Savage

by James Alderdice

  “What plan? You only slew four of them.”

  “Five. And put your top on.”

  “Five. And there are still twenty more at least!” she declared, as she put the girdle back into place. “They will take whatever wealth there was, horses, camels, food, and water. Even if they don’t find us, we are dead here without transport.”

  “I have been through worse and survived.”

  She shook her head. “Well, I haven’t. I know what comes in the night.” The wind whipped more bitter and she folded her arms and nodded as if the weather itself proved her point.

  “Tell me what comes at night and tell me your name. I am Khyte.”

  “I know who you are, outlander.”

  He found it hard to give his usual smirk against her belligerence and tone of ‘outlander’. “Why does everyone on this continent insist on calling me that? And you still didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Why ask my name? That you might know something of me? To hold over me?” She bobbed her head from side to side.

  Gathelaus shook his head. “I told you mine freely enough without fear or judgment.”

  “I am not fearful. I am Tisha, and though I am just a handmaid in the court of pleasure, I know the true ways of the world. If we don’t flee this place immediately the ghoul shall have us.”

  “What ghoul? Those were just bandits.”

  “Not them, you fool. The ghoul of the desert, those who have heard the call of the Pipe.”

  “Pipe?” he asked coyly.

  “Yes, the Pipe of Mahmackrah. The most cursed of all evil instruments.”

  “I am not familiar with such tales.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And that is why you are a foolish outlander. You have no respect for our ways. You don’t listen to half of what I say. You have no understanding that we may know more than you about our very own land.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t need to, I know how you are. I have serviced many mercenaries from across the sea.”

  He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length in a firm grip. “Not all men are like those you have met in the pleasure houses. Not all men must tread upon flowers to appreciate them.”

  She smiled. “Oh, you are a smooth one. But I warn you, I will still charge full price.”

  He pushed her away. “Strumpet, I have had Vashti; surely I would not pay for you!”

  Tisha looked shocked at that revelation. “But her powers demand purity. If she was willing to give herself even to one such as you, then she must surely have seen that we are doomed!”

  He scowled while she closed in on herself and dropped to the ground, cringing.

  “You spoke of ghoul. What are they?”

  She buried her head in her cloak.

  He knelt and shook her until she looked up wide eyed and afraid. “What are they?” he demanded.

  “I already told you.”

  “Tell me again!”

  “Don’t you listen? You will see them soon enough. At dusk.”

  “But what are they?”

  “Must I repeat everything for you? They are the damned souls who have heard the call of the Pipe of Mahmackrah. They are murderous and will feast upon our souls as well as our flesh. If Vashti would give herself away… we are lost, there is no chance for us.” She trailed off, crying and mumbling into her cloak, and Gathelaus could understand nothing more from her.

  The orange sun yet shone, but sudden shadows warped and hung over them in the stillness of the archway, and for a moment he wondered if dusk had already fallen when Tisha startled.

  Vashti appeared. “They are here! Take them!”

  A dozen bandits leapt and tore at Gathelaus as he struggled for his sword hilt. Brutal hands beat him down as he fought to revolt against the tide of bodies.

  Vashti watched, the wind grasping her silken scarves and skirt like so many unseen lustful hands. She stood imperious over them upon the foundation stones as the bandits bound Gathelaus and Tisha together within the sunken temple.

  Gathelaus snarled at the seeress. “Slut! Turn-cloak! Does not fate punish terribly such as you?”

  Her face gave no emotion or hint of guilt as the bandits lifted their prisoners overhead and carted them off.

  “To the altar with them!” cried Vashti.

  20.

  The Pipe of Mahmackrah

  At the far end of the canyon, where the shadows lay deep as a doomed man’s conscience, the bandits bound Gathelaus and Tisha to a wide, black obelisk. Squared and altogether short, it reached only as high as a tall man. Its dark features were pitted with more than age. Short, straight gashes along the surface revealed a violent sacrament to hungry gods.

