[IC] The Sorceress and the Slave

[Penny]

The moon shone pale on silver shod Sharsaya, touching the polished sandstone minarets a dream like sheen of white light. Hot winds rose in the eastern passes, bringing the sharp scent of the desert into the dusty shadowed streets. The great market of Iz-Rayed was quiet, its canvas stalls fluttering uneasily in the breeze. Even now an intoxicating melange of scents hung in the air, spices from far of Cathay, sandalwood from Rasha Fodum, incense from the desert monasteries of Tar Haddin and other less identifiable smells. Few merchants remained, only the poorest who could afford no bedding elsewhere, still loitered, dozing in their stupors of cheap arak and questionable hashish.

The woman came from the east, perhaps from Mecasia or Ibryn along the great Caravan route. The Pasha's guards, themselves drowzing in the evenings sultry heat, did not remark her. And if they had what would they have said? That a woman came alone out of the east to the gates of Sharsaya at midnight? That she was shrouded in layers of gauzy fabric in the manner of the desert nomads? They did not know her, could not see the shackles of polished iron which encircled her wrists. It was better that they slept.

The first to take notice of her were the dogs, for the lower beasts were more sensitive to such things. The Prophet, blessed be his name, had said that such as she would be reviled by the companions of men. And such as the Prophet, blessed be his name, spoke, was true. Dogs slank away into the night with low whimpers at her approach. Human predators were not so wise.

The footpads met her at the mouth of an alley, having tracked her some distance through the moon shrouded streets. The promise of a woman alone in the night was too tempting for the petty and the cruel. They thought themselves blessed, when in response to their lewd entreaties she lowered her veil to reveal a face young and beautiful. A diadem of silver worked moonstone settled on her brow, promising coin as well as sport. It wasn't until they reached for her and she lifted her hands, bound at the wrist with polished iron that they began to realize their mistake.

She spoke their names. Not the crude words by which their mothers, street whores and beggars, had used with scant affection, but their true names. For as surely as Allah, Blessed be His Name, knows the name of every grain of sand in the great desert, so too did this woman know the names of her attackers. With a word and a gesture of her hand she tore the life from them, leaving only shrivled husks to excite to gossip of the bazzar when the sun rose and the chants called the faithful to prayer.

Thus Amira of Ilyn Basyir came to silver shod Sharsaya, on the most dire of errands.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

The crowd's cheers rose as high as the western sun, the heat baking them in their woolen clothes. Undulating howls of pleasure and excitement spelled coin and good business to the slave owner Mal Jashe, who hailed from the audacious lands of Nersheeba, of which has given him ill repute. Perhaps it was misplaced, for the Prophet saw fit to bless him with a fighter as lithe as the hunting cat, and whose grip matches the jaws of the river crocodile.

Even now below, the Stone Fist grappled with a giant of Dhirae. Arms enwrapped around the monster's midsection, the cursed one straining and roaring as the Qabdat Alhajar backstepped, placing one leg in front of the great man's backfoot, yanking him to the ground as the crowd cheered louder. Perhaps Mal Jashe's Stone Fist could not defeat the cursed one, over a head taller in height, in a contest of strength. But determination gave strength in the limbs of the champion, and before Hayashim's blessed sun sank behind the area's walls, Rhaak Bin Hakeem was indeed the winner once more.

Blood and sweat caked his face, and though he was victorious, he did not celebrate with the crowd. Instead he raised his fist, giving credence to the name he had received. Men cried out for him, coins and spittle flying as freely as the women jeered from the stands. Dancers with dresses as crimson as the bleeding sand glided along the edge of the arena, drawing the crowd's gaze as Rhaak was led off the field to his cage.

Little did he know, that there was one that watched him longer than all of the others. A danger more terrible than any he had ever faced was here in Sharsaya, upon an errand most dire. A dark woman that spelled for an even darker night. This was the tale of the Sorceress and the Slave.
@Penny

[Penny]

Chapter One

"Are you sure this is the one you want mistress, he is young yes, an up and comer but we have maannny who might suit your needs," the overseer prattled obsequiously as he lead his guest down the dim stone corridor beneath the arena. Uncertain breezes stirred the dust into small zephyrs here and there and the scent of stale blood lay heavy on the subterranean passageways. The overseer leered at his guest from beneath his grease stained fez. It was not unusual for highborn ladies, as he took his visitor to be, to sport with slaves, even buy famous champions for their own amusements. It was unusual for such a one to appear at dawn and demand to see a particular slave, and to make the demand credible with cold silver.

