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A Tale from Tsai
by Amanda Fellows

Nabil could see interest awaken in the eyes of the bored gate guard as he lead the party of travellers towards the Great City. They were a spectacle, he had to admit to himself. The Argandarr stood easily head and shoulders above him and her other human companions, and the small, wiry Ruhurdh had a very ugly face. Nabil tugged on the rope attached to his single remaining pack-beast to remind it of its manners and stepped forward. As he expected, the gate guard stopped him and addressed him in the formal. “Oh esteemed merchant, a thousand apologies for interrupting thy journey, but do these strangers travel hence with thou?" “Oh blocker of roads,” replied Nabil wearily, “These foreigners have protected my very life, and indeed they travel forth into Ishq Emalu with me. What news of the city? Why is the road blocked?” The guard’s eyes sparkled. “The Seljuk, he who is most wise and omnipotent, has ordered all dawah drivers whipped for forty strokes, because some careless fool let his dawah brush against the Eyes of Heaven’s favourite concubine as she visited the bazaar in procession.” Nabil silently thanked the stars that his dawah had been stolen in the desert. “None of my companions are dawah drivers, so thy duty is done, O blocker of roads!” “Mayst thou find all thou seek’st.” Nabil lead the foreigners through the gate, and waited impatiently while they paused in wonder. This is certainly the biggest city they have ever seen in their lives, he thought. It is not surprising that they gape and stare at Ishq Emalu, city of cities and pearl amongst pearls. He himself had been born in the shadow of those spires, but even he usually paused to look upon them when returning from a long journey. But not this evening. His limbs ached with weariness and he swayed on his feet. His garments were torn, and his face was marked with blood and streaked with dust. The brigands would have been the end of him had not these travellers stumbled across the scene and rescued him. Even so, he had lost most of his goods and several beloved servants, and he longed only for the cool walls of his abode. “Come,” he said firmly. “It is this way. There will be time enough to view the city when we have rested and bathed.” Personally he believed that these foreigners had never seen a proper bathing-house during their collective existences. Perhaps they were afraid they would lose their souls in the water, as claimed the savage Bemmel tribes of the south. The strangers smelt badly and dressed oddly. The Argandarr wore little more than a long cloak and a tiny, carefully positioned strip of cloth. Nabil scarcely knew where to look when he spoke to her. Even with the constant reminder of her Kesh-like head he had trouble concentrating. They trailed after him through the winding, tangled streets, pausing to look at this street-stall and that, pausing when the beggars flocked after them and pleaded for alms. They were even distracted by a two-toothed man selling blue prayer rugs. Nabil was embarrassed and tried to hurry them along. “Only a little way further, a few more streets, my friends, and we will be there...” He was vaguely aware that he was prattling, but he was far too tired to stop himself. “A little further and there will be food and drink, perfumes to wash aside the smell of the desert, cushions to lie on, servants to wash your feet....” He suddenly became uncomfortably aware that the strangers were not following him any more. He choked down a curse, and stopped to see what the distraction was this time. He was surprised to see they were talking to a woman of some standing. She knelt on the pavement in front of them, tugging at their strange garments as if she were a beggar. Nabil could tell from the fine quality of her robe and the stiffness of her posture that she was no street-dweller. “You must help me,” the woman was entreating the strangers. “You are my last hope.” Nabil silently cursed the day the woman was born. These strangers were witless - they had already proven that. The woman could be nothing but trouble. In all probability she was no more than bait for an elaborate trap, or if she was sincere she had doubtlessly left her husband for a lover and wanted protection from her spouse’s wrath. Nabil opened his mouth to say so, to drag the strangers away, when fate turned against him. The woman noticed his approach and gave a little gasp. Her hood fell open as she turned her face towards him, and Nabil was struck to the core by her amazing beauty. An olive face - like his own - but where his cheek was scored by knife-cuts and desert sand, hers was the smoothest, loveliest thing he had ever seen. A cascade of hormones drove relentlessly through him and he heard himself saying: “Of course we shall help you, my lady.” He reached for her hands, gently disentangled them from the stranger’s cloak and drew her to her feet. He could feel his heart hammering uncontrollably, and was vaguely aware that his skin