  Vashti stooped in front of Gathelaus and whispered, “These bandit fools’ worship Mahmackrah and think that by sacrificing you they will be allowed the power of the Pipe—that they will be conquerors and ruiner’s both.”

  “They have it?” gasped Tisha.

  Vashti ignored her and continued. “When I hid for a moment, I was granted the vision of salvation for my people, and I will assist that, though I may die a maddening death. Such is the only reason I betrayed you—for the greater good. Promise me, Gathelaus, that you will kill me when the time comes. Kill me and destroy the Pipe.”

  “Let me loose and I will gladly,” he grated, straining against his bonds.

  Tisha whimpered.

  “You still don’t understand. I have saved your life with my own and have given you the opportunity and the duty to save my very nation, my people.”

  “With your own? You just asked me to kill you.”

  “Your sword and kit are just beyond that rock wall behind me. I know you can reach it in swift moments when you are freed.”

  The black-robed bandit chieftain strode up to Vashti’s side and rubbed a lecherous hand over her graceful form before turning his attention to Gathelaus. “You are the outlander who slew so many of my men.”

  “I am Khyte of Vjorn. I don’t recall you introducing yourself… as is custom in these lands.”

  The bandit chieftain eyed him warily and chuckled. “I know who you are Gathelaus, commander of Sellsword’s and would be Usurper of Vjorn. No need to lie to me. I was a man at arms in Mankares when you laid siege to the city. I was lucky, I only lost an eye in that battle, my wounds were grievous, and I was left for dead. But I overcame that failure and now lead my own men.”

  Tisha looked shocked at Gathelaus, with the reveal of his infamous name.

  “And you are?” Gathelaus prodded.

  “My name is my own and I need not share it with the likes of you who are about to die.”

  “Do the gods of this land not say, ‘A man who whips his horse will pull his own cart someday?’”

  The chieftain gave a half-smile. “You know the customs and tenets of my people well, but I am no simple follower of the Goddess nor of the solitary Dyzan. I worship the god of fire and death, mighty Mahmackrah. He cares not for weakness, and I shall honor him by sacrificing you upon the raising of tonight’s harvest moon.”

  “And what of the ghoul?”

  The chieftain laughed. “You know of them? Few outlanders do. My people are usually reluctant to speak of them to outsiders. But they are the children of Mahmackrah, too. I have watched them, you know. I have been in the wilderness many years now, since I was a boy. And I have seen from a distance the ghoul dance in the night. Always under a bright moon, like tonight. Naked as newborn babes, yet withered and grey as old men, the ghoul dance in exultation of Mahmackrah, and soon enough I shall command them.”

  “You’re mad!” shrieked Tisha. “A dreaming visionary madman!”

  The chieftain’s face reddened. He slapped Tisha across the mouth yet whispered angrily to taunt them. “I have the Pipe! It is no dream.” He produced from out of the folds of his robe the exquisitely carved onyx Pipe.

  Tisha gasped at the sight of it, recoiling as best she could as if a huge venomous snake or worse
had just been shown to her.

  “I found it in that temple you tried to hide in. Praise be to Mahmackrah! And lo! The seeress and I were destined to be together. Without her I would not know what song to play. But she has told me the notes of the mad song and of my destiny. This journey, your death, and my triumph were foreordained.”

  “You would blow upon it and summon the madness I have heard tell of?” asked Gathelaus.

  The chieftain nodded and grinned a sly, venomous smile.

  “If he did not, he would not be the chosen of Mahmackrah,” said Vashti, as boldly as she ever had yet. “He must play the song of old Casmir, and only then claim his kingdom!”

  “But you just asked Khyte—” Tisha’s words were cut off as Vashti slapped her across the face.

  “Silence, whore!” Vashti snarled, as she put a gag into Tisha’s soft mouth.

  “The seeress knows how to handle a slave girl,” chuckled the chieftain. “Know this, outlander, I will play the mad song at eventide, and the ghoul will show themselves and bow in servitude to me. The seeress has seen it. You will be the first to die in honor before I conquer the whole of the world.”

  “I killed a score of your men. Wouldn’t you rather I serve you?”