The woman was dressed in diaphanous black silks which hung around her frame pleasingly, golden ornaments glittered and her wrists and an a ruby necklace was clasped at her throat. Small golden charms in the shape of strange sigils hung from a silvery veil which was pulled across her face, revealing only a glimpse of smooth olive skin and dark intense eyes.

"This is the one," she said simply, her unadorned words as harsh as any rebuke she might have leveled. The slave master flinched as if struck and ducked his head leading her down yet another corridor. Barred cages lined the vaulted stone work, arms reached for her, some seeking the touch of a woman's skin, others merely human contact. Without fail the overseer cracked their knuckles with his baton driving them back into their cages. Here and there a more high prestige fighter had a cot or some furniture, one even had a ragged looking prostitute draped across his bead, but for the most part they were squalor.

Reaching a cell like any other the woman suddenly paused, then turned to peer into the darkness.

"This is the one," she said quietly.

"No, no, not this one, the one you seek is..." the overseer objected, panic that his plan to pass some other less profitable slave off as the fighter she sought seemed to evaporate before his eyes.

"Get him out and bring him to the pit," she commanded coldly, "and two others besides."

[Penny]

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak ate the bit of beef greedily, having nearly put a strain on his body during his last bout. His master, curse his name, often liked to dangle succulent food in front of him, promising Rhaak would get to eat such food once he was victorious. And then of course, during his match, he would see the same delectables being devoured before his eyes by Mal Jashe. It had gotten to the point that the young fighter nearly did not care anymore if he would be strung up in the streets with his eyes and tongue cut out for rebellion, if he could only kill that sweaty manuke khara.

He always felt like that day would be tomorrow, and then tomorrow it would be the day after. Sometimes, Rhaak believed he had forgotten his old life as a bandit, being reforged into the ideal pit fighter for the amusement of others. How could Hayashim let him continue as this? What sin had he committed?

Once his meal was finished, he threw away the stripped bone to clatter along the coarse stonework. The calls and curses of the fellow slaves was an ever present companion down here, and it took him a moment to realize the hush that had fallen within the catacombs. Beside him, one of the older slaves in the cell over began to wail about the doom of the world, piercing the silence with cries that unnerved even the muscled young fighter.

Suddenly, his master's simpering voice was heard down the hall, clearly attempting to impress a patron. The handsome and strong young slave lifted himself off of his chair, the only thing in the cell not covered in grime, to see one of the strangest sights. It was a woman, an incredibly beautiful one at that. Though something of her manner unnerved him, and when her eyes fell upon him he felt as if she could view into his very soul.

"This is the one," she said. Rhaak looked between her and Mal Jashe, expecting his Master to refuse her as he had the others when they had desired his company. But he instead only gave a weak denial, before his resolve shattered and Rhaak was called to the arena with two others. He was about to speak, his curiosity almost overriding his good sense. But he was only to speak when spoken to, and he was chained and dragged out into the pit with two other slaves. The first was a eunuch, bald headed and with a similar physique to Rhaak, though he was even slimmer and taller. The next was a great hairy beast of a man, with a beard that reached his chest. His hands had six fingers.

"Yes yes, would you like them to fight my mistress?" Mal Jashe asked, rubbing his hands together, his eyes roaming her curvaceous anatomy when he believed she was not looking.
@Penny

[Penny]

The woman regarded the slaves coldly for a long moment ignoring the overseer and his question. The silence stretched out for long seconds. The overseer was about to speak again when she knelt down and ran her long fingers through the coarse sand of the small fighting pit letting the grains flow through her closed fist and trying to get a sense of it. The sand was hungry, many men had been killed upon it, more yet had shed blood.

As abruptly as she had knelt she stood, the action accompanied by the faint musical clink of the ornaments in her veil. Her eyes turned to the two slaves who had been bought at her request. They were of no importance.

"Whichever of you can kill this man," she declared imperiously, pointing a slender finger at the slave she had come for.

"That man will go free."

"By Allah you cannot!" the Overseer shrieked, his voice rising in outrage. The two slaves were already pouncing towards Rhaak fingers outstretched like claws, hungry and eager to kill.

"I dont care who you represent these men are my property!" he raised his fist as if to strike but Amira merely met his eyes with a cold steady gaze. The overseer froze in mid blow as he gazed into her dark brown almond shaped eyes. Great beads of sweat began to stand out on his forehead and he began to tremble as though pinned by some unimaginable pressure. With a wheezing gasp he dropped to the ground craddling his head in his hand and sobbing uncontrollably. By Allah the Truth was painful to look upon. With a moments more for cold contempt, she turned back to watch how the fates unwound for the slaves.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak had fought men of all sizes and creatures from distant lands, but he had never seen someone floor another human with a mere look. There was something supernatural afoot here. A heretical power that he could not fathom. The word left his disbelieving lips, eyes looking up to meet the woman's enchanting gaze.
"Sorcery-"

He was cut off from saying more when the eunuch's arm was suddenly around his neck in a brutal hold. Rhaak gasped, trying to move his hands onto his arm to slacken the pressure on his neck. Even as the bald headed opponent began to squeeze harder, the six fingered brute waded in, spittle dripping out of his jowls as he sought to steal the kill the from eunuch. The young pit fighter breathed out of his nose as best he could, grabbing a hold of the eunuch's arm for support before burying his feet into the midsection of the bearded one.

