by Jon Monson
“Aydiin, you didn’t come all this way just to insult me or look at my pathetic library,” Agha laughed as he walked towards his small desk and lit a kerosene lamp. “I know you also didn’t come this way just to talk.”
“Of course I did,” Aydiin said. “I’ve come to offer you a peace deal – that requires ample amounts of talking.”
“That it does,” Agha said, taking a seat on the tent’s mahogany chair. Striking a match, he lit the small lantern that sat on the desk, bathing the tent in an orange glow. “I’d offer you a seat, but I’m afraid these bandits are awfully fussy about carrying excess furniture around the desert.”
“Seeing as how I’ve been sitting on a horse all day, standing is more than fine,” Aydiin said.
“Ah, horses – the common man’s steed,” Agha laughed. “Why didn’t you bring that kerton of yours? I have very few memories of you that don’t involve that overgrown lizard.”
“We both know the chances of me returning safely are suspect,” Aydiin replied. “Askari doesn’t deserve to be put into harm’s way like that.”
“I can’t think of anything that would put a kerton in harm’s way,” Agha said. “I’d take Askari over an entire battalion of my best men.”
“Yet another reason to not bring him,” Aydiin sighed. “I’m here for peace, not battle.”
“I thought you weren’t here to demand my surrender,” Agha said, his smile betraying a sense of anger.
“I’m not,” Aydiin said. “Surrendering is something you only do when there is no choice. I know you have a variety of opportunities – I just hope you’ll take the one I’m offering.”
“Well then, what do you have to offer me?” Agha said, gesturing for Aydiin to continue.
“Amnesty,” Aydiin said. “A complete pardon for all your crimes along with an estate and title.”
“Amnesty,” Agha scoffed. “That hardly seems like a better choice. That’s what you offer an enemy when you’re on the brink of a costly victory. I’m nowhere near defeated – you know that, and your father knows that.”
“True, but we also know that life out here must be far from ideal,” Aydiin said. “Yes, you have a nice base with a hidden oasis. Yet can you really say this is better than a large estate in the Cadrian Islands?”
“The Cadrians?” Agha laughed. “This isn’t amnesty you’re offering – it’s banishment.”
Aydiin didn’t respond. The Cadrians were a hundred leagues off Salatia’s southern coast, far enough away that Agha would be unable to do any more harm.
“You must know how ridiculous this sounds,” Agha said, brow furrowed.
“Even if you want to call it banishment or exile or whatever – you’d be living in one of the most beautiful places imaginable,” Aydiin said. “You could lead a comfortable life surrounded by a tropical paradise. That seems far better than a tent in the desert.”
“This is only temporary,” Agha said, gesturing to the tent. “I have no intentions of being a bandit lord for the remainder of my days.”
“We both know you can’t keep going like this for much longer,” Aydiin said. “Your raids get more and more daring by the day. The trains coming in and out of Oltu grow warier, hiring soldiers to guard them. Sooner or later, you’re going to slip. You’re going to get caught.”
“I think you forget to whom you are speaking,” Agha smirked, his previous disgust vanished. “I know these dunes – I know every canyon, every oasis. Out here, you’ll never defeat me.”
“You’ll slip up eventually,” Aydiin said. “Or some soldier will get a lucky shot that happens to hit you square in the face. You know you can’t keep on like this.”
“Fine then, I’ll give up my life of robbery,” Agha said, his smile growing. “For a price. I’m a reasonable man.”
“I’ve only been authorized to –,“ Aydiin began, but his uncle interjected.
“I want the crown,” he said. “I want to personally rip it from my brother’s head. I want to rule Salatia. Then I’ll give Oosman his ‘amnesty’ and send him to a life of luxurious obscurity in the Cadrians.”
“You know that won’t happen,” Aydiin said. “You would have to assemble an army and march on Maradon. Stealing from starving peasants doesn’t exactly make you a candidate for Sultan.”