  “Ha, good—good. I credit you for your clever bargaining, but what need have I for any, even great, sell-swords, when I will command the invincible army of the ghoul? The ghoul will grow until the whole of the world are one with them and ghoul themselves. Only we few who command the respect of Mahmackrah will remain untainted.”

  “What of your men?”

  “Those fools? Small, superstitious minds who may yet better serve me as ghoul. They are not immune or worthy, they are irrelevant.”

  “And how did you learn all these things?”

  The chieftain grinned with wicked teeth and wrapped an arm about Vashti. “Why, she told me, of course. She saw in a vision that I had found the Pipe and knew she must guide me to use it. In my heart I always knew I was destined for greatness; I always did.”

  Vashti nodded and winked as Tisha raged.

  “Your companion does not share in your understanding of my vision. No matter, her bitterness will not sour in a ghoul belly.” He laughed cruelly and strode away.

  Vashti turned to follow, whispering, “Remember.” As she dropped a needle like hair-pin at Gathelaus’s feet.

  ***

  Gathelaus patiently reached with his foot, dragging the pin over to where he could not grasp it, but Tisha could.

  She strained against her bonds and finally plucked it up with swelling fingers.

  “Toss it to where I can reach it.”

  She mumbled through her gag as she tried to saw and poke at her own bindings.

  “Fool girl! With some subtlety, or those bastards will see.”

  This only brought about a more frantic sawing and stabbing motion from the girl. She might have screamed aloud if the gag were not suffocating her cries at the multitude of times, she jabbed herself.

  “Tisha, slowly.”

  She mumbled her assent and tried again and again. One cord of the dozen about her wrists began to fray.

  “Keep working at it. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Too lates for thats, I’m afraid,” said a snaggle-toothed bandit, as he rounded the obelisk. He reached down and took the hair pin from Tisha’s weak grasp. “Look at that, you mighta hurt yourself withat,” he drawled.

  The bandit’s pervasive stink recoiled Gathelaus. Upon his beard rode newly looted food, and Gathelaus decided the man was drunk on Vareem’s wine. He would use whatever means he could to escape. “Why not take her and have some fun before your master kills her?”

  Tisha turned to look with wide, angry eyes at Gathelaus and screamed through her gag.

  The dirty bandit grinned and stroked Tisha’s cheek. “She ist a looker.”

  “Go on, take her,” Gathelaus prodded.

  The bandit looked from Gathelaus to Tisha, then finally in the chieftain’s direction. “He mights kill me if I moves hers.”

  “Then take her right here. He won’t see.”

  Tisha’s eyes flared at Gathelaus and her muted screams grew more frantic.

  The dirty bandit pondered a moment, then put his wineskin down on the flagstones beside the obelisk and got down on his knees to begin his business with the girl.

  Gathelaus raised his bound legs and smashed them down on the bandit’s skull.

  Reeling yet still conscious, the bandit had time to look once at Gathelaus before both feet, still tied together, slammed down, pulping his sour face.

  Gathelaus kicked several more bloody times to be sure the man would not stir.

  Tisha still screamed silently, though perhaps now because of the carnage seeping toward her.

  “Can you reach his knife?”

  She shook her head.

  Reaching, Gathelaus brought his foot beneath the bandit’s armpit and inched the carcass a half-pace closer. “Now?”

  Tisha mumbled that she had the knife. Her nervous breathing doubled its pace and she awkwardly tried to cut her own bindings first.

  “If you can’t cut your own then pass me the knife.”

  She grumbled and kept trying. A moment later her hand was free, and she tore the gag from her mouth. “You filthy cur! Offering me to that dog!” She slapped Gathelaus across the mouth.

  “It all worked out, didn’t it? Cut me loose.”

  She yanked and cut the bindings from her own feet. “I should leave you here! I should—”

  “Yes, you should,” said the chieftain. “You are both troublesome souls, but there is a need for you as well.”

  Tisha slashed wildly at the chieftain.