The force of the kick sent the eunuch back stumbling, and winded the would-be opportunist. All the while the sorceress watched with eyes as sharp as a bandit's blade.

Rhaak found traction on the ground, immediately taking advantage of the slight slack in the eunuch's hold and elbowing the man thrice in quick succession, making it out of the grapple. His fist then struck the eunuch in the stomach, a rib shattering in a resounding crack that made the bald slave wail and stagger. A roar behind Rhaak betrayed the sudden charge of the lumbering cursed man. He spun, ducking a punch before getting hit by the second, causing him to grunt. He reacted like lightning, one hand gripping the slave's rags and the other his beard, holding them in a vice-like grip before spinning his body and roaring in return.

The sorceress would see Rhaak's caramel muscled grow even more pronounced, and the pit fighter suddenly lifted the brutish figure over his shoulders to sail end over end and land hard on the arena's sand. The man must have weighed twice Rhaak's weight, if not more. The younger one did not delay, and swiftly stomped on the six fingered man's windpipe, ending his life. Blood fountained from the man's mouth, the wind picking up as if some Ifrit demanded the scent of blood to spread.

Meanwhile, the injured eunuch had decided to take advantage of the downed slave master, freeing him of his scimitar. Rhaak turned, seeing the lanky slave warily approaching him with his new weapon, the blade gleaming in the morning sun. With a cry of rage, the eunuch slashed at Rhaak repeatedly. The pit fighter who still held his manhood in check thought it would be best to keep it that way, ducking and dodging. Once he saw an opportunity, he struck the eunuch on the leg, causing him to stumble. His next blow knocked the scimitar into the air, and his third punch shattered the other kneecap, causing the eunuch to fall to his knees.

Rhaak caught the descending scimitar, and beheaded the eunuch in one swift motion. Another fountain of blood erupted, seeping into the sands of the pit.

Sweat lightly beading on his forehead and chest, his red vest open. He pointed the weapon at Amira. Even being under the lash for years, he could not help but speak up in anger. "Who are you?"
@Penny

[Penny]

The question hung quivering in the air as Amira watched silent and thoughtful. Blood dripped from the blade of the sword pattering almost inaudible to the sand. The room stank of fear and death, the last spurt of arterial blood from the decapitated eunuch merging with the final choking gurgles of the second slave and adding the coppery scent of fresh blood to the melange. The slave master continued to sob on his knees, head in hands as he rocked back and forth.

"Please, please take it back," the man whimpered, making a half heated effort to clutch at her feet but succeeding only in toppling forward into the sand and curling into a fetal position. Amira ignored the fat pathetic wastrel and considered the slaves question. There was anger in his voice, that was natural and proper although the lack of self control was a failing.

"It is unimportant," she said in her soft melodious voice and then paused to consider the question again.

"Though I suppose that is an impractical answer. In this place I am known as Mistress Sand," she declared, her lips turning up by the smallest of margins as if in some secret amusement.

"Come slave, the night will not last forever and there is work to be done."

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak blinked, considering his options. He could indeed probably attack this woman. His master was a bubbling mess and there were no guards posted at such an early hour. However, there was something about her that compelled him beyond her beauty. There was a certain destiny in the air, and despite himself, he had gotten used to being a slave. One master was as good as another, and so he would be her slave, at least for the time being. She weilded powers he had not seen before, and he was more than a bit intrigued on what she wanted.

"Yes, master." He said, giving her a bow and slipping the Scimitar within his sash belt. "My name is Qabdat Alhajar within the Pit. But my birth name is Rhaak Bin Hakeem, if it pleases you."

The sun was barely peeking over the desert sands when Amira and Rhaak stepped out of the pit through the curved archway. He stepped out hesitantly, as if he expected to be suddenly attacked for having abandoned his previous master or for leaving the confines of his three year prison at all. He had not seen the outside world in some time.

The sorceress, for what else could she have been, stepped with a surety of purpose. He kept one hand on his Scimitar hilt, and his other hand closed into a fist as they walked.

"Master, if I may speak?" He began, letting there be a slight pause before he was certain she would not cast a spell upon him. "What is it you require of me? Where do we go?"

