"Arabian Nights"
Part 74
by Beryll
The sounds of the place were alien and annoying in Karl's ears. The ring of his boots on the stone floor of the high hallway leading up to the throne room seemed almost muffled to him. Of course it really was the constant chatter and movement of people that was so much louder with so many guests inhabiting the palace. It drowned out the familiar sounds.
It made Karl nervous. It felt crippling - not to be able to tell by familiar sounds, by the simple "feel" of the palace if everything was as it should be. He was beginning to see hostile shadows behind every column. And the festivities were only just getting started.
This morning the parade of the guests had begun. In an endless procession they were presenting their gifts to the Caliph. Having started with the lowliest peasants around the city it would finish soon, right before the grant banquet this evening, with the audience for the dignitary the Sultan himself had sent. And the Caliph was presiding over this with a benevolent smile and seemingly endless patience.
Karl had watched the proceedings for several hours this morning from his place at the Caliph's side. When he had started to fidget nervously the Caliph had kindly sent him away to check on the security of the palace. Of course they both knew the palace was perfectly secure. After all Karl, Ian and Sean had spent many nights making sure the celebration would run smoothly. It was an excuse allowing Karl a respite and Karl was grateful for it. Now he was back to stand beside the Caliph when he received the gifts of mighty neighbours, far away rulers and the Sultan.
Karl was expected to be there as the Caliph's guards Captain. But he might have skipped the duty if i hadn't been for the fact that he had left the barracks when Sean had showed up there, looking nearly as unnerved as Karl had felt earlier.
Prince Viggo was still new to the court and had nearly as many guests to entertain as the Caliph himself. People who wanted to meet him, who wanted to find out what kind of man - friend or foe - he was. If he could be of use to them and how. That meant the intricate dance of politics.
Karl knew that Sean didn't have much patience for political talk - much like Karl himself. Under better circumstances they might have stood on the battlements together, bemoaning the lack of action and the abundance of empty polite phrases.
But the frosty enmity between them crystallized into a gulf that Karl felt bitterly certain could never be bridged again.
Lately things had been even worse - at least for him.
The old comrade of arms of both Sean and Viggo who had arrived from the North seemed as close as a brother to them. To see them laugh and talk together hurt Karl on a level where he had thought old scar tissue had long blocked any feeling whatsoever. He could not bear to see the easy friendship they shared. To hear them talk with a million reverences to past adventures shared. Even had be not alienated himself from them so completely by his atrocious acts - he could never have hoped to share in such a long grown closeness.
So Karl had quickly fled the barracks when Sean had entered with the foreigner.
He had reached the antechamber of the throne room now. Here the hallway opened up, with columns on both sides. Stone benches and huge potted palm trees offered resting places for people waiting for audience and usually managed to give the place the feel of a quiet garden. But right now it was packed with people waiting for the turn before the Caliph, all talking and shuffling incessantly.
Karl's path would have had him take a sharp turn to the left right after he entered the chamber to follow a much smaller corridor that circled around the throne room. He would have entered through small door at the back of the throne room to take his place to the right of the Caliph again.
His eyes only briefly swept the antechamber - a Captain's quick scan for anything amiss, not expecting to find anything.
He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes were drawn to a broad back, wrapped in colourful cloth, powerful arms and hands, one resting leisurely on the hilt of a huge scimitar, the other gesturing, a bald head, tattooed with intricate patterns bobbing with whatever he was saying. Karl could not make out the words over the general din but the booming voice...
The back, the arms, the weapon, even the voice might have belonged to someone else, only close to the original but close enough to make Karl' fear rush up like a wave of scorching heat. But the tattoos - they were unique, each telling a story of conquest known to Karl. They were as familiar to Karl as the back of his own hand.
Too often these tattoos had been the last thing he had seen after a beating, the sight of his father turning away in disappointment yet again. Something he had hoped to have forever left behind, something he had seen in his dreams more and more often lately - something that should have had n place here and now.
For a long, long moment he stood frozen in place shock grasping his heart, threatening to crush it. Questions flashing in his mind with the sting of angry bees.
Why was he here?
How had he gained admission to the palace of the Caliph - lowly slave trader that he was?
Did he know Karl was here?
Did he know Sean was here?
What would he do?
Why was he here?
A shudder ran through Karl as he realized he had not yet been seen. His father was still talking. Karl's every instinct demanded he flee, run as fast and as far as he possibly could. But just forcing one foot to lift was hard, impossibly hard. Step by slow step he moved towards the smaller hallway, to safety, his eyes glued to the back of his father's head.
Finally the bright light of the antechamber changed to the unobtrusive shadow of the corridor, finally he was hidden. Even here servants and slaves rushed to and fro, serving refreshments for the waiting guests, delivering messaged, carrying out various tasks. None paid any attention to Karl who sagged against the cool wall, his breath suddenly ragged.
He was here and surely he was here for a reason. To find Karl? Why would he bother after all those years? He was still waiting for his audience with the Caliph so he must be an emissary. For someone important, someone not to be messed with. Just a coincidence that he was here then?
So Karl could remain hidden.
Sean must not see him or surely he would snap. Then Prince Viggo would know. And Karl would be dragged into it. Blood would be shed. And Karl would be exposed. Everything would be exposed. They would learn that it was Sean's father who had so tormented Sean. They would know nothing but disgust for him then.
That must not happen.
He had to keep it secret.
Had to keep Sean and his father apart.
Had to remain hidden...
White-hot hatred lanced through Karl as unbidden images rose in his mind: Sean crying and clawing at his own flesh in his arms. Imagines of his father's brutal hands, holding Sean down, bruising, merciless, inflicting pain. A much smaller, much younger body in Karl's arms, bloodied, loved beyond reason - and beyond saving, beyond pain at last. The sneer on his father's face.
It burned, burned Karl to his core as he remembered the boy, who had sworn hopeless revenge then. The boy who had been him.
He had grown so much stronger, had worked so hard, had become a warrior, renowned and feared - and still he was helpless in his father's grasp?
In the furnace of his rage one clear question shone:
What did he have to lose now?
Sean's and Viggo's friendship and trust? He had forfeit that.
What would happen if they learned his father was here, if they learned who he was and what he had done?
Their fury would not be bound by fear of any political backlash. They truly were men of honor and would slay his father like the dog he was.
So they might learn of his shame. So he might be cast out by the Caliph, a dishonored man.
But was that not worth knowing that his oath had been fulfilled? To be free of his father's shadow at last.
He had not even noticed he had started walking again, his feet carrying him where he had not dared treat since Sean had banned him from Viggo's presence.
He had to tell them, had to confess. And after that everything was in Allah's hands.
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go to PART 75