  He laughed and easily disarmed her before striking her across the face. Glancing at her neckline, he pulled back a strap, revealing a blue-ink tattoo placed just above her heart. He raged, smacking Tisha across the face yet again. “I see the tattoo upon your breast. I know you are from my own clan, and yet you defile yourself as a pleasure girl?”

  “What does it matter? You wish to make me a ghoul! You are the true betrayer of the Isidrea clan!” she cried.

  Several of the bandits looked on, agitated. Tisha’s cry made them nervous that indeed what the chieftain planned for the prisoners would invoke doom for them as well.

  The chieftain stuffed the gag back into Tisha’s mouth as he again bound her up. “And you, outlander—even bound you kill my men. Truly Mahmackrah will be pleased with eating a warrior’s heart that is this worthy of his honor.”

  “I hope he chokes.”

  “Hope is dead,” answered the chieftain with a malevolent chuckle. He gave Tisha one last slap before walking away and shouting at his men again. “Dispose of Ahmed’s body! Pay no attention to the ramblings of that trollop.”

  “That could have gone better,” mused Gathelaus.

  ***

  A dusky, old bandit, absently chewing on a twig, waited while two other bandits hauled Ahmed’s corpse away. He mumbled quickly under his breath, “What know you of ghoul?”

  “Nothing,” said Gathelaus.

  The bandit shook his head, watching carefully that his companions were out of earshot. “That does not ring true. I heard both of you mention ghoul to the chieftain and I want to know why. It’s ill luck to speak of them so openly.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Is no trick.” He held his palms outward as the sign of peace and trust in that part of the world, such a maneuver was held inviolate, even by bandits. “I wonder, do you know the legend of the ghoul?”

  “No.”

  He pointed at the ruins within the canyon. “Long ago the ghoul and men worshiped the same gods. But man, he think he know better, think he know progress and civilization, he made new gods and abandoned the old.”

  Gathelaus chuckled. “Is this supposed to warn me about jealous old gods coming for revenge?”

  The old bandit returned the smile but shook his head again. “No, the
old gods are dead or in a dreaming deep sleep, they care no more. But the ghoul—they care. They are insulted that men abandon the way. They are made from the dark magics of hate and bitterness. The ghoul want to punish men for leaving the faith.”

  “The faith?”

  The old bandit nodded. “Once all worshiped at the same altar of the creators, but in their inner darkness men abandoned the true path.”

  “You a religious man?”

  The bandit chuckled now and shook his head.

  “What about the Pipe?” prodded Gathelaus.

  “What Pipe?”

  “The one your chieftain found. Of Mahmackrah. He showed it to us.”

  “Impossible. If he found it, he would have told us. Would he lie?” The bandit asked himself.

  Gathelaus rolled his eyes hardly containing a full laugh. “No, I expect not.”

  The old bandit grinned without mirth. “The legends say the Pipe can create ghoul.”

  “More? Are there any now?”

  “Oh yes, they are very real. You doubt?”

  Gathelaus shrugged. “What do they do, when they aren’t devouring wayfarers.”

  The bandit frowned at Gathelaus as if he had asked a stupid question. “They build cities underground and grow and grow, but if the Pipe is blown and everyone hears the call—well then, then all of mankind would suffer as they take over and rule.”

  “Build? Rule what?”

  “Legends of my fathers’ say the ghoul have cities buried under the sands. Kingdoms in dust. They wait for when the stars are right.”

  “Right for what?”

  “To attack, to reclaim the world and rebuild it in their own perfect image.”

  “Were they once men? Or another creation altogether?”

  “Who knows which was first. Perhaps ghoul became defiled and became men?”

  Gathelaus jerked his hands as far up as he could reach. “You need to let me go.”

  “No, I cannot.” He shook his head adamantly. “Those are just stories. No one knows the truth anymore.”

  “We need to stop him before he plays the Pipe. He will make you all ghoul.”

  “No, the magic must surely be as dead as the old gods. I was just telling stories,” he said nervously. “Khalem Khan found no Pipe. And even if he did, he would not dare to play upon it. He would know better; the son of a Shah would surely know better.”