Even now, the marketplace began to awaken. Fish mongers and jewelry merchants set up shop, with would-be alchemists painstakingly placing their vials of what was probably salt water within their coffers to sale as the sun continued to rise.
@Penny

[Penny]

As the pair steeped from the bloody fighting pit the Overseer made one last plea.

"Please, take it back, I dont want to see!" Amira paused, framed by the stone lintel of the door arch, and turned to look at the man. Tears glittered on his cheeks and his face and sand from the floor was stuck to the mucus leaking from his nose.

"What Allah has ordained let no man disrupt," she said austerely and then reached into her robs to produce a pouch of dark leather. It clinked profitable as she hefted it for a moment and then tossed it onto the floor by the mans face with a metallic clatter. Pieces of bright silver from half a dozen different cities spilled out onto the floor.

"The payment for three slaves, much may it profit you," she mocked before turning and striding through the door.

They picked there way through the market place as the son rose turning the famed silver domes of Sharsaya blinding white. The wailing prayer began summoning people to prayer. Many people were streaming towards the mosque but many simply turned to the east and made the abbreviated prayer of the traveller. Amaria did likewise touching her head and heart and whispering the words of the Prayer of Dawn by rote. The task completed she resumed walking considering the slaves question.

"I require only that you do as I instruct, in time, things will become clearer too you," she said pressing through the crowd. Pausing she spoke briefly to a fruit vendor and purchased a handful of dried dates and a pomegranate from a crooked looking Bedouin with a scarred face. She passed the dates to Bin Hakeem and cracked the pomegranate in two and began to eat the seed with smooth graceful motions. They moved through the produce area to where more permenant stalls and even a few stores stood. Merchants from a dozen cities extolled the virtues of brass ware, steel, perfume, dye and a hundred other things besides, their cries struggling to compete with the call to prayer.

"We are going to speak to a man," she expounded as they reached a row of dingy shop fronts.

"He is dangerous, be wary," she instructed before leading the way to a corner store and pressing carefully through the curtain of grass beads which hung like seaweed to keep the worst of the dust and insects from entering. The heat of the day was noticeable by the cool of the interior of the shop. Strange items littered the simple wooden shelves, illuminated manuscripts, baubles carved from amber and jade, intricate series of brass rings, feathers from exotic birds, and a dozen other things to exotic to yield an easy label. In the corner facing towards the east and kneeling on a prayer mat, an old man with a dark grey beard knelt stiffly, arthritic joints admitting the ritual only grudgingly. His hearing was sharp though for as they entered he turned with a pleasant smile on his face. When his eyes fell on Amira they widened with panic and he scrambled back.

"YOU!" he rasped, glancing around for an escape but the only exit was directly passed them, or through one of the windows that he had sensibly barred.

"Hello Abdul, it has been a long time," Amira said in her calm inflectionless voice.

"Look listen, I don't have it, on my soul before Allah I don't know where it is!" He seemed about ready to try and throw himself through a window as she calmly advanced upon him.

"Oh I believe you Abdul, you wouldn't lie to me." That mocking smile again.

"But you can show us a true vision, cant you Abudl?" she purred, still moving forward and pinning him against the wall with her presence. He closed his eyes tightly and he cowered but a little hope flared in his voice.

"You know... you know I cant show you..." he began but she cut him off with a tsk tsk.

"Not me," she agreed and pointed to the slave.

"Give him the vision I require."

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

It seemed Rhaak was now officially bought.

A reality he'd need to get used to as much as he would need to come to terms with him now traveling in the wider world, though what this woman wanted of him was unknown. Protection and pleasure most likely, though she seemed to have a purpose that drove her forward, ignoring all of the expensive baubles and trinkets that had inexorably caught Rhaak's eyes. Old habits died hard, even for someone who had not thieved since his youth.

For now, he kept his hands to himself. He was still a slave, albeit one under a new master. As she moved forward, he did his best to remain wary, particularly when she spoke of them meeting someone who this woman claimed was dangerous. That was an alarming prospect to hear from her lips, though she seemed in control of the elder enough when they entered his small shop of valuables and scents. Rhaak blinked in surprise when she bade the man to provide Rhaak with visions.

To his credit, he remained stationary and did not even speak, though his brow was raised and his eyes questioning.

"Him?" The man scoffed, nervously fidgeting. Pulling on his old tunic to try and regain some lost dignity, he gestured towards Rhaak. "This is but a slave, you would have me open the gift of sight for this one?..." His words trailed off, having already received his instruction. He cursed a foul curse, flourishing his hands. His robes flapped as he did so, and a strange scented sand was flung into the air that tickled Rhaak's nose. "Very well, Allah be with us all." He declared, reaching forward to grip Rhaak's face in his hands, intoning.