seemed both hot and cold at once. A small part of his mind resisted long enough to say “You fool, You fool!” before all barriers were smashed asunder, and he hurried her along the street, the strangers, the pack-beast and his weariness all forgotten. “What is your problem, my lady?” asked Nabil. The entirety of his mind was focussed on where his hand touched her robed arm, on the angle of her jaw, and the lithe curves revealed by her smooth gait. He did not notice the strangers, following behind, leading his pack beast, and joking in their own language. He did not notice which streets he took, or when they diverged from the way leading towards his house. “I am Nasrina,” she replied, softly. “And yourself?” “Nabil the Merchant, who humbly places himself at your service.” "Know, O Nabil the Merchant, that I was born in the country of Udh-Tanith, which lies many months distant to the south-east of Moriah where we stand now. The most splendid city in all of Udh-Tanith, is Tanith itself, a wondrous place with spires rising to the skies. Perhaps most magnificent of all are the temples to the one true god, with their domes all plated in red gold and silver, so as to strike the viewer blind at both sunrise and sunset!” “I dwelt in this city with my mother and father, a wealthy merchant, until I was fifteen years old. At that time, a servant of the supreme ruler of Udh-Tanith came to my father’s house.....” Nasrina stopped suddenly, and a low moan escaped her lips. Her face grew pale and her hands strengthlessly clasped Nabil’s arms... She slid to the ground, as Nabil tried to catch her, uncomprehendingly. He knelt, stricken, and bent over her fallen body. “Nasrina?” he stammered, in bewilderment. It took him long moments to notice the blood and the dagger protruding from her back. “Nasrina!” The strangers did not hesitate. Stapil, the Ruhurdh, pointed towards a shadowy nearby alley and yelled something to his friends. Draam and Dyimmi followed his gesture and as a group they sprinted off. Korazon, the Argandarr, hurried to Nasrina’s side where Nabil still sat stunned. She examined Nasrina carefully, then turned helplessly to Nabil. “Dead. She is dead,” said Korazon sadly. Her Kesh-mouth had to work hard to produce the complex syllables of Nabil’s language, and her words sounded discordant. “By Dagger....” “I can see she is dead,” replied Nabil, tears streaming unashamedly down his cheeks, leaving strange pale tracks through the dust. He surged to his feet, all at once full of anger. “She’s dead! Where are the Guards? Guards!!! GUARDS!!!??” “Shh! Shhhh!!” said Korazon, exaggeratedly waving a finger in front of her face, and grabbing his arm. “By whose Dagger?” “Whose Dagger? How do I know?” Nabil tried to pull away, but the Argandarr was too strong. She pulled him down towards Nasrina’s poor body, and taking his head in one huge hand thrust his face near the dagger plunged almost all the way into the girl’s back. It was not, Nabil finally realised, one of the daggers of his land but a different sort. It was strangely familiar. It was the same kind that the strangers used - a straight bladed ineffective sort of dirk. His hand fled to his belt, and returned empty. His dagger, the one the strangers had given him when they had found him weaponless in the desert, was missing. “Aieeee! Aieeeeee!” screamed Nabil, ripping at his hair and robe as dread pangs of shock coldly wrung him. His shaking hand reached for the dagger.... But they were not far from the main road, and the Guards had heard Nabil’s desperate cries. They hauled Nabil and Korazon roughly aside, and their captain bent over Nasrina. His jaw tightened, and he turned back towards Nabil and Korazon, his face dark and full of controlled anger. “You must come with us at once,” he snapped, his voice on the dangerous edges of fury. “We did not kill her!” protested Nabil wildly. “You are letting the assassin get away!” “My friends chase him,” added Korazon gently. “This is the Seljuk's favourite concubine, Nasrina. She has been missing for three days,” said the captain, and he would say nothing more while they waited for Dyimmi, Draam and Stapil to return. When the two humans and the Ruhurdh finally arrived, they eyed the guards uncertainly, but made no attempt to avoid them. “The bad man, he has got away,” said Dyimmi, “but he dropped this.” He opened his hand, and spread out on his flat palm a necklace - a slender golden chain with an oddly shaped pendant. * * * * * In the bright dawn light, washed and clothed in clean, inoffensive garments, Nabil and the strangers were escorted into the Presence. Nabil had advised his new friends of the etiquette expected of them, and he was thankful they made no protest over having to fall on their faces when they were brought into the Seljuk’s court. Another wave of relief momentarily washed over Nabil as he noticed that Ista’afar, the Seljuk’s Wazir, was present. The Eyes of Heaven had a high regard for his Wazir’s opinion, and Ista’afar had a reputation for being just and kind. “Ye stand