“Oh, Aydiin, this is so much bigger than you can possibly imagine,” Agha said, his eyes boring into Aydiin’s soul. “Go back to your father – tell him my demands. If he gives in now, he’ll keep his life. If not, I’ll take the crown from his severed head.”
Aydiin didn’t respond. He furrowed his brow, trying to understand the uncle he had once loved with all his heart. That man was gone. Instead, he was staring at a fake, an imposter, a mere shadow of what that man had been.
A single rifle shot rang out from the camp.
“Those morons,” Agha said, rising to his feet. “Firing rifles in the middle of the night – they’re going to tell your soldiers exactly where we are.”
“My soldiers?” Aydiin asked, his voice squeaking.
“Yes, the battalion of Guards you brought with you – I know they’re following us,” Agha waved his hand, as he looked out the tent flap.
“I told you I came alone,” Aydiin said.
“My spies saw you disembark from the train this morning with one hundred members of the Sultan’s Guard,” Agha said, as he opened the desk drawer. “You really can’t expect me to overthrow a Sultan without a decent network of eyes and ears.”
“Now, what I can’t understand is why you would bring them in the first place,” Agha continued, looking up from his search through the desk drawer. “Did you expect them to follow us? These canyons are a veritable maze. They could spend weeks blundering their way around.”
Another rifle shot sounded in the darkness. Lord Agha’s head darted towards the sound. A third shot rang out. Then another. They were joined by shouts from all around the camp. More shots sang in the distance.
“That’s impossible,” Agha said, his voice shaking. “Nobody could track us through these canyons.”
A thud sounded on one of the canvas walls, and the entire tent shuddered. Aydiin smiled as he looked towards his uncle, whose face seemed to be a shade paler. Yet the man’s expression remained impassive.
A shadow passed across the canvas, rushing too quickly to see its shape. It could almost have been his imagination. Almost.
“What have you done?” Agha asked, his voice at a whisper. He too had seen the shadow.
A deep throated rumble from outside the tent was his reply. Somewhere between the growl of a dog and the purring of a cat, it made Aydiin’s heart quicken. From the look on Agha’s face, it had the same effect, but from different emotions.
The tent’s entrance flapped open, as if a gentle breeze were trying to enter. A long, scaly snout poked through the canvas, nostrils flaring in search of a scent. The mouth opened slightly as a thin tongue snaked through the air, exposing a set of razor sharp teeth.
The snout huffed, its nostrils again flaring. Then it withdrew, and a silence overtook the tent. The shouts and gunfire outside were muffled, distant.
Amid the din, Aydiin heard the click of a revolver’s hammer and looked over to see Agha withdrawing a hand-crafted firearm. While the weapon had more than enough power to kill a man, it was a sign of desperation from his uncle – Agha knew what he was about to face.
A nightmare burst into the tent, its smooth yet scaly skin glistening in the lamplight. A tail thicker than the trunks of the local trees whipped back and forth, cracking the tent’s poles. Powerful hind legs propelled a lithe yet hard body towards Agha.
The revolver cracked, and fire spewed from the barrel, yet Askari seemed oblivious to the threat and the shot went wild. Less than a heartbeat later, the scaly beast slammed into the bandit-lord, knocking him to the ground. Agha groaned as his arms were pinned by two powerful claws.
“One thing your eyes and ears missed is that I didn’t just bring soldiers,” A
ydiin said, bending down to collect his uncle’s fallen revolver. “I brought my kerton.”
Lord Agha gasped under the weight of Askari’s powerful frame. The man struggled, kicking his feet in an attempt to wrestle his hands away. Yet the kerton merely pushed harder, forcing the bandit-lord’s extremities into the plush carpet.
Aydiin opened the revolver’s chamber, and pushed out the live rounds, a smile spreading across his face. Relying on Askari’s nose to track him through these canyons had been a gamble, one that had required a certain amount of faith in his friend. That faith had been well-placed.
“Well Uncle,” Aydiin said, striding over and stroking Askari’s neck. “I hope you’re ready for the Great Beyond.”
Chapter 2
Are you sure you want to do this?” the young guard asked.