"As the sun burns and the dunes roll,
show this one a vision of what has been foretold.
One who's whispers is the wind and the water of the sea,
show this slave a fabled destiny.

"

Rhaak's entire world began to slowly spin, his clarity of mind now fogged in the mists of time. He began to breathe heavily, his eyes looking to Amira for aid before his consciousness was sucked into the world-that-was-not-of-this-world. He cried out to Allah, falling to his knees as his eyes began to see what was not there to see.

A cave in the desert, surrounded by three obelisks. A cave that led to their destiny. And yet he knew, this was but on of many destinies.

A being of fire and shadow, an Ifrit who guarded an oasis, all must pay the toll. The toll, what could he part with that Amira could not?

Treasures Kings would die for. A bejeweled ring of power that unlocks the entrance to-

The world came flooding back, causing him to stumble and grasp at the ground with his strong hands. It left him more winded than his fight in the pit, and far more vulnerable, his mind having unwound to allow the granted vision to take hold. The emphatic beating of his heart was intensely audible in his ears. He swallowed, regaining his senses enough to stand on his feet moments later. He opened and closed his hands, making sure he was truly back in his own body.
@Penny

[Penny]

The old man staggered back his face an ashern grey, as though the effort of a few moments had taken a years hard labor from him. Brass tinkled as he sagged against a bench of age cracked teak. Tools tumbled from the table onto the timber floor with a clattering crash. Amira stepped around the still stunned Rhaak and approached the old man. With a slender hand she reached up and unfastened her veil and allowing the silvered fabric to hang free. The old man gasped and held up a trembling hand in weak protestation.

"Anhouri, please..." he begged in a rasping whisper. Implacably and without hurry she lay three fingers on his forehead and with her free hand reached into the old mans shirt and jerked. A cord of leather which hung around his neck snapped and came away in her hand, an odd bronze coin the size of a thumbnail still dangling from it by some surprisingly ornate knotwork.

"Salem," she said grimly and pressed forward slightly with the three fingers. The old man toppled and slumped to the floor, his head striking the wood with a hollow thump. His eyes were filmed with death and his tongue began to lol. Carefully she refastened her veil and turned to face Rhaak, slipping the coin into a fold in her garment.

"Now you must tell me what you saw."

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

"I..." he held his head in one of his hands, eyes trying to realign with his true sight. Once he could focused, he looked up at Amira. "I saw...there was a place. A place that we must go, far from here in the Zsharahi desert, and there will be an area in the sand. An area with three obelisks...west from here. West as the sun rises." Every sentence or two he would pause, as if digesting what was already within his mind. "But the journey will be fraught with danger. Men and beasts...and an Ifrit. I saw an Ifrit in an oasis, who demands something from us that I cannot guess. Something I can part with, but you cannot..."

Rhaak seemed quite disturbed at the prospect of finding a creature such as that, for they were known to make men and women their playthings for millenia. That is, unless they are bound within- "I saw a ring. A diamond ring of power, and it unlocks a door we are to enter. A door...I do not know where. It could be the cavern within the sands, Master."

"We shall find what you seek, but it will lead to more than you expect. Far more..."

His words ended there, the last phrase seeping out of him as if by some unknown force outside of his will. Clearing his throat, he stood tall and breathed in, squaring his shoulders. His thick, dark hair unruly from his fall to the ground. Though he looked none the worse for wear after having taken back control of himself. He looked as healthy as he did when she first saw him, his eyes glinting like agates in the faint light of the curtain.
@Penny

[Penny]

It had worked, knowledge that she could not have taken into herself had passed into the slave. Knowledge that generations since the Prophet, Blessed be his Name, had sought to destroy or possess was hers for the price of a few pieces of silver. The writings that she had followed had proven themselves correct after all. Perhaps the city of Enchantment was within her reach.

A sudden tramping sound in the street drew her attention and she moved quickly to the door of the small shop. Coming down the street were a score of the Pasha's guard in their red and grey livery with slung pikes. The merchants shouted protestations and a few went so far as to hurl fruit but mostly they just grabbed up thier wares to protect them from the steel shood feet of the soldiers. Their seemed little doubt of their destination. The snappily dressed eunuch at the back of the prossession, clearly in command for all he skulked behind the saftey the men provide, removed any lingering doubt she may have had.

"Allah curse them for breathing," she muttered and looked around quickly for some other way from the dwelling. None presented itself.

"We need a way out of here before the Jannisaries arrive," she declared, the slightest hint of anger on her voice at the disruption of the plan.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak had heard the footsteps and shouts in the distance, as well. Somewhere a woman squealed and a camel gave a guttural cry. "Where are they?" A rough voice called, and Amira would see peasants being shoved out of the way by the armored Mamluks who served as the Jannisary's vanguard. The Pit Fighter didn't know what crime his new master had committed, but she was being pursued nonetheless.

He didn't ask why. Questions would come later if he felt she was in a speaking mood. But as of now, old habits died hard. The shallow red light of the burning sun that filtered through the tent was just enough illumination for him to get the scope of the room. His callused hands swiftly began to feel around the hut for any loose boards or hidden doors, knocking and pressing.

He found none. He'd rather not break through some of the parts made of timber and clay, but that might be what they had to do. He backstepped and turned to his master. "Get behind me, Mas-" only to feel an uneasy part of the ground beneath his feet once he had stepped. The ground felt fragile and...wooden. Hurriedly, he swept away the carpets under his feet to reveal a wooden hatch that led below the shop.

He grabbed the bronze latch and opened up the hatch. Dust and stuffy air billowed out, but below he could make out a tunnel they could reach if they survived a short drop. Hoping beyond hopes that she was not going to chastise him for taking the initiative, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the open hatch. It would be daunting to see the hole with no stairs, and so he promptly picked her up with one hand and grabbed the latch with the other, leaping down into the hole and closing it on his way down through gravity.

He landed on his feet roughly, and swiftly placed the Sorceress on her feet. Below them was nothing but sand and fallen rags. To the left was a decaying corpse, its rotting flesh bedecked in the livery of an alchemist. Someone the old man perhaps wanted to disappear silently. Rhaak wondered how he could see anything down here, but in the distance there was a light. The tunnel that led out looked man made, with wooden rafters mixed with the rent earth.
@Penny

[Penny]

They moved past the rotting ruin quickly, the woman pulling her veil a little tighter around her mouth and nose as her only concession to the horror. The tunnel appeared to have been an old one, carved from the sandstone by slow hand spans. Here and there weathered wooden beams braced the walls, though what use they were against the stone was uncertain A faint whisper of air from the far end of the passage suggested that it wasn’t merely an artifical cave.

Above them the crashing of boots could be heard along with the shouts of discovery as the soldiers discovered the body of the man who had called himself *BLANK* An authoritative voice cut through the babble like the peel of a bell.

“Find the woman and do not look into her eyes, upon your souls,” the voice instructed, it had a cultured oily quality though clearly well used to being order.

“And the man?” a rougher voice demanded with the sharp burr of the Southern Desert.
“The slave is nothing, kill him if you must.” The voices began to fade as they moved down the tunnel. As they progressed the light grew quickly brighter till it burned like the shimmer of the sand at midday. Dust motes danced in the increasing light until they reached an ancient grate of rusted iron. Beyond the grate stretched on of the great canals that drew the waters of the Tagria through the city. The smooth stonework dropped thirty feet to the sluggish water below. Forward progress was bared as effectively as a stone wall by the grate.

Behind them came a shout of triumph and the scraping of timber on stone as the entrance to the tunnel was discovered. It would be mere moments before the pursuers were upon them.

“Peace be upon you,” *BLANK* murmured when the slave turned with a trapped look in his eyes. Stepping forward she placed a hand upon the stone and began to whisper almost inaudibly, slender fingers tracing the intersection of stone and iron. As her finger trailed a flow of fine sand, as if from an hourglass began to fall away, first slowly and then with increasing speed until the dust began to fill the air and make breathing difficult. The sandstone seemed to melt away, loosening its grip on the iron as it was reduced to blowing grit.
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak held a bit of cloth to his mouth, his open tunic tugging at his body as the wind and dust began to coalesce, and the walls that held the iron resolutely not moments before began to give way. He was not certain what his new master was capable of, but it filled him with a wild fear mixed with a wondrous thrill. He heard shouts in the distance, and it crossed his mind that while she controlled powers he could not understand, she still ran from their pursuers as he did. He supposed there were reasons she needed his help.

At her leave he grabbed the iron bars that now sagged slightly, wrenching it two and fro before yanking the stubborn gate from the loosened wall. Unfortunately, the act of doing so caused the sandstone roof above to crack and grumble. Turning to look back into the ancient pathway, the slave could see scimitars blades glinting in the light. A last crack drew his attention, and he threw down the gate and took his master's hand as he jumped.

The sudden light of day along with the heat of the sun glared in their eyes, but Rhaak just managed to grab ahold of one of the many lines that clung between buildings that held drying meats and clothes and carpets. "Hold on, master!" The end he grabbed broke, but it allowed them to swing and lose some falling momentum as they plummeted. With an athletic twist, his feet skipped twice across the sandstone wall as he tried to make it to the opposite side of the bank.