in the presence of the Seljuk of Moriah,” announced Ista’afar sternly, ”Sultan over all Sultans, lord over all lords, Eyes of Heaven, and second only to the Wise One above. Speak before him the truth, and accept from him your destiny.” “Oh ye lowly ones, your have been brought before the Presence to explain your crimes in precedence to the executioner's blade! In the company of these travellers and this man, Nabil Arun Dajar the Merchant, was found by the body of Nasrina, daughter of Tanith, and in her back was plunged this dagger, the like of which is not found in Moriah, nor in Udh-Tanith, nor even in Uz or furthest Dhomin. Yet its like is found in the possession of these strangers, guests of our city’s hospitality! If you have explanation for these deeds, offer it now!” The strangers stayed politely silent, as Nabil had instructed them. Grovelling and bowing so that his back ached and his beard scraped the floor, he crawled forward a little. Humbly, he told his story. He had met the strangers in the desert when they saved him from the brigands. His voice wavered as he spoke, and he struggled to keep it under control. His dagger, given to him by the strangers, must have been stolen in the streets as he tried to hurry the strangers along. They had met Nasrina, who said she was in trouble. All the way through his story, the Seljuk’s face was angry and tight. Nabil could barely swallow as he felt the blade already coming down upon his neck. Nasrina was killed, and the strangers pursued her killer....Nabil’s voice broke, and he struggled to keep himself from falling apart entirely. They had called the guards, found the necklace... When he finished, the Seljuk looked just as angry and just as determined to have them executed on the spot, but he turned to Ista’afar and whispered to him. The Wazir replied calmly, decisively, and they argued in this way for long minutes. Finally, the Eyes of Heaven turned to Nabil and the Strangers, saying: “You have three days to bring the killer and proof of the killer before me, else you shall all die as hatchet men.” His anger was still transparent in his face, and his hands twitched convulsively. Ista’afar hastily gestured to Nabil to leave, and he and the strangers crawled backwards, uttering words of obeisance and thanks. * * * * * Nabil did not know where to start on that first day - it was only due to the strangers’ perseverance that he could be roused from his fits of weeping and wailing. They pushed the necklace into his hands. The necklace was a pretty, delicate thing. Twisted of finest gold wire, it depicted the figure of a crocodile entwined with that of a scorpion. “This is the heraldic crest of Sultan Gazib,” said Nabil uncertainly, turning the pendant over and over. “The sultan is one of four in this city - he controls an area somewhat north of my residence . I believe he lives in the Baluraq district, where his palace stands on the highest hilltop. It is unthinkable that a man of his wealth and position should wish to kill the Seljuk’s favourite concubine! Aiee!! Aieeee! Aieeeee! We are all dead.” “Perhaps,” replied Stapil. “Perhaps the necklace is a deceit, like the dagger.” “Perhaps not,” said Korazon. “There are many jewellers in the Baluraq district,” quavered Nabil. “I believe I should visit them.” * * * * * It was in the “House of Gold”, the sixth shop he had visited, that Nabil finally had some success with his inquiries . The shop obviously catered for the very wealthy. Its huge, black well-oiled guard served not only as a watchman, but also as a display post for the chains, bangles, and rings the shop was celebrated for. Nabil was very polite to the proprietor, for Ubaz Mazaq was a merchant of considerable status. To offend this man would forever be a sore spot in Nabil’s struggling career. If that still mattered. Ubaz Mazaq unscrewed the lens from his eye and peered at Nabil closely. “Where did you find this piece?” he asked. “In the street,” replied Nabil, truthfully. “I thought someone of the Sultan’s family may have lost it, and I hoped to return it to him.” “For a reward, no doubt,” grunted Ubaz Mazaq rudely, and Nabil struggled to maintain composure. “I made this piece myself. I made it expressly at the wish of Nasar Gazib, the Sultan’s eldest son. It is to him that you should return it.” Nabil thanked him effusively and turned to leave. “And I would return it if I were you,” added Ubaz al Mazaq. “The Gazib family are amongst my most valued customers.” “You need have no fear,” replied Nabil in assurance. “I have every intention of bringing this pendant to Nasar Gazib’s attention.” * * * * * “We can not just march up to the Sultan’s gate and demand to see his son,” reasoned Nabil, on the second day. “The Sultan will not allow us to march his son off in shackles. Besides, we need solid evidence. The necklace could have been stolen.” “Like Dagger,” said Korazon. “Exactly, my friend. No, I am afraid the only way is to enter the Sultan’s palace through more devious means.” “During the night, over the walls?” suggested