Aydiin looked at the young man – his dark hair combed neatly to the side, dressed in the freshly pressed blue trousers and jacket of the Jandarm. Looking down at his own clothing – covered in sweat and grime – Aydiin decided he preferred his own clothing to that of the young police officer.
“We both know it will be fruitless,” Aydiin sighed, turning his attention to a large steel door. “But there are just too many unanswered questions. Dawn is only a few hours away - I don’t have much time to find the answers.”
“As you wish, my prince,” the man said, moving towards the door. The Jandarm pulled a chain out of his shirt, which contained a large key. Trembling, the man inserted the key into the lock and twisted the heavy handle. The hinges protested as the barrier swung open.
Aydiin peered into the dark cell, lit only by moonlight streaming in through a high, barred window. It was bare and cold, despite the relative warmth of the night air. He suppressed a shiver.
The tallest tower at Keep Oltu certainly seemed safe enough, but Aydiin still felt uneasy. The fortress sat atop the city’s only hill, a monument to a time when Oltu had been a thriving metropolis at the center of a lucrative mining boom. Now, the old castle sat watching over the slow decay of the people it had been built to protect.
The heavy steel door slammed shut, and Aydiin let out a deep breath as the sound reverberated through his chest. Somehow, the cold grew stronger.
A figure sat in the corner of the room, hands and feet bound. A rough burlap sack covered the man’s head – a special request from Aydiin. He was happy to see the guards had complied.
“I know that some book told you that this would make me more compliant,” Agha’s voice sounded from underneath the sack, his voice muffled only slightly by the rough fabric. “However, I can assure you it only serves to make me more irritable.”
“Well now, we wouldn’t want to upset dear Uncle Agha,” Aydiin replied, ripping the sack from his prisoner’s head. “I was thinking of it as a form of payback. You’ll notice this sack was remarkably manure-free.”
“Ah, what a quaint form of revenge – I had hoped for more from you,” the man smiled before his eyes grew serious. “I was rather hoping we could have another chance to speak.”
“As was I,” Aydiin sighed, taking a seat on the rough stone floor. “Now that your life of crime is over, I was hoping you could answer some of my questions.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s over,” Agha’s smile returned at the words. “I would say it’s merely on hold for the time being.”
“The sun is only a few hours away from peeking over that horizon,” Aydiin said, pointing to the small window. “I intend to see you hanging from the end of a rope by the time it’s fully risen.”
“Come now, that’s no way to interact with your own flesh and blood,” Agha smiled. “You wouldn’t speak this way to your father.”
“I would if he ever decided to abandon his responsibilities and unleash a wave of terror on innocent civilians,” Aydiin’s voice rose to a shout by the end, the sound reverberating on the walls.
“It is unfortunate that in even the most righteous of struggles, there is inevitable collateral damage,” Agha said, the words coming out slowly.
“That’s an interesting euphemism,” Aydiin said. “You haven’t walked the streets. You haven’t seen the orphans, the mothers who wonder if they’ll be able to find enough food to feed their families. You took this city to the brink – all for some petty grudge against my father?”
“Aydiin, you are such a simple boy,” Agha said.
“So you’ve told me before,” Aydiin sighed. “I haven’t come to hear why you’ve chosen a life of crime. I just want to know how you’ve done it. Trains robbed in broad daylight, bank managers who walk into a vault to find the money gone. How?”
“But if I told you, that would take all your fun,” Agha frowned, although there was still a smile in his eyes. “Now you get to spend the next few years reconstructing my greatest robberies bit by bit. I almost envy you for that.”
“Uncle, do you really want our last conversation to be like this?” Aydiin asked, stroking his chin. “Do you not want to redeem yourself, even in the slightest? The clock is ticking - your execution is only hours away.”
“You know as well as I do that there will be no hanging today,” Agha chuckled. “Long before dawn arrives, you’ll get a message from my dear brother requesting my presence in Maradon. He wouldn’t miss the chance to see my death.”
