures, except for what’s in the fountain room. I’m sorry, my Sultan, to be the bearer of such unhelpful news.”

  “I see…” Baltor replied evenly, “Anything else?”

  After gulping, Rolsch asked, “Yes, your Highness…one more question. Will you continue to pay what the Guild paid in order to rent out my basement? I need the money, as I have high expenses in order to maintain my home, especially now that I no longer have a job!”

  After a nod, Baltor answered, “I will pay two and a quarter million parsecs annually, and like I said before, once you implicitly prove your loyalty to me, I will reinstate you back into the ambassadorial position you once held…”

  Now bearing a relieved smile upon his face, Rolsch declared with emphasis, “Then I will have my tenants vacate the premises immediately, as soon as I see the first master thief I run across…my Sultan! I promise you.”

  Baltor suggested, “Actually, I’ve got a better idea. As I know where the secret entrance to the basement is, let me come with you as you personally relay the message to them right now. You and I should go alone, and without any of your guards’ assistance—trust me, I will protect you!”

  With a great amount of fear, Rolsch began waving his hands helplessly, while objecting, “My Sultan, your request is suicidal—if just you and I go down there now, they will kill us immediately! May I please suggest that we bring my guards to come down with us, so that we can truly be safe?”

  “Very well, Rolsch,” Baltor reluctantly answered.

  Rolsch hurried over to the entryway double doors, and opened the one on the left. Looking outside at the guards, he called out, “Captain Proviso, I want you to hurry and get as many guards together on the double, as we are all going into the secret basement—also allow no one to enter or exit the premises. Your mission is to ensure the safety of your Sultan and myself!”

  “Yes, Ambassador Rolsch,” Proviso said. He looked over to his underlings standing in loose formation, and ordered, “Lieutenant Lou, inform the guards at the gate not to let anyone enter or exit the premises. Sergeant Tenneco, have your men quickly retrieve the patrolling guards outside and bring them here! Finally, I want everyone back here in five minutes! Execute.”

  The underlings all cried out, “Yes, sir!” They then commenced to carry out their orders… Five minutes later, eighty guards were present.

  “Let us go, my Sultan,” Rolsch declared with complete confidence.

  With the two leaders in the lead, the party of eighty-two marched their way to the room with the jeweled fountain; and after Baltor had twisted the emerald that revealed the trap door within the checkered-black-and-white tiled floor, they climbed the ladder down.

  After about five minutes of traveling through the zigzagging tunnel with burning torches posted every thirty feet, they finally entered the training cavern with dozens of additional tunnels; many of them purposefully left pitch-black. Of course there were still all the training areas, ranging from obstacle courses to weapons’ training areas to the dozens of drill instructors and students spread throughout … an all-too-familiar sight it all was for Baltor.

  Everyone—instructors and students—stopped in their training to look over in both shock and fear, as soon as they spotted the party of eighty-two entering their domain.

  Despite the fact that none of the students recognized Baltor or the other man in his pajamas, all of the instructors recognized both men—their mouths dropped open in shock that Baltor had returned! Just as surprising was the fact that their landlord had brought along eighty of his guards.

  Two of those hardcore drill instructors that had been students during Baltor’s childhood years, and had been quite mean and bullish to him and a few other people—both men started hightailing their way toward the nearest tunnels!

  Before a single one could escape, Baltor called out, “Hear me, o’ Guild, and do not be afraid! I have not come to kill a single one of you—even though I could kill every last one of you if I wished, even single-handedly!”

  The instructors that had been running stopped in their tracks, as they believed Baltor was telling the truth, except for the part about him winning against everyone in the room, and so they turned around to listen.

  Perhaps five seconds later, Baltor began, “By my command as the Sultan of the Sharia Empire, this thieves’ guild is to be terminated immediately! No longer will we have children becoming thieves through these dangerous obstacles, but soldiers who shall become a part of my top-secret elite task force!”

  “Furthermore,” he added, “I will need instructors and masters to assist me in this most noble and honorable of tasks, and those of you who enlist within my ranks shall be richly rewarded, especially by keeping every last one of my commands ‘top secret…’”

  Nearing the end of Baltor’s speech, nearly sixty additional thieves ran into the cavern at top speed from the tunnel where the special obstacle course existed, and whose alarmed-l
ooking cast included ten members that Baltor recognized right away.

  Their names and titles were Mistress Bayema, Mistress Tricia, Master Jensa, Master Fargot, Instructor Qels, Instructor Haves, Instructor Jeramone, Instructor Oasaim, Instructor Laseva, and Instructor Welch.

  All sixty of these thieves instantly recognized Baltor—more-than-half recognized him for the good, while the rest saw him as a traitor!

  Most also recognized their landlord and his guards, which is why the second half did not initially attack, though they did draw out their weapons.

  Quite a few more thieves began to draw their own weapon/s upon hearing their thief-associates’ weapons being unsheathed, yet Bayema was the first to order, “Sheath your weapons, immediately….that is a direct order from a ruling member of the High Council.”

  They complied, though grudgingly … after all, Baltor’s head was worth a whole hell of a lot of parsecs, and these guards would be a piece of cake to take out, or so they believed.

  Though there was a bit of shock to her voice, Bayema said, “We heard the alarm there were intruders. What are you all doing here?”

  Without fear, Baltor repeated his last speech, word for word.

  “I see…” Jensa was the first to reply in his nasal tone of voice. “What’s to stop us all from plunging our weapons into you all at the same exact moment, and killing every last one of you before the very next second passes?”

  Even though this master thief was technically a human being, in many striking ways did Jensa bear the characteristics of a weasel!

  After all, not only were his beady eyes and goateed face similar to a weasel’s face, yet he wore expensive, glossy and fluffy clothes with lots of shimmering jewelry—a long-sleeved red tunic, blue pants, knee-high black boots, jeweled rings on every finger and four variously-styled jeweled necklaces. Despite the man’s gaudy attire, it still wasn’t hard to figure out that he had a real thin and lanky body, or that he was unusually taller than most, being six feet and six inches tall.