Dyimmi. “I like this plan little,” said Draam. “But it will not hurt to be executed twice if we are caught!” “We will most likely be tortured before we are executed anyway, so that we fully appreciate the extent of our sins,” moaned Nabil, rocking himself slightly back and forth in his angst. “My dagger was found in the back of the Seljuk’s favourite concubine! Wise Lord, befriend us! (Oh, Nasrina!)” “No more talk like this, or he will start wailing again,” admonished Stapil. “No time for that!” said Korazon. * * * * * The third day, Nabil spent visiting all the herb sellers he knew and explaining what was needed. Dyimmi had some knowledge of the other equipment required and they struggled through the bazaar to the rope sellers and the metal-smiths, to the cloth merchants and the tailors, and to the meat sellers for some expensive joints of tender meat. * * * * * The third night Nabil prayed fervently that all was ready. The new equipment was in order. Grappling hooks were tied to neatly coiled ropes. The meat had been soaked in a preparation of the strongest sleeping herbs. The strangers were all wearing hastily stitched black costumes and had blackened their hands and faces. Nabil had offered to come with them, but they had glanced at each other and politely refused his assistance. They were accustomed to such things, Draam told him, and had a better chance of success if Nabil wasn’t in the way. Nabil had hired a palanquin to carry them to the Sultan’s palace. It would not do to be seen in the streets of Baluraq dressed like thieves. The palanquin was quite fancy, and large enough to carry all of them. It would wait for them in a street nearby while they went about their fell business. After the strangers left there was a period of terrible slow waiting, and Nabil was hard put to prevent his sorrow from venting itself. They would fail, they would be tortured horribly and their heads would fall to the sword! Nabil had seen the twisted rotting corpses in the Executioner’s Square, left as a warning to all. Nabil cursed himself again and again - to fall for a woman like that was asking for trouble. What had he been thinking of? Oh Nasrina! He began to lose track of the time....he had been waiting forever. A decade must have passed before there was a noise at the door and Korazon appeared beside him. “Is done!” He rushed outside. “The meat - it worked!” said Dyimmi, “the Sultan’s dogs all slept like gemp!” Inside the palanquin Nabil could see a trussed, unhappy-looking figure that he recognised as Nasar Gazib. * * * * * Once in front of the Seljuk, faced with the charges against him, and with the evidence of the necklace and the embroidered assassin’s clothing found in his room, Nasar Gazib confessed to killing the Seljuk’s favourite concubine. Nasar Gazib was a young man of considerable charisma and bearing, and in consideration of his prominent rank the Eyes of Heaven generously allowed him to tell his story. Nabil’s hopes fell - if this personable young man said the right things he could easily turn the whole tale against them. Nasar Gazib admitted that he was an assassin belonging to the Hand of Wrath, that was indeed true. But what these strangers and this harmless merchant did not know was that the Hand of Wrath was submerged in a vindictive campaign against the assassin’s guild of neighbouring Udh-Tanith, a situation stemming back from the times when that country was Moriah’s most hated enemy. Nasar Gazib had recognised Nasrina as a member of the Red Daggers and believed that she had been sent to kill the Eyes of Heaven! “How did you recognise her as an assassin?” asked the Eyes of Heaven, somewhat sceptically. “There are several ways of being sure, O ruler over all,” answered Nasar Gazib. “The most certain way, and the only one I have not personally verified, is that the Red Daggers have their namesake tattooed somewhere upon their person.” The Seljuk frowned. “It is true that she has a tattoo answering this description,” he admitted. He directed his advisers to investigate this matter and find out if Udh-Tanith’s assassins were indeed tattooed in this manner. By the same time the next day the Sultan’s son’s words were confirmed, and he was recognised as a hero for having saved the Seljuk from the predations of the dreadful woman. The Eyes of Heaven immediately granted him vast swathes of land, a magnificent palace, a harem of concubines, and many other tokens of honour in recognition of his heroism. As for Nabil and the strangers, well, the charges against them were dropped, and their added offence of kidnapping the Sultan’s son was overlooked in light of the situation. The Seljuk absent-mindedly rewarded them with a thousand pieces of silver each, for helping to bring the truth to light, and that was that. Nabil never quite recovered from the incident, and shortly afterwards, when his friends the Strangers left Ishq Emalu, he sold his residence, packed up his servants and belongings, and left that fair city of his homeland. It had become dust in his eyes.