Unfortunately, a sword above cut the thread and caused them to fall the remaining dozen feet into the canal. They crashed into the water to resurface near a small shoddy dock. Cries of protest and awe echoed behind them, from their pursuers to onlookers and fishermen, but for now they were safe. The pit fighter sputtered and grunted, hacking away the last bit of Tagria water out of this throat, and helped his master onto the side of the Canal, before pulling himself out.

They found themselves near the dock, the dirt of the city was at hot as fire and as hard as the iron Rhaak had just removed.

"Ah, Salaam and good day to you friends." A serpent's voice was heard. Out of the milling crowd, a small man with a hat that looked very much like a coned beehive gave them dishonest smile. It showed a few lesser teeth and one bronze molar. "It seems to me you are of the desperate sort yes?" He asked, his eyebrows wiggling, fingers already sweating at the promise of swindling them for all of their worth. The faint smell of the addictive drug boruba smoked out of his rancid mouth.

"I know not your business, but only thieves and heretics dive into the canals, and I happen to have a boat for sale if you would indulged me with some business..."
@Penny

[Penny]

The sun glinted unpleasantly from the peddlers bronzed tooth. Amira's eyes, until a moment beforehand blank and unfocused sharpened measurably. The fellow before them spread his hands wide in invitation. Behind them came a distant should from the opening in the opposite bank a pair of Janissaries, apparently as many as could be jammed into the small tunnel appeared, mail glinting in the sunlight. The Tagria was a mighty river even when channeled into these canals, and the current had carried them far enough that the shouts of the soldiers were indistinct over those noise of they city. One of the men attempted to duplicate Rhaak's feet but missed the rope and plunged ungracefully into the canal, a serious risk in so much armor. His companion was apparently wise enough not to attempt to duplicate the feet and vanished back into the hole whence he had come.

"A boat," she said in a voice devoid of any emotion, making it neither a statement or a question. The swindler needed no clarification though and launched into speech.

"Yes Yes good mistress," he said struggling to contain a leer. The fabric of her black clothing clung tightly to the curves of her body, leaving little to the imagination.

"A sturdy skiff that can take you anywhere the water flows even down to the Sea of Radan if that is your pleasure, a fine and sturdy vessel I do assure you good mistress! Why..." he froze in mid speech as Amira plucked a golden coin from seeming thin air and tossed it to the man. For all his slovenly appearance he snatched the drachma from the air with the grace of a hunting cat and bit it suspiciously. He made the coin vanish nearly as neatly as it had appeared.

"A fine down payment gentle lady..."

"It will be sufficient," Amira broke in her voice still impassive and cold. The swindler looked between the two soaking stranger and back at the hole into which the par of Jannisaries had appeared in.

"It seems to me you are in a particular hurry, surely that is worth something to you?" he asked, his voice growing measurably slyer and losing some of its false fellowship. Amira turned with slow deliberation to regard the canal and then turned back.

"You might be right, perhaps I should have my slave disembowel you and we can take the boat without need of any further delay." The threat was all the more terrible for its utter lack of emotional loading. The swindlers eyes darted towards Rhaak but he quickly nodded his head in acquiescence.

"I would not have it said that I hindered one of the faithful in distress," he added hurriedly, bobing his head with increasing enthusiasm. With a quick gesture he led them down the dock to where a small boat with a single sale and a pair of weathered cedar paddle bobbed on a filthy rope. Several wicker eel traps stood by, though they looked long unused. Without comment or delay Amira stepped into the rear of the boat and sat, cross-legged and dripping, on the low bench. Rhaak steeped in and seized the oars, severing the rope with a powerful jerk of his arms. With a shove they were out into the canal and heading towards the broad date lined expanse of the Tagria.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Rhaak put his corded muscles to good use, bracing his callused and rough feet and propelling the skiff through the canal with all speed. His eyes gazed around at the markets, travelers, and peddlers. Luckily, he saw no cries for stopping them or composite bows aimed their way. To his credit, he did his best not to spare too many glimpses at his curvaceous new master. He did not wish to incur her wrath, nor was he the type of man to take a woman when the mood came upon him either, as some others he knew.

The canal led toward the mouth of the Tagria, and soon the outer shantytown of the great city gave way to a magnificent sight of the great river. Rhaak had not seen the Tagria in many years, and it filled him with a wonder at how much life such a thing could bring. The dust and dirt of the city had given way to trees and brush that clung to the banks. The honks and hoots of various animal life echoed across the trees. If the river were not so wide, the trees would have made him feel constricted, for he was not used to any landscape save the roiling waves of sand.