Aydiin let out a slow breath. His patience was thin – after all, it had been days since he’d had proper sleep. His mind was foggy, and concentrating enough to win a battle of wits with his uncle was beyond his current abilities.
“Well, Uncle, it’s been a pleasure,” Aydiin said as he arose, unable to take any more of this conversation. He walked across the room, towards the door – away from his uncle. Yet he could feel the man’s eyes follow him as he did so. There was so much the man wasn’t telling him.
Aydiin knocked on the steel door, the sound echoing throughout the cell. He kept his eyes on the door, not wanting to see the man’s smile from across the room. There was a heavy click from the other side and the door swung open.
“I wish I could say this conversation has been a disappointment – but it completely met my expectations,” Aydiin said, turning to take one last look at his uncle. “I very much look forward to seeing you hang from the end of a rope.”
Head shaking, Aydiin allowed the young guard to close the door behind him.
“Did you learn anything, my prince?” the guard asked, his eyes wide.
“Nothing,” Aydiin shook his head.
“Well, he’ll only be a problem for a bit longer,” the guard smiled.
Footsteps reverberated through the hall. Aydiin looked up to see a second Jandarm turning the corner, sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Message for you, my prince,” the man panted, handing Aydiin an envelope.
“How is there a message for me?” Aydiin asked, ripping the paper open.
“The telegraph is back up and running,” the messenger said, regaining his breath. “Crews have been working all night.”
Aydiin unfolded the paper. It was fresh, the ink still slightly wet. It had probably been received within the hour.
Congratulations my boy. STOP. Do not proceed with execution. STOP. Bring the traitor to Maradon for trial. STOP. Signed, Sultan Oosman the Third. STOP.
“Sir, what does it say?” the guard asked. Aydiin didn’t like this man’s impropriety. A private message should be just that.
How did Uncle know this would happen? Aydiin thought, reading the message again. Could there be more to the man than met the eye? No, the man was no prophet. He just knew his brother all too well.
“Notify my soldiers that we’ll be loading Lord Agha onto a train first thing in the morning,” Aydiin sighed. “He’s to face trial in Maradon.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said slowly, eyebrows raised.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” Aydiin said. “If you need anything, contact me there. However, only do so if it’s an emergency – I haven’t slept properly in days.”
“Yes,
sir,” the guard said, this time offering a salute and turning quickly on his heel. The messenger followed him, obviously uncomfortable at the thought of being alone with the prince.
Aydiin stood rooted to the spot as he heard the man’s footsteps fade, the echoes growing dim. His feet were bound to this spot, as if moving meant dealing with this new problem.
Even in victory, I don’t have that man’s respect, he thought as his feet finally began to move. He’d just risked his life to bring down the most notorious thief in all of Salatia. Yet his father still felt it necessary to meddle.
In a daze, his legs carried him down flight after flight of stairs. The lack of sleep and physical exertion of the past few days had taken their toll on his body. With every step, strength seemed to leak out of him, like water trickling past a breaking dam.
He strode through the keep’s courtyard, towards the rooms prepared for him. The soldiers’ barracks stood separated by several hundred spans from the main fortress, still within the walled compound. He knew his room would be small and cramped, but at least it would be private. There were only a few hours until dawn, and he intended to spend them in the warm embrace of slumber.
“My Prince, it is good to see you,” one of the soldiers said, saluting as Aydiin approached the entrance to the barracks. “Your room is just up the stairs and on the left.”
“Thank you, soldier,” Aydiin sighed, returning the salute.
Lead weights had replaced Aydiin’s feet, attempting to drag him down as he climbed the stairs to his room. The groaning of the wooden steps mingled with the protests shouted by his muscles. He wanted to shout back that they were only moments away from blessed sleep and that their incessant complaints were only slowing down the process.
Still dressed in his filthy trousers and white shirt, Aydiin ripped off his shemagh as the doorway came into view. The leather pack resting on his shoulders grew heavy in anticipation of the night’s rest. A bead of sweat ran down his back as a reminder that even the night brought little relief from the heat.