"The sultan will not be far behind." Rhaak said, gingerly speaking. He did not know if she wished him to be silent, but so far they had seen no other skiffs or boats, and that would likely change soon. As if Hayashim himself gave them a nudge, around the next bend was an estuary-like split in the river, with various paths on the water to snake through. Rhaak stepped atop the smaller seat he would use when Amira permitted it, and saw the eastern river busy with trade as fishermen bartered along a hamlet.

Even past them, he could see the dunes of the Alsahra on the horizon, and it was sobering to realize that the sunbaked curse of their land was always just over the horizon. Little did he know, that was the least of their worries, for soon the old gods would have their say upon their souls.
@Penny

[Penny]

Fazel the Eunch smashed his fist down upon the table. Rattling the expensive glassware which covered the surface of mirror polished teak. Before him the captain of the guard, a great ebony skinned man from the far south stared over his shoulder. The room was expensively appointed with walls of smooth white sandstone and brightly colored mosaics inlaid into its floor. Luxiourious furnishings and exotic silks hung in careless testament to a life spent in the acquisition of power. If the Captain was intimidated by the Vizier's outburst he was at pains to show no sign of it.

"So they escaped under the very noses of your men and cannot be found? A thousand soldiers and you cannot bring me one woman and a lowly slave?!" Fazel was a small man of almost feminine build and a bald head that shone with the oil with which he polished it but he had a presence and right now his eyes held a snapping fury which would have cowed lesser men.

"They bought a boat from a merchant on the docks," the captain reported tossing the golden coin the guards had retrieved from the wretch so that it bounced down the length of the table towards Fazel. Before it completed its bouncing journey Fazel swatted it violently from the air so that it clinked musically against a far wall and ricochet off among a stand of pottery.

"I am not interested in some date swindler you cursed fool!" the enuch roared.

"Would you like us to search the river for miles down stream Vizier?" the captain asked in his stony barritone.

"I'm certain that the Sultan would not object to removing guards from the city. The Vizier fumed for a moment in silence. If there was one thing that all who knew Sultan Ali Ib Tariz, Lord of Silver Shod Sharsaya, Lion of the Tagria, Beloved of Allah and Defender of the Faith, agreed upon it was that he was a coward. The Sultan bowels would spasm if Fazel suggested denuding the city of guards.

"Get out," Fazel hissed in a deadly quiet tone that contrasted jarring with the fury of a few moments ago. The Captain banged his fist to his breastplate in salute and bowed himself out.

Fazel turned to a great mirror of beaten copper which hung upon the sacred eastern wall of his chambers and waved a hand in a cryptic gesture. The shadow imperfections of the mirror shimmered and then seemed to coalesce into the barest suggestion of a great face.

"Speak," boomed a low and distant voice, filled with an ageless malevolence. Fazel dropped to one knee an act he would never have performed before Ali Ib Tariz even should the fat old Sultan have demanded it.

"My Lord... I... I regret that the Anhouri has fled the city?" Fazel stammered his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Fled?" the voice enquired with deceptive calm, the shadows shifting once more in less recognisable patterns.

"Y.. yes my Lord, she killed Abdul the Cartographer and fled to the west along the Tagria." Fazel was sweating now even as the room chilled noticeably.

"Fled alone and with the map?" the voice went on. Fazel didn't want to speak, had intended not to speak but some force beyond him pulled the answer from him like a cork being drawn from a bottle of arak.

"With a slave my lord, a nobody."

"FOOL!" roared the voice defeningly loud within Fazel's mind.

"Do you think the Anhouri would delay herself for the sake of a mere slave!" Fazel pressed his fingers to his ears though it provided no more defense than raising ones hands against a spear thrust.

"A nobody my Lord a pit fighter of some note in the squalid hole he came from but nothing to us."

"The Anhouri does nothing without cause worm," the voice went on. The room was chill now, a sheath of condensation forming on the glass ware even as Fazel quivered.

"Find out what you can of this slave. The Cartographer, did she burn his body when she was done with him?"

"No... no my Lord, my soldiers drove her off before she had a chance," Fazel explained in a rush feeling his thundering heart slow to have some news to report that did not end in his failure. His master had little tolerance for failure.

"Very well, bring his corpse to me before midnight and we shall see what this map and this slave have to do with our plans."

With a sudden release of tension, like a storm breaking on a summer night the cold and the voice were gone and the mirror was nothing more than a mirror slicked with moisture which rapidly evaporated in the desert heat. Fazel, Vizier of Shayshaya, shakily stood and staggered towards the door way, a trickle of blood running from his ears and fear in his heart.

@